A Solution Through Shadows Chapter III

“How’s she doin’?”

“Steady. Fought a fit off last night, Wilfred couldn’t get to sleep till the sun rose. Even then, he didn’t get much of it. Got right up and marched up to the Market before you got here. Jaye’ll be sleepin’ for a while, now.”

Oren and Melisende stood with tucked chins outside Jaye’s room, arms crossed watching Jaye’s heaving chest.

“Wilfred gave her some tincture,” Oren whispered. “It could end the illness, or hold it back long enough to get the herbs from Sylvan and administer them.”

“And the two o' you haven’t been sick?” Melisende asked, in as low of a tone. “Seein’ that all three o’ you had to work around the plague, and been around each other.”

Oren shrugged, ignoring the tight compression in his chest throbbing. “Wilfred’s probably taken so much herb, or exposed to this damn sickness for so long, he’s grown immune. I can’t say the same, but … I could have just gotten lucky.”

“Still,” Melisende shifted in her spot. “I can’t remember a time she’s gotten sick.”

Oren looked to Jaye, the girl in the Melisende’s statement, a small smirk perking up. “Neither can I. But she could tell you all the times I was.”

Melisende didn’t say anything, and Oren lingered a little longer for his dying amusement before moving into the kitchen, regarding the shelves of herbs.

“You know what you must do, to end the sufferin’.”

“Of everythin’ you have,” Oren muttered, leaning onto the desk. “And you can’t find a remedy?”

“Wilfred must be panickin’.” Melisende walked behind Oren. “Since Hila died similarly.”

Oren glanced to her, crossing her arms in her short-sleeved, brown tunic with a distant wandering in her small eyes. He thought of Jaye describing her mother to him. How she inherited her hair and eyes.

“Probably. But … Hila died of somethin’ that couldn’t be treated. Jaye doesn’t have those odds against her.”

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t scary,” Melisende said, turning to the fireplace. “To lose your partner, then possibly your child. If Jaye dies, all Wilfred’ll have is you.”

Oren grimaced, glaring up to the ceiling. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“Why not? You should be ready if it happens.”

Oren twitched his cheek. “She makes it easy livin’ here. Doesn’t force me into anythin’ I hate. Wilfred’s … got this vision for me that I can’t uphold.”

Melisende didn’t say anything; Oren looked to her torn face.

“I mean, Wilfred’s treated you like a son.” She managed. “Takin’ you in. Givin’ you a chance for a new life and teachin’ you his trade. He’s just as important to gettin’ you away from that place as Jaye is gettin’ you to open up. He’s put his reputation at risk for you. Shouldn’t you give him that respect?”

Oren clutched onto the desk, glaring at the emphasized scars on the back of his left hand between the bones. Uncomfortable guilt and defiance pooled in his chest in Melisende’s words, closing his eyes to listen to the distant heaving of breaths. Counting them.

“It’s what I would do,” Melisende said, moving behind him and grasped his shoulder, “For someone who brought me into their lives. Do what you think is best, whatever happens. They both need you now.”

“He’s done a lot for me, I can’t deny that,” Oren whispered. “But no matter what he thinks, what he expects, I’ll never live up to it.”

Oren glanced to where Melisende stood, catching her stilled beside him and her small hand resting. He walked away from the desk and the girl’s hand slipped off without resistance as he went back into Jaye’s room to sit in his chair beside her. The door in the kitchen clicked, leaving Oren to his post.

“You know what you must do, to end the sufferin’.”

His hands clenched one another at the resounding thought, back stiff against the chair as his heel tapped onto the wood, unwilling to relax in Jaye’s presence. The candlelight’s glow illuminated only Jaye, the room smelling less of the burning wood, and more of the floral Jaye liked to keep in her room to deter the smoky scents. Oren struggled to recall the name of the small, indigo flowers she like as he kept his eyes on her, unwilling to distract his thoughts for too long from the labored breathing or fight the ache in his chest.

Oren continued to count off the trembling rises and falls of the girl’s chest, breath pent in anticipation the sound would cease, and all he would hear would be the cries coming from his voice.

Jaye rolled onto her side and coughed, prompting Oren into reaching for the bowl and damp cloth from a side-stand and patting at her beaded forehead.

“Never thought the day came when you’d have to take care o’ me.” Jaye’s voice, frail in sound, tore Oren’s attention to her lidded, brown eyes looking at him, sporting a fatigued smile.

Oren washed the cloth in the bowl, leaning for-ward and collecting whatever sweat remained, eyes focused on his task.

