After Times of Tender Agony: Ch. 30

A Sparkling Miracle

Notes:

And we are quickly getting closer and closer to where I have no more chapters written (I've only gotten to Ch. 38 or something, so I really need to spend some time writing 😬)

*****

Chathan stared at the slip of paper trembling in his hand and ran his fingers through his hair, scattering it. He was supposed to get Janner and Sara and Owen and Joe and Maraly and Shastan’s luggage to them, and he was supposed to do it without the Overseer finding out. Because if the Overseer found out, then he would definitely know where Janner was, and then he would go after Janner and Sara and they wouldn’t be safe anymore. 

Who was he kidding, they’d never been safe—at least Janner hadn’t. He never would have done anything to hurt Sara, and he hadn’t intended on hurting Janner. He had known the stuff he was supposed to slip into the tea wasn’t good, but he hadn’t expected what followed, he hadn’t expected to be forced to lie, he hadn’t expected them to find evidence that Janner had actually been tortured. 

He had tried stopping that, but the Overseer had only threatened him and his mother and sister. At least he had been able to take care of Janner’s lash wounds when he had been there, but it wasn’t enough, nothing would ever be enough to blot out everything he’d done, and it didn’t matter he’d done it in the name of keeping his mother and sister safe, he’d still done it.

He was tired of being used as a tool to hurt people—namely Janner and Sara—but now he didn’t know how to keep from being used. He wanted to help, but he didn't know how to help without the Overseer finding out.

There was no subtle way to sneak six individuals’ luggage out without someone noticing, but maybe since the Overseer didn’t know where Janner was, he wouldn’t suspect as long as he didn’t know the contents of the transport carriage? Could that work?

“BOY!” the Overseer bellowed suddenly, him and his tapping cane and the banging door barging into the study. Chathan couldn’t help but jump. “Is there any word that the little brat found ‘er boyfriend?”

Terrified, Chathan shook his head viciously. “N-no, sir.”

The Overseer grunted. “Hmph. They’re worse at lookin’ than I thought. Keep in mind,” he hissed, lunging forward, planting the hand not gripping the cane on the desk with a crash. “You’re not goin’ back ‘ome to your family ‘til ya get word they’ve found ‘im, got it? Keep in mind, I know ‘e’s been found, I know who’s found ‘im, an’ I’m just waitin’ ‘til they’re all together.”

Chathan froze and hoped it wasn’t obvious. The Overseer knew where Janner was? And he hadn’t hurt him yet? “What’ll you do if they never find him?” he squeaked, hoping nothing sounded suspicious.

Turning a wicked eye on him, the Overseer grinned. “Well, in that case, both ‘e and ‘is girl will be livin’ in their own never-endin’ nightmare alone, assumin’ the other’s dead. So, I probably won’t do much, just go an’ haunt ‘im every so often, enough to keep ‘im scared half ta death.”

Chathan nodded. “But…will I be here forever, then?”

Smirking, the Overseer began tapping his way out of the study. “We’ll see what my mood is, tool.”

 When he had gone, Chathan shrunk back into the chair, his knuckles pressed against his mouth. So much for his brief, already slaughtered plan. The Overseer would certainly be suspicious if the luggage went to Glipwood. Oh, if only he’d never gotten into this mess by playing pick-the-pockets-of-old-people with country kids who wanted to be Stranders, then the Overseer might not’ve found someone to be his mole, and everyone would have gone to Lamendron and Anniera and the Green Hollows when they were supposed to.

That sparked an idea in his mind, one he felt stupid for not realizing sooner. Reaching for a pen and paper, he began a letter to Lord Artham, one that told him due to odd Torrboran transportation methods, the luggage would have to go to Lamendron first. Maybe a little misdirection would keep Janner and Sara safe.

*****

Though Maraly didn’t need to—and it technically added to her journey—she went with Shastan to Glipwood anyway. Part of it was that she would feel at least a bit guilty for not saying a true goodbye to Sara, considering everything that had happened. And they were best friends. Besides, though she wouldn’t have admitted it, she wanted to see Janner as well. 

The trip was uneventful and fairly quick by horseback. They didn’t hit any snags while fording the Blapp near Dugtown, and no one attempted kidnap them along the way.* Maraly was honestly a little surprised and half-jokingly mentioned it to Shastan during a lull in their chilly ride, saying, “I can’t believe neither of us’ve been kidnapped yet.”

He stared at her incredulously, then chuckled a little nervously. “I’m assuming we don’t want that to happen, yes?”

Maraly rolled her eyes and elbowed him roughly. “‘Course we don’t! One friend gettin’ kidnapped is enough, thanks.”

