After Times of Tender Agony: Ch. 29

By the Light of a Snotwax Candle

Notes:

This chapter...feels really pointless, in hindsight. Actually, it seemed rather rambly and unnecessary as I was writing it, but, hey maybe it'll be okay, who knows? *shrugs

Anyway, now follows the next chapter, in which Maraly and Shastan have a very long, rambly conversation that goes many places.

Also, this chapter takes place probably the same day as the previous one, just a few hours later.

Oh, and I asked my sister what I should call this chapter, gave her a brief summary of one of the main points, and she told me the title should be "Starlight." I managed to get the above title from her suggestion, and I'm very pleased 😂

*****

A few hours later after breakfast, Jebsun pulled Artham away from Sara who struggled to convince a now-delirious Janner to drink something. “I’m reaching the final point of concern regarding the infection in the knife wounds,” he said without giving any context beforehand. 

Artham closed his eyes briefly before wearily asking, “I’m sorry, what do you mean?” Sara was right about the sleep thing, it seemed. 

Sighing, Jebsun pressed the knuckle of his forefinger against his lips before explaining. “I mean…they’re still festering. I cleaned away the infected tissue twice already, and it’s even worse this time. His fever’s too high, he’s delirious, he’s not drinking. I'm going to try and clean them one more time, and if they get infected again, I am seriously considering amputation, because at that point it means that not doing something so drastic is killing him.”

Artham’s mind jolted awake. “I’m sorry, what?!” he hissed. “And for your information, he has a name. And it happens to be Janner.”

Jebsun colored. “I’m sorry. It’s a habit, pulling away from your patients. It makes…tragedies easier. Look, I don’t want to do something like that to Janner, but generally when you lose a limb in a controlled environment, you’re still alive, at least. I mean, anything can happen, but the infection is going to kill him soon enough, too.”

Shaking his head fervently, Artham began pacing. “Are you sure you’ve tried everything?”

Jebsun threw up his hands. “Of course I tried everything! I know my practice, Artham. You didn’t die, remember?”

“I remember,” he muttered, though unfortunately such a comparison was not proof Jebsun could stop the infection in the knife wounds. His health hadn’t been shot, nor had he been starved and tortured for weeks before being stabbed by Amrah. “We’re praying for a miracle, then, aren’t we?”

“Sometimes miracles aren't accompanied by bells and choral voices, and they're not shining and clothed in white, Artham,” Jebsun retorted, gently, at least, he had the sense to retort gently. “Sometimes they look like prayer, answered prayer being the next slightly rash-seeming thing, and more prayer afterward.”

Artham fumed inwardly, wanting to say something foul, hating Jebsun was right. Far too often, the miracles in their family had wound up dead or dying. “Jebsun, please,” he finally whispered, his shoulders sagging. “I can't...we can't...he can't...just pray for a miracle that isn't that.”

Finally, Jebsun nodded. “Of course. Artham, I wouldn't dare otherwise. I guess...your survival a few years ago seemed pretty miraculous to me, so maybe the Maker'll come through for Janner, too.”

Breathing out slowly, Artham knew the relief wasn't going to last for long. “I suppose that’s a better foundation on which to place one’s faith than most,” he conceded. 

*****

By that point, Maraly had given up hope they would find Janner. They had found no evidence he had even been taken toward the Ice Prairies, nor had anyone they had spoken to given any indication that they had seen something strange as of late. He had been missing for over a month—when people were kidnapped, that usually didn't mean they were still alive.

“I think we need ta stop,” she said one evening as she reclined against a rock, her tent already upright.

“I’m sorry, what?” Shastan asked, crunching through the leaves and coming around the rock so he could look at her. 

Sighing with regret, Maraly didn’t look at him as she replied. “There’s no way Janner’s up ‘ere. We’ve been lookin’ aimlessly, an’ the Stranders haven’t had any luck either. He’s not ‘ere, Shastan. Maybe ‘e got killed right from the start, er maybe the Overseer took ‘im took ‘im over the sea, but ‘e ain’t ‘ere.”

He stared at her for a moment. “It’s only been a week and a half, Maraly.” 

Disappointment filled his voice, and Maraly hated the thought of continuing to let him down. Part of her wanted to argue and explain that with the number of people they had looking, they should have found Janner by that point, and since they hadn’t, he was probably dead. That wouldn’t be appropriate, though. Instead of speaking, she simply shrugged and placed her arm behind her head as a lumpy cushion.

When Shastan’s hand fell on her shoulder, she very nearly whipped a dagger out from her pants and held it up to his neck out of habit. Her mind managed to get a grip first, though, and she realized she liked his hand there. She didn’t shrug it off.

“Are you saying that because you think looking is useless, or because you’ve lost hope?” 