“Was bound to happen.” Oren’s voice choked a little, leaning back to clear his throat of the obstructions, still focused on her forehead. “I mean, after what you and your father have done for me despite what I’ve done.”

Jaye smirked as she snuggled her head into her pillow. “I’m not the one you should be telling that to. I just happened to be here already.”

Oren pursed his lips, glancing down at the rag in his hands. “It’s easier to tell you. A good time to tell you.”

“Since I’m on my death bed,” Jaye muttered.

Neither jumped to deny the statement, Oren stretched his back to disregard the feeling in his chest and tossed the rag back into the bowl, gazing at Jaye’s face as she lost herself into her bed.

“You’ll be fine.” Oren wiped his hands of the condensation that built up. “Melisende stopped by to check on you not too long ago. Make sure you were fine.”

“She’d caught up with me in the Housin’ District while on patrol,” Jaye recalled, scrunching her forehead. “I’d been meanderin’ in my deliveries. The warmth … was too unbearable. Melisende wanted to go to the quila’s forest yesterday rather than today. I complained about … the heat, my achin’ body, and other thin’s. I told her about your apprehensions goin’ by the Farmin’ District. She complained about not havin’ much time left before trainin’ started. And then I faded to sleep.”

“She found me not too long after,” Oren continued, turning away from Jaye as he thought of the brimming garden beside Wilfred’s. “You must’ve just passed out right when I got home and found you hadn’t returned. I guess it was a stroke of luck Melisende found me in time.”

“Indeed.”

“And she found it odd that you got sick when your father and I hadn’t.” Oren rubbed at his palms, glancing down at them. “Especially given my record. Heh, remember when we were out with your father lookin’ for new jars … then I had the urge to gag and vomited in that vendor’s urn. Wilfred wasn’t happy about that.”

“Your first week with us,” Jaye said with a touch of amusement. “I don’t think you were used to talkin’ with us yet.”

“I wasn’t.” Oren tilted his head up to Jaye, smile widening as she mirrored him. After a moment, he turned away with warmed cheeks. “Still not. Think Wilfred didn’t want to … punish me so soon, so he bought that urn and cleaned it out while you got the herbs from the garden.”

Jaye rolled onto her back with a dreamy daze easing her face. “I remember that time, a couple o’ years ago when you thought you could do deliveries in Dead Leaf—”

“And I got the packages mixed up,” Oren chuck-led half-heartedly, remembering the disappointed sigh Wilfred gave him when he returned to deliver the bad news.

“Got sick from bein’ in the cold too long. I’m still surprised he kept me after that one.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Jaye reminded, turning her head to him, still in her dreamy stare. “I’ve had my blunders too; comin’ from bein’ friends with Melisende. Too many times, I fought with both of you about your dares. I think the worst one was you two makin’ that bet to jump rooftop to rooftop over the street.”

Oren’s amusement dimmed a little at the thought of the black-haired girl puffing her chest and challenging him to anything that resembled a test of peak physicality. Then Jaye would step in to stop them from doing anything reckless.

“Captain Beornraed didn’t take too kindly to that one,” Oren said, glancing down to his feet. “Swore that breakin’ her ankle was goin’ to ruin her career with the Vanguard. Thought I was tryin’ to get his sister into …”

He let the sentence perish into the void between them, the guilt resonating in its harsh manner as he thought the rest of the sentence. Jaye frowned and tried to reach over for Oren, but fell short for his hand. Oren made up the distance and held her cold, sweaty hand.

“I,” Jaye hesitated a moment before clenching onto Oren’s hand a little tighter. “I don’t want to remind you o’ that life. Now, and even yesterday. I thought you would have forgotten it after bein’ with us for some time. I’m sorry if I did. You’re a better man now than you were then.”

The chill in Jaye’s hand brought Oren’s thoughts to it. Remembering dark, cold nights shivering in open fields.

“There are days I still question that. Especially now.” Oren gave Jaye a steeled gaze and sighed.

“Yesterday, I … scoured our garden for echinacea, or whatever your father needed that would be able to ease your pain, and I just couldn’t find anythin’. For a moment, I looked to Sylvan’s garden—”

Jaye tightened her hold on Oren’s hand, and he winced, fighting back tears.

“Please don’t ever think about it again, Oren. For me. I don’t want you to think those evil thoughts. Ban Dia would send you to a place where you paid for those sins. Father wouldn’t want that. Not to save one person that just happened to get unlucky.”