When they arrived in Glipwood a few days later, the sun had barely peaked over the horizon, and it was freezing. Not as cold as it had been an hour earlier, of course, but still incredibly unpleasant. Banikon hadn’t given any instruction on where exactly Janner, Artham, and Sara were, so it seemed they were about to enjoy wandering around Glipwood. At least it was a small town. 

Crossing the bridge took them to Vibbly Way, then an intersection between it and Main Street. They had three options: right, left, or straight. Shastan glanced around, shrugged, and continued urging his horse along Vibbly. 

“What makes ya think thet’s the right way?” Maraly asked, not following him. 

Looking back, Shastan logically offered: “Glipwood’s small, so no matter which way we take, we’ll likely find them at some point.”

“Or we could look fer a moment more,” Maraly smirked, pointing to her right. “Fer example: ain't thet Sara? Crossin' the street?”

Shastan looked where she pointed, then laughed awkwardly as he, too, spotted Sara, cloaked and hurrying.

Maraly called to her, guessing she'd get a response, unless Sara was deep in thought, and in that case, she pressed her heels into her horse, asking for a trot so she'd catch up before her friend disappeared.

Shastan followed her again, and he modestly admitted, “You were right, I suppose.”

Smiling, Maraly held back the urge to say that she was normally right and instead focused on Sara.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon!” Sara said, the smile she gave not quite reaching her eyes. Maraly dismounted and, holding the reins in one hand, wrapped her arms around her friend. Sara returned the gesture, trembling for just a moment. When she pulled back, the tremor was gone. 

Maraly appraised her, worried. She wasn’t used to Sara acting the way she was. “Are ye alright?”

Sara nodded, her lips pursed a little. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie, an incredibly obvious lie. Sara could have at least tried lying better. “You’re lying,” she said without a second thought. 

A flush took over Sara’s cheeks, but it was gone in an instant. “I’m mostly okay. There’s no need to worry about me.”

“But there's need ta worry 'bout…?” Maraly edged her toward what really plagued her mind. She hoped the edging would be successful soon, though, because she was getting cold just standing there.

Sighing in resignation, Sara’s face fell, and she whispered, “Okay. I’m worried about Janner.”

“What ‘xactly ‘bout ‘im?” Maraly pressed. Sara hesitated again, glanced toward a building behind her, and looked back at them.

“Perhaps you should discuss this inside?” Shastan suggested. “The inside I’m assuming you’re heading toward. I can find somewhere to stable both horses, if you like Maraly.”

Sara nodded, and Maraly murmured a quiet, “thet’s fine,” while wanting to smack herself for figuring out that by looking at the building on the other side of the street, Sara had indicated she wanted to go in it. At least they would be going inside, that was a bonus even if she had seemed like an uncaring dimwit for a little while. 

The slight warmth and strange atmosphere—the room before them filled with bottles and instruments and books and counterspace and a pot-bellied stove in one corner—of the building they entered was frankly quite shocking, but Maraly chose not to let it show on her face. 

“It's the more-practice-looking part of the practice, but the living area is through here,” Sara explained, heading toward a closed door against the right wall. Through it was indeed a living-like space with a small kitchen area with a hearth, a table with three chairs, and a slightly larger sitting area with more books. This room was far warmer than the previous, the hearth glowing and burning bright.  

Sara headed toward the mini-kitchen, pulled a kettle off the shelf, and placed it under something tube-ish. Then, she pumped a handle attached to the tube and filled the kettle with what looked like water. Maraly’s eyes widened. Was that an indoor spigot? 

Carefully handing the kettle on a hook coming down from the top of the inside of the hearth, Sara turned around and smiled lightly. “Jebsun did the piping in his spare time. Turns out there usually isn’t much of a need for a doctor in Glipwood.”

Maraly’s brow furrowed. She recognized the name, barely, but she recognized it. “Jebsun? Ain’t he—”

“Yeah, um, he’s the one who took care of Artham four years ago after Ilana’s rescue.” Sara tipped her face down, closing her eyes as if she was tired. 

“Right,” Maraly said suddenly, walking over and putting her arm around Sara’s shoulders, then steering her toward the sofa in the sitting area. It didn’t take all that much force to make her sit. “You were tellin’ me what’s wrong.”

Sara buried her face in her hands, and a bit of choked laughter escaped. “What’s not wrong?” she whispered. “Janner’s had a raging fever for days. He’s barely drunk anything, hasn’t eaten, can’t keep anything down. I know he’s having horrid nightmares, but he’s too tired to fight them off. He just whimpers in his sleep, and, and when he opens his eyes I know he can’t see me—” Sara’s voice broke, and tears spilled from her eyes. 

