A Solution Through Shadows Chapter VIII

The herbalist’s shop, in the darkness with only a dimmed light through the shutters, made Oren second guess walking in to face Wilfred.

He stepped into the house, finding Wilfred by the fireplace nursing a mug of whatever concoction he brewed. Wilfred’s back remained still in Oren’s entrance, and the young man didn’t say anything.

Oren reached for his belt and pulled the purse free, settling it onto the table.

“What did you do?”

Oren flinched at the piercing words Wilfred whispered, bowing his head in the thought of what he should say.

“What I thought to be right,” Oren managed, but lurched forward to catch them.

“Right?” Wilfred repeated, turning his head enough for Oren to see his eye and the corner of his twitching mouth. “And what was right? You, to go out into the night, riskin’ your life and stealin’ what honest people have worked hard for? To be paid in dirty coin so that you could save Jaye with your sin?”

“Wilfred, I’m not thrilled by what I needed to do,” Oren stepped forward, hesitating in his thoughts. “But I did what was necessary to save Jaye’s life whether done by crime or honest work. I stole from a man who deserved to be taken from, and no one else. Despite the easier opportunity I had, stealin’ the echinacea from Sylvan’s garden, I couldn’t go through with it because Sylvan’s done nothin’ wrong, and I didn’t want you to suffer from him when I got caught. But … with our options runnin’ dry, I needed to act.

“I didn’t want you to lose Jaye when there was somethin’ I could do. I did this … because I had nothin’ to lose but my own life. And I’d gladly give it up to ensure the both of you could continue to live happily, to save hers and ensure you’re free of a burden who can’t appreciate your kindness.”

Wilfred looked back to the flames, and Oren waited for the man to say something.

“Jaye told me what you were goin’ through,” Wilfred started. “And I prayed to Ban Dia it wouldn’t come to fruition. Thinkin’ you’d hurt Jaye if you sacrificed yourself for her.” Wilfred turned his head to Oren, face hidden in the darkness of his silhouette. “And hurtin’ me after the years we have put to givin’ you a lovin’ home. Have you thought o’ the consequences?”

“I wouldn’t have gone through what I did if I didn’t,” Oren said, glaring at his left hand. “This crime will result in my death, and these will be the last days I have with the two of you.”

“With us?” Wilfred growled, rising out of his chair and stomped over to Oren, who flustered backward into the wall as Wilfred got into his face.

Oren’s mind flashed to a silhouette of a looming ackan, claws out reaching for him, blinking back to Wilfred before him, just shorter than he.

“You didn’t think o’ the consequences o’ how we would see you. Returnin’ to them thieves after we worked so hard to give you a good, honest life.”

The older man hesitated for a moment, before turning back to Oren. “I treated you like the son I couldn’t have with Hila … gave you his name when you never had one, and you treat it like its nothin’. Years and knowledge … wasted in raisin’ a man who couldn’t be bothered to care for his chance of redemption. Hopin’ I could give you what you never had, and you give me the son I always wanted. But … you couldn’t keep your nose clean.”

Oren’s sight blurred as Wilfred stepped back, pointing out the door.

“You should’ve just prayed. Done what I told you to do. If you had, we wouldn’t be here. Maybe Jaye would’ve been cured by now. But you couldn’t put your faith in Ban Dia, so she’ll judge your sins. Get your thin’s, and leave. You’ve no place in my home now.”

Oren choked on his heavy tongue, holding back a sob as he stood in silence with the older man.

“If you’re not gone by sunrise, I’ll report you to the Vanguard to have you dealt with. And take that damn coin with you.” Wilfred growled, returning to Jaye’s room.

Oren remained where he was, reliving what Wilfred told him, pursing his lips and fighting tears in his silent march back to the room. Collecting the few articles of clothing he had, changing out of the costume he wore and walked down the hall, stopping at the sight of Wilfred beside the sleeping Jaye, her round face grimacing in a heaving cough.

Wilfred turned back and glared. “I said, get out!”

Wilfred’s tone angered Oren, and he looked past the older man to Jaye and then to the kitchen where the bag of coin sat on the table.

“I’m leavin’ that coin here,” Oren forced out, glaring back to Wilfred. “Because your prayers will fall on empty ears. If you truly care for your daughter, then you’ll save her with that money. Tainted or not.”

Oren didn’t wait for a response, walking back onto the darkened streets of Caladh, the click of the herbalist’s door held Oren to the spot. His last words resonated in his head, and he fought his urge to barge back in and beg Jaye forgiveness for what he had done.

An object shot past Oren’s peripheral and he watched it land in a resounding jumble of coin. As the shutter beside him slammer shut, he realized it was the bag of coin he’d left. The lock behind him clicked.

“You bastard!” Oren shouted as he turned and hammered on the herbalist’s door. “You’re goin’ to let your daughter die over coin?”

Oren heard no reply, only retreating footsteps through his heavy breaths and heated cheeks. He slammed his arms onto the door again before turning to the street, tearing up in the thought of Jaye’s fate from Wilfred’s decision.

He picked up the coin purse, wondering if he was in the wrong for not having faith in Jaye pulling through with her sheer will.

