In Hours of Grievous Hope: Ch. 9

The Helper

Notes:

Guess what? I've gotten to the sad part of the story....listening to "Scars in Heaven" as I'm writing it and very close to tears 😢

*****

Once again, Kalmar found himself awake far earlier than anyone else, or at least, earlier than everyone he checked on. He heard Oskar snoring away in the room adjacent to the one he had shared with Leeli and Sara — for that matter, it was quite likely Oskar had been the one who had awakened him — and he had seen that the aforementioned girls were still sleeping moments after creeping out of bed. At least, it looked like they were asleep. Neither moved and they breathed evenly, but that could have been an act. 

He shrugged as he slipped out of the room, his pack on his back. Whether they were asleep or not did not really affect him that much, though if one of them had been awake, he would have wanted to talk with them. Maybe. He at least would have liked saying, “hi.”

Almost anything would be worth trying at this point, so desperate he was to keep himself out of his mind that was working far more than he liked it to. He was growing weary of constantly thinking and pondering about the Stone and all the Cloven (both in Throg and in the Blackwood) and Janner and whether the Water would really bring him back to life or if they would need something more.

And there I go again. He sighed, irritated. Standing around doing nothing was becoming very boring indeed, but he couldn't think of any way to actually move forward with the Maker's instructions to heal the Cloven. Granted, the Maker had said He would send a helper (for which Kalmar was very grateful), but that meant it would be someone in their party of hopeful mourners. The only logical person it could be was Artham, but wouldn't that just send him into another guilt-ridden frenzy? The most recent (and hopefully resolved) had come about because he believes he has hurt Nia and could have stopped Janner's death. Wouldn't it be even worse to be involved with and even assist in what was likely about to be Kalmar’s?

Shaking his head, Kal did his best to brush the thought away, knowing that pondering something like that would do no good. Thinking about any of everything that was happening would not help, nor would worrying about it. What really mattered was whether or not he could do anything about it in the immediate, and as such, he squared his shoulders and decided to look around Clovenfast for Artham, since he had already checked the house and had failed to find anyone with enormous wings. 

In the first few seconds after he opened the front door and stepped out into the cool night air, he found himself squinting into the dark corner of what was visible of Clovenfast in an effort to see if Artham was hiding in a shadowy corner that the barely-risen sun had up until that point failed to illuminate. It seemed like the sort of place he would want to be.  

A few seconds later, though, he heard the beating of wings and looked up to see his uncle descending from the house’s roof. 

“Kalmar, what are you doing?”  He asked quietly once he had lighted down on the ground. “You should be sleeping.”

Rolling his eyes, Kal crossed his arms before answering. “It’s not that early. Besides, we just had this back and forth last night. And did it end with success for anyone? No, no it did not.”

Artham grinned boyishly, in a way that seemed almost foreign. “I suppose it didn’t. But my first question still stands. What are you doing out?”

Kalmar shrugged, unsure if actually asking Artham for help about something that could very easily terrify him was the best question to pose when it was still dark out. “I couldn’t sleep. I’m thinking too much and getting kind of tired of it.”

He received a brief nod in response before Artham began staring off into the distance. Kal glanced in the direction of his uncle’s focus but saw nothing. He wondered if there was something out there he could not see, or if Artham had simply decided to stare aimlessly. 

After what felt like a while of silence, he heard the words, “I must offer my sincerest apologies, Kalmar.”

Whipping his head around so fast it made his neck hurt, Kal stared at his uncle. “Wait, for what?”

Artham looked him straight in the eyes, his hands clasped behind his back out of what looked like nervousness. “For not being here for you. I haven’t been, and I should have.”

Kal shook his head. “No, Uncle Artham, it’s not your fault. And you don’t need to apologize to me. We went over that already, remember? Last night?”

Sighing, Artham got down on one knee and took Kalmar’s hand in his two taloned ones. “No. I’ve been thinking too much about what has bothered me, far too much. Ashamedly enough, I forgot about you,” he admitted, a note of grief in his voice. “I forgot that you’re struggling more than anyone else, trying to lead this mission on your own. You don’t deserve that, even if you are the King.”