Ah, so he had placed his hand on her shoulder in an effort to convince her of something or give her therapy. That wasn’t going to work. Maraly snorted. “Both, obviously.”

“If you had been taken and he was looking for you,” Shastan began, the trajectory of his example already obvious. “Would he stop before he found you, even if he was certain you were gone?”

Shrugging, Maraly shifted her gaze to the leaves she sat in the middle of. If it were anyone other than Shastan (or maybe Sara or Gammon) she would have just left them with a shrug and the silent treatment. It wasn’t someone other than Shastan—it was him. She felt obligated to give him an answer. “Dunno. Maybe ‘e’d stop, maybe ‘e wouldn’t. We haven’t tested thet sorta thing out yet. Hasn't been necessary, an’ I ain’t sure he could spend all this time lookin’ anyway.”

Likely, he wouldn’t have the physical strength for it. At the same time, though, she knew that for those truly closest to him, he’d send out searchers until they were found. And she had a feeling they were close, in a way.

Shastan was silent for a minute, and when Maraly sneaked a glanced upward, she saw him pursing his lips in deep thought, his eyes unfocused. She looked away quickly. There being a record of her actually bothering to look at a person she might have offended would ruin her reputation.

“If Gammon was missing,” he finally said. “You’d search all of Aerwiar before you found him, right?”

“Yeah. But Janner ain’t Gammon.” Even as she said it, she hated herself for it. Janner might not have been Gammon, but he was her friend, a dear friend, and he was Sara’s love. And what would Shastan think of such a cold answer? Something made her shiver, whether it was the unsettling nature of all the thoughts or the chilly air, she didn’t know. It didn’t matter, anyway. She wasn’t going to bother grabbing the cloak she left just inside her tent.

“He’s not Gammon, no, but there are people who care for him just as much as you care for Gammon,” Shastan reasoned. “We can’t stop looking yet, Maraly.” He took his hand off her shoulder and went to do something beside the tents. 

Shaking her head, Maraly pulled another rounded, hand-lengthed stick out of her pack and slipped a dagger from her waistband. The collection of snotwax candles they had lit so they wouldn't attract any predators wasn't the best lighting, but it was better than nothing. “It’s not thet I don’t care, ya know,” she said after a few more minutes of silence. “Janner’s my friend, Sara’s my best friend— ‘course I care! I’m jest…”

“‘Jest’ what?” Shastan asked after she failed to continue her sentence. Maraly gave him a half-glare in case he had mocked her words or style of speech, but there was no mirth in his eyes or the sound of his voice. Only curiosity, question.

“Sometimes…” she began slowly, shaving off a white curl of wood with her dagger. “Sometimes bad things’re final. There ain’t always somethin’ better thet follows. Sometimes all that’s left in the end is death, an’ ya havta accept thet.”

Something briefly cold fell into her lap, tossing the dagger into the leaves to her right and the stick in the leaves to her left. Suddenly, and after Maraly had finished staring in stunned astonishment, she realized it was her cloak that had been thrown, and Shastan had certainly thrown it. 

“You shivered a few minutes ago,” he explained when she looked back at him accusingly. “I might’ve put it around your shoulders like a gentleman, but something tells me you wouldn’t like that.”

As Maraly continued staring at him, she felt her face relax and wondered if she imagined the smile creeping across it.

“Back to what you were saying about finality and death, though,” Shastan reminded her, coming back and sitting down next to her in the leaves. “What makes you so sure it’s over for Janner?”

“Nothin’,” she admitted without even having to think about it. “It could go either way. Unless ‘e’s supposed ta die, an’ then it’s definitely over for ‘im. Oh, but jest so ya know, Wingfeathers don’t go out ‘less it’s in a blaze.”

Shastan whipped his head toward her, the look on his face hilarious. “Maraly!” he exclaimed, clearly horrified.

“Calm down,” she retorted. “It’s true! The first time Janner tried dyin’ he wound up chewed, flayed, and scarred—”

“Oh is that where they came from?” Shastan noted thoughtfully, probably referring to the pale scars on Janner's neck and cheeks, but Maraly pushed on through his moment of revelation.

“An’ when their father died, he did it savin’ ‘is kids after bein’ fatally wounded, though when yer a bear, I suppose some things tend ta be a bit easier—”

“I’m sorry, what?” Shastan interrupted, now looking completely perplexed.

It was believable that the details regarding Esben might not be quite so well known, so Maraly gave him a pass for his ignorance. “Their grandpap also got ‘isself eaten by a sea dragon in exchange for help winnin’ a war.”

Shastan only looked at her, wide-eyed and confused in response, and she said nothing and continued. 