“As a man with no faith for that obscured woman, I’d risk that possibility if it meant savin’ you,” Oren whispered. His chest tightened with the words he said and he exhaled a harsh breath as he let them sink.

The grip relaxed and left his own. Oren glanced at Jaye, reaching for the side table, grabbing a thin leather necklace, and brought it to Oren’s attention. He watched the silver pendant sway on the cord.

“Take it.” She said with a pent breath. Oren caught Jaye’s hand, concerned for her exertion as he accepted the piece, bringing it to the candlelight.

A clear stone adorned its center.

“Your prayer charm,” he recalled, thinking of Jaye using it every night before bed.

“My mother’s,” Jaye corrected, rolling onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “It’s supposed to help us connect with Ban Dia. But Mother told me to wear it when I’m goin’ through a tough time. It has Ban Dia’s protection, to help you in your time o’ need.”

Oren sighed, putting the pendant back on the stand. “But I don’t—”

“You’re not wearin’ it for Ban Dia,” Jaye pressed, and Oren closed his mouth. “You’re wearin’ it for me so that I’ll protect you until you’ve moved on from whatever’s been botherin’ you.”

“Jaye.” Oren moaned, rolling his eyes.

“I mean it, Oren,” Jaye said, and Oren cringed in the plea of her voice. “I promise you can give it back to me once I get better. Okay?”

Oren watched Jaye’s turned face, her cheeks and brow tense in the silence as sweat beaded on her forehead. He glanced back to the stand where the pendant rested and grabbed it. Untying the leather knot, he brought it around his neck, uncomfortable in the knowledge of what the necklace represented before.

He let it drop to his chest, but picked it up and tucked it into his shirt, sighing.

“Happy now?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Jaye took a deep breath before muttering, “Ban Dia, grace me in my time o’ need,” again and again while he watched the struggle be contained for only a moment as Jaye fell asleep.

Oren resumed his position, the labored breathing beginning again. The nagging guilt in his chest grew with each passing moment, and try to beat it down in thought of Jaye’s plea.

“You know what must be done, to end the sufferin’.”

“Is she okay?”

Oren turned to Wilfred, leaning against the door with a grim face. The young man coughed, getting out of his seat, stretching out his limbs as the herbalist stepped in and looked down on his daughter.

“She woke for a little while,” Oren said, bowing his head as he held onto Jaye’s tired smile in his thoughts. “I mean, with the herbs and the tincture, I think she’ll be okay.”

Wilfred said nothing, causing Oren to frown to the man’s bowed head holding Jaye’s cheek.

“Ban Dia, give her the strength I cannot,” Wilfred said with a trembling voice, backing into the chair and collapsing into it before covering his face with his hands. “Forgive me, Hila.”

Oren froze at the mentioning of Hila, his head swaying and grabbed hold of something to steady himself, starting to shake.

“Y-You couldn’t get—” Oren’s voice betrayed him, and his incomplete question hung in the air.

“Sylvan has the herbs,” Wilfred started. “But Lord Rey forced him to increase the prices yesterday. Gettin’ a pound, necessary to brin’in’ Jaye back to health, would cost a hundred coin.”

“But without enough money to cover taxes later in the year,” Oren muttered, grabbing his arms. “We’ll be forced on the streets, strugglin’ to rebuild what we have.”

“Nothin’ I said, begged or pleaded to Sylvan could convince him of my plight,” Wilfred continued. “To help people in his own way, without another of Rey’s bootlickers to take his place in resistin’. Sylvan had to play his part.”

“We’re runnin’ out of options.” Oren grimaced in the thought of Sylvan, looking to Wilfred, who hadn’t moved from his spot. “What’re we goin’ to do now?”

“We’re out o’ options, Oren,” Wilfred said through gritted teeth. “Jaye’s in Ban Dia’s hands now. The best we can hope for is Jaye breakin’ the illness quickly. But once the harsh coughin’ starts, she’s fated for her grave.”

Tears pooled in the corner of his eyes, but Oren held them back as he watched the father and daughter languish. In silence, he left the house into the blinding midday light, the heartache’s strengthened in thought of Jaye’s breathing deafening his thoughts.

Oren walked down the street with a bowed head, rubbing at his chest. He paused on the main road, watching a covered cart further down being pulled up the mountain past the cart to the fields where piles of smoke gathered close to the last row of houses.

Oren closed his eyes, the snarl of the ackans in the echoes of his mind as the charm weighed heavy on his heart and the guilt enveloped his body. He started down the mountain.