Maraly’s heart twisted for Sara. “What happened to ‘im?” she asked, her voice hushed. “I mean…everything.”

Sara shook her head and squeezed her hands together tightly. “The Overseer kidnapped him,” she whispered, hot anger filling her words. “Took him, starved him, beat him, whipped him, deafened him—”

“What?!” Maraly stood, horrified. She assumed the Overseer hated both Janner and Sara, but she hadn’t expected that. And…if Janner was deaf now…

“Only in one ear, if that’s any better,” Sara clarified, her voice trembling in grief and hatred. 

It was better than being fully deaf, but it didn’t make it any less terrifying, Maraly was sure.

“Anyway, when he escaped…the Overseer stabbed him. Three times. In the leg. And it’s infected, and it’s been infected, and it’s causing the fever and Jebsun’s cleaned it so many times and it still isn’t helping and…and he’s going to amputate tomorrow.” A sob wretched itself from Sara’s throat and her chest heaved. She squeezed her eyes shut, wrapped her arms around herself. “I, I, I don’t know w-what we’re gonna do,” she choked on tears. “I don’t know what he’s gonna do. I don’t even know if he can live through it, Mar. He’s so weak. He…he…he—I’m scared he c-can’t fight it, can’t survive the shock, won’t recover from the f-fever anyway. Oh, there’s so much that could k-k-kill him.”

Maraly just stared at her. She had absolutely no idea what to do, what to say, how to act. She had never handled something like this. The stint with Ilana from four years ago didn’t count. Ilana hadn’t really understood, and Artham’s situation hadn’t been anywhere near as dire as Janner’s was now. Okay, maybe it had been pretty dire in the immediate, but Janner's seemed worse. A lot worse.

But she wasn't talking about the patient in terms of handing things, she was talking about the person who cared about the patient handing things. And because of that, because handling kids was different than handling friends, because Sara was her best friend, one of her only friends, and one of her other few friends was dying, because of that, she really wasn't quite sure what to do.

“He’s strong, Sara,” she whispered, putting her arm around her friend’s shoulder. “He’s so strong. I…know ‘e can make it, if anyone can. An’ the Maker’s not done with ‘im, right?”

“I don’t know,” Sara wept, laying her head on Maraly’s shoulder. “I thought He wasn’t d-d-done, but it’s worse than it’s e-ever been before. What if-f-f—”

Maraly pulled Sara into a full embrace. “No ‘what-ifs,’” she insisted firmly, glad the shaking in her mind couldn’t sneak into her voice. “He’ll be alright, Sara. He has to be.”

“What’s wrong?” Shastan suddenly appeared, and the kettle whistled. Sara very nearly leapt from the sofa and scrambled toward the hearth. 

Maraly hated seeing her friend so desperate to get away. “Janner’s hurt,” she summarized, keeping one ear on the clank of teacups and the pouring of water. “He’s got a bad infection, an’ the doc’s gonna amputate tomorrow.”

Brief shock slipped into Shastan’s eyes, but he blinked it from them. “I don’t know if it’ll help much,” he said slowly.

Slipping his pack from his back, Shastan set it down on the floor, knelt, and unbuckled it. It was only a moment before he pulled out a jeweled vial. He cradled it against his chest as if it were precious, and, indeed, its contents sparkled like stars. He stood again. “Sylow’s greatest treasure is in its healing waters. And…we distill the minerals from them and make them into a powder. This just so happens to be that. I’ve had it with me, in case we needed it. I’d say we need it.”

“Why didn't'ya say anythin' 'bout it sooner?” Maraly demanded. “Like, sometime in the past two weeks?”

“Because we couldn't have used it then,” Shastan explained with a bit of an eyeroll, but there was a twinkle embedded in the look.

Sara seemed oblivious to their brief exchange, and she turned around, her face twisted in tortured hope. “Do you think it’ll help?” she whispered, tears shining on her cheeks.

Shastan smiled at her. “If anything will, it’ll be this.”

*****

Notes:

*The brief reference to there being a place to ford the Blapp near Dugtown is actually canonical, I did not make it up, lol

And there's our mole...albiet our somewhat blackmailed mole, but mole nonetheless...

There are Sylow's healing minerals...finally being put to use in the way I planned for Rather than Resenting, didn't end up using, and saved for a rainy day, meaning today!

Oh, and in terms of the title, my intent is to reference Artham and Jebsun's conversation in the previous chapter, in which Jebsun says miracles don't always look beautiful. Joke's on him right now, because this one does, lol!

Let me know if there's anything noncanonical or wonky^^