Might, though, was not a guarantee, Oren corrected himself, clenching his fists thinking of how he needed to convince Wilfred or get help to Jaye through other means.

Oren lingered on the sight of the herbalist’s shop, before deciding to climb the mountain.

At the top of the Market District, it was as barren from the night before when Oren bought his equipment. The Vanguard stood by their post, the archway closed by a wooden gate, but on the verge of falling asleep, even their red-banded officer close by did the same. Oren ventured to the street opposite of the one he had taken to Lord Rey’s manor.

Delilah’s echoing words, warming memory, teased him in going to her now that his job was complete, and now that he had nowhere to go. But he had no desire to listen to the wrath Lord Rey would come to once he discovered his sword had been taken back to Air Fhagail with Kentigern.

Oren shivered in thought of the effortless motion Kentigern made decapitating Geob, and the emotionless delivery that came after one of perceived amusement.

“If you do well, don’t answer questions, and don’t ask any either; when I return, I’ll consider sparing your life.”

Oren thought of the threat on repeat, curious and afraid when Kentigern would next return to Caladh.

Not too far from the square, Ore spotted a hanging sign of a brightly painted leaf above the door. He peeked through the small glass window, catching sight of a heavy clothed, thin man with a lighted candlestick beside him. Tension clutched at his heart, and Oren moved over to the door, knocking on it three times.

“I need to talk to you, Sylvan,” Oren called out, glancing at the houses on the side and wondering if he was too loud.

“Sun’s not risen yet,” an agitated voice came from behind the door. “Come back when it’s clear over the peaks.”

“It’s urgent,” Oren leaned against the door, grimacing at the man’s dismissal. “I can’t do this without you.”

There was no response, but the door clicked, and Oren stepped back, meeting the large, black eyes of the ilvanous’s thinner face.

“Boy, this is not an hour to be calling for herbs. I need time to gather myself, and—” The man stopped, opening the door wider and perked the corner of his mouth, looking Oren up and down.

“What are you doing here, Oren?” Sylvan asked, dropping his agitated tone a touch. “Has something happened to Wilfred? Jaye?”

Oren grimaced, thinking of what Wilfred had said to him, and how to explain his plight before Sylvan sighed and stepped beside the door.

“Come on then.” He gestured into the shop. “I guess this matter isn’t for encroaching ears.”

Sylvan’s shop did not compare to Wilfred’s as many shelves hung on the walls and upon them many jars. A counter, where the candlestick remained, was just large enough for two people to lean on but clean of any equipment.

Sylvan moved past Oren, sighing as he retreated behind the counter, regarding him in a way Oren couldn’t discern.

“I’d find it hard to believe if Wilfred died overnight,” Sylvan said, tapping his fingers across the counter, not making a sound. “Has … Jaye passed on?”

“No,” Oren shot out, bowing his head to collect his thoughts. “But I need the herbs to help her recover.”

Sylvan sighed, eyes darting to the ceiling for a silent moment before turning to Oren with taut lips. “I can’t, not with these price hikes Lord Rey placed. You’re employed to Wilfred anyway, so you wouldn’t be able to work your debt to me if I could allow it. I need the hundred coin.”

“I have it,” Oren brought the heavy coin purse up, and Sylvan stood back, mouth hung agape.

“Wilfred didn’t have the coin before,” Sylvan muttered, tightening his face. “Unless you did something you weren’t supposed to.”

Oren bowed his head, dropping the purse onto the counter as he thought of Jaye.

“Don’t tell me you went back to them,” Sylvan pressed. “For what you’ve done, you’ll be found out. Wilfred’ll estrange you.”

“He’s already done that,” Oren managed in a bitter tone. “I don’t need another person to tell me what’s goin’ to happen.”

Sylvan didn’t reply, and Oren mustered his courage to look at the man turned from him.

“So you want me to go down there,” Sylvan started, running a fuzzy hand over his head hidden behind his eyes. “Administer the herbs to Jaye myself. He’ll know you’ve come to me. May not even let me in.”

“But Wilfred will listen to you,” Oren said, looking at the coin purse. “If you tell him it’s to prevent another round of the plague. Or since you finished the census, you don’t want to change the paperwork—”

“We could come up with a list of excuses, Oren. They’re not going to fool that man.” Sylvan pulled the coin purse toward him and opened it up with a sigh. “You realize when you’re caught, and they need information—”

“I don’t care what you’ll have to tell them.” Oren gave a steeled gaze to the ilvanous. “I won’t hold it against you, and you shouldn’t be executed for doin’ this once I’m gone, and that purse has two hundred coin in there if you need another incentive. More than covers the cost of your services.”

Sylvan grimaced, drumming his fingers again as he studied his shelves.

“Consider it done, then,” he said, pushing the purse away and pulled the light closer to him. “I’m … sorry for what has happened. That there wasn’t another way I could have helped you.”

“You’re doin’ me a favor, Sylvan,” Oren said, reaching for his neck and untying the leather cord. “And if I can ask for one more … can you give this back to Jaye?”

Oren placed Jaye’s charm on the counter, lingering his touch on the pendant giving it a soft look.

“Yeah,” Sylvan said, pulling on the leather and its charm from Oren’s grasp.