“Anyway, then Janner of course died savin’ a bunch of other people from being stuck as animals and twisted animals fer the rest of their lives—”

Shastan dropped to the ground so he could actually look her in the eyes when she said that. “Would you mind repeating yourself; I think my hearing must be failing. Last I checked, Janner was alive.”

Maraly stared at him. “What, do ya Sylowans live under a rock er somethin’?* This stuff ‘bout the Wingfeathers is all public information. How do ya not know about the whole thing with the stone and Anniera? Anyway, you should at least know about his brother, Kalmar the Wolf King, right? Him an’ the clovens?”

Shastan looked at her guiltily. 

“Seriously?” she looked at him indignantly. “I’m not explainin’ that, then.” The real reason she wasn’t going to explain it was because the ache from it still haunted her every once in a while, and she had no desire to dwell on it. “Anyway, a few years ago their uncle, Artham, tried doin’ ‘imself in by getting stabbed in the chest while savin’ ‘is long-lost daughter, an’ I was there fer that one.”

There was silence for several minutes, until Shastan broke it with a quiet, “Is that it?”

Maraly did a mental count. “Think so.”

More silence followed. 

“Wow,” Shastan finally whispered, but it wasn’t a happy sort of “wow,” Maraly could tell that. “He…it doesn’t look as though he’s experienced all that, not at all. You can’t see it on his face, in his eyes, it just…isn’t there. He just…hides it.”

Maraly wondered what Shastan would think if she told him everything about her, everything she hid behind a gruff and contradictory mask. “If we told everyone what we’d been through or let it sit out on our sleeves, there’d be no distinction ‘tween society an’ the people we care about,” she said quietly. “I may’ve jest told you ‘bout some of the grief the Wingfeather’s’ve been through—an’ it ain’t my place ta tell ya their business, so I ain’t sure why I told ya—but none of ‘em have told ya what they think ‘bout it. I don’t really know what they think ‘bout it.”

Shastan’s hand snaked through the grass, coming closer to her. “Why don’t you?” 

Maraly shrugged. “Haven’t asked. Seems private, ya know?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Shastan nodding. 

“Considering how close you seem to them,” he began. “It doesn’t seem as though they’d be upset if you asked. They’d probably see it as caring. Unusual, perhaps, but considerate. Maybe you could start with telling them something about yourself they don’t know, just to make it even.”

“Maybe.” The conversation had just taken an unexpected turn, Maraly could tell, and she wasn’t sure if she liked the turn or not. “Why’d’ya think they’d see it as considerate?”

Now it was Shastan’s turn to shrug. “If I were them…I would. Like, if I wanted to get close to you, I would tell you something about myself, and then I’d hope you would do the same.”

“Meanin’?” Maraly demanded, whipping her head toward him.

“‘Meanin’,’” he said slowly, echoing her. “I’m the son of one of the lords of Sylow. And I’m next in line for the throne since the princess, my cousin to whom I was betrothed, passed away two years ago. I was never in love with her, but it broke my heart when she died, because I loved her like a sister. I’ll never forget her. She would have made a lovely queen, a far better queen than I’ll ever be a king, I think.”

Maraly wasn’t sure what she was supposed to think. “I’m…I’m sure you’ll be a great king,” she stammered, tucking a wisp of hair back behind her ear. Shastan was the heir to the throne of Sylow? How many times had she insulted him? And what was up with her luck of running into kings or future kings and not being the kindest to them? First Janner, and now Shastan? Though she supposed she had gotten Janner across the Ice Prairies, albiet with Gammon's help.

As she thought and thought, he said absolutely nothing. “Well?” He eventually broke the silence again, and when she looked up, Maraly saw that despite it all, his eyes were shining. “Are you going to tell me something about yourself?”

Maraly drew her legs up and hugged them close, as if that would keep her secrets inside. “Me mother died when I was little,” she finally whispered. “I can barely remember her, but I know she wanted me father ta love me. Didn’t work out, but Gammon’s a better dad fer me ‘n anyone else's been.”

Something wet suddenly crawled onto her face, and Maraly was horrified to realize she was crying, in front of another person, no less. Before she had the chance to wipe it away, though, Shastan’s thumb brushed against her cheek tenderly, and it took the tear away, hiding the evidence.

“Thanks,” she said awkwardly, hardly daring to look at him.

“It’s not a problem.” By the way he said it, she could tell he was smiling. “But…uh, Maraly?”

“Yes?” she glanced up at him, his eyes shifting with uncertainty.

“Um…I like you. A lot,” he confessed. “And I just wanted you to know, since I have a feeling this whole trip is going to be over soon, and then we’ll go our separate ways. It’s okay if you don’t like me back,” he added hastily, likely in response to the look of shock plastered on her face. “But I just wanted you to know…” his voice trailed off a bit at the last part, and Maraly could only stare at him in surprise.