As comforting and reassuring and honestly therapeutic as the words were (he felt as though all of Aerwiar had just been lifted off his shoulders), Kal was still reluctant to let Artham place so much blame on himself. Even if the attitude was likely a result of his conversation with Nia, it didn’t mean everything was alright. “Uncle Artham, it’s—” 

“No, don’t say ‘it’s alright.’ Please.” Artham’s eyes flickered downward before meeting his again. “I’m here to offer my services to you. I want to help you in any way that I can. What can I do to ease your burden?”

Those words echoed in his ears over and over again, crescendoing before quieting to a throbbing beauty. It wasn’t until Artham had pulled him into a close embrace that he realized tears were streaming down his cheeks out of relief.

“Sorry,” he gasped after a few minutes, feeling as though he had apologized to people for crying on their shoulder unexpectedly quite a lot in the past two days. 

“Don’t apologize,” Artham whispered fiercely, hugging him tighter. “If you won’t let me apologize, clearly I can’t allow you the same privilege.”

That made Kal choke with laughter, and soon the laughter took over his tears of joy and relief. “Okay, okay, fine.” He knew he was smiling broader than he had for quite some time, and it felt wonderful. 

Hardly able to contain his excitement over what was clearly a sign from the Maker that he was able to share with Artham, he wriggled out of the hug within the next few minutes. “Uncle Artham,” he began. “The Maker was in my dream just now.”

What looked like a wave of confusion passed over Artham’s face, and for a moment Kalmar worried the confusion would turn into reluctance and then refusal. Instead, though, the confusion took on an air of joy and understanding.

“Continue,” were the reassuring words that urged his heart onward.

“Well,” he went on. “He asked me to do something…I think.”

Artham raised an eyebrow. “Which was…?”

Kalmar took a deep breath before speaking. He hadn’t said it, which meant it had yet to become reality. But once the words were out, there was no going back. “He wants me to use the Ancient Stone to meld with the lost Cloven. The ones in the Blackwood and Throg.”

He had half-closed his eyes as he said it, trying to block out his uncle’s reaction while not missing it. What he had seen was utter astonishment and surprise. Plus maybe a few traces of panic.

“I’m sorry, what?” Artham whispered, running a taloned hand through his feathery, white hair. Kal opened his mouth to respond, but Artham continued speaking. “How can…?” he shook his head, backing up and beginning to pace nervously. He pressed his right hand against his mouth, as if trying to come up with some way of processing what he had been told.

Kal fidgeted nervously, thinking every second that he had made a mistake, that the Maker hadn’t really meant Artham to be his helper, that he was messing things up again, just as he had done so many times before. It would all end in disaster: he wouldn’t have help, and Artham would tell everyone, who would (reasonably) stop him from carrying out the Maker’s instructions. He bowed his head and prayed, Maker, please work. Please help us. Please, let Your Will be done.

Immediately the sound of pacing and the rustling of wings stopped. Kalmar opened his eyes and raised his head, finding himself looking straight into Artham’s blue eyes. “It is the Maker’s Will, yes?” he asked, his voice hoarse as though a part of him wanted to cry. 

Kal nodded, wanting to cry, too. To cry for his family, and for everyone else who would be hurt because of him. “That’s what He said,” he whispered, blinking back tears.

“Oh, Maker help us,” Artham murmured, rubbing his face with his taloned hands. “Maker, please, please help us.”

Biting his lip with worry, Kal watched as Artham closed his eyes and bowed his head, his lips moving, though no sound came out. He prayed even harder: prayed that the Maker would somehow give both Artham and himself understanding, that He would heal their family if the inevitable happened, that He would give back one soul they had lost, even if it was at the cost of his own.

After a few minutes Artham opened his eyes, loving determination in them. “Tell me what to do, my King.”

Kalmar smiled, once again thinking that he was not the only one to whom Artham spoke. The Maker heard the words as well.

*****

Notes:

😭 the Maker sent him a helper

And canon-related or story-related errors, please let me know^^