“I’m sorry, it was stupid,” he muttered after a few minutes. Then he got up, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked toward the trees.

Maraly scrambled up without thinking. “Wait!” she said, and when he turned around, hope springing into his eyes, looking a little strange in snotwax light, she realized she hadn’t actually thought about what she was going to say. “Um,” she began. It was a dreadful beginning, but he had begun the same way. “I…I think I might like you too?”

“Is that a question?” his brow furrowed in concern, but he stepped closer anyway. 

“I—” Maraly faltered again. “Gimme a minute!” she said quickly, turning away from him and staring at crushed leaves instead. She did like Shastan, she knew she did. But she wasn’t ready to commit to something like marriage! Was that what he had implied? By telling that story of his dead betrothed? My, we spoke ‘bout death a lot, she realized off-handedly. 

“I’m not ready ta git married, jest ta clarify,” she said, turning around to face him again. “But, yeah, I like ya too.”

Shastan’s face lit up at those words, and he came closer to her, hesitantly reaching for her hand. Maraly felt her skin prickle uncomfortably when his hand engulfed hers, but she didn’t pull away, and moments later, it felt good rather than unpleasant.

They stood that way for several minutes, long enough to where Maraly began feeling awkward. She cleared her throat in an effort to put an end to it and said, “It’s a little odd thet we’re doin’ this when Janner’s still missin’ and we were jest talkin’ ‘bout his potential death, dontcha think?”

Shastan’s face colored in a moment, and he dropped her hand quickly. Maraly couldn’t help but grin in amusement. 

“You’re right,” he said in a hushed whisper, rubbing his hand over his face. “Oh, I can’t believe I did that! What horrible timing! What’s wrong with me?”

Maraly shrugged, plopping back onto the ground to continue her whittling. First, she had to find her dagger and stick, though, which wasn't the easiest when all she had to illuminate the leaves was snotwax light. “Nothin’, I think,” she said sensibly, silently cheering when she found both her dagger and stick. “We’re stuck out here an’ can’t always search. What’re we supposed ta do when we can’t search, act sad and dead?”

Shastan joined her on the ground and smiled lightly. “I guess you’re right.”

Maraly smiled and shaved off a few curls of wood before her ears picked up the sound of crinkling in the distance. Jumping into a defensive position immediately, the whittled stick fell forgotten into the leaves—again. 

Shastan joined her hastily. “What is it?” he hissed.

Peering out into the dark woods, she whispered, “Sounds like a person.”

The rustling grew louder, closer, and the edges of a shadow brushed against the tree trunks lit by the fire. 

“Show yerself!” Maraly growled. “Hands up, an’ don’t think ‘bout jumpin’ us.”

The person emerged from the shadows, hands up, frustration filling their posture. “Woul’ja least trust yer own kind, Maraly Weaver?”

Maraly blinked. “Banikon?” she said after a moment, then lowered her dagger. “D’ya have any news that’d be of interest ta us? Oh, here’s Banikon, Strander I used ta camp with,” she added for Shastan’s clarification. He was one of the few she actually still trusted.

Shastan nodded. “I...sort of remember him. Would you like to come nearer the...candles? It’s just glorified snotwax, but it’s something.”

Banikon shrugged. “Sure, why not? Reason I’m ‘ere, though, is’t’tell ya thet they found Janner. ‘e’s in Glipwood with Artham an’ Sara.”

Maraly only stared in response, following Banikon with her eyes as he drew nearer to the green, snotwax fire. They’d found him? Truly? He was alive?

She tuned in to the sound of Shastan asking Banikon if he knew how Janner was actually doing, but no other information was available. It was at that moment that Maraly let out an enormous whoop!!! that likely scattered all the predators and prey. 

“They found ‘im? Truly?” she asked hastily, feeling as though she was delightedly begging Banikon for answers, but she didn’t care.

“Yep,” he said with a smirk. Shastan looked at her, kindness and excitement filling his eyes.

“They found ‘im,” she whispered. “Ain’t Sara pleased?”

*****

Notes:

*So, the funny thing about Maraly asking about the people in Sylow living under a rock is that (as per my headcanon, since Peterson gives us zero information on Sylow other than the fact that it exists and is up north) is that they actually live mostly underground, since the temperatures are so extreme. Like, the rooves of their houses are above ground, as is the door by which they enter, but everything else is below ground and heated by steam vents far below the surface, far enough below that they don't melt the snow in the area.

AGAIN- this chapter is super rambly and lots of it was unnecessary, perhaps, but oh well, I hope you enjoyed Maraly and Shastan, lol

Let me know if there's anything noncanonical, and I know it's wonky, but let me know if it's too wonky 😅