Chaos (8 page)

But fate was fate, and Reimund had said it was his fate to see to David, though he would not tolerate a boy who did not work hard and earn his place. David had done his best, every step of the way. They were not father and son, but he always thought they were as close to that as they could be. Reimund had taken care of him, not thrown him out, even when David had been scared he would.

And he was dead. David cried harder, lowering his head as the last of the ashes were thrown over the cliff. What was he going to do? He wasn't Reimund, he had still been learning Reimund's duties, learning the tricks and nuances of being the village supplier. It took years of experience to get the hang of what and how much to buy so the village did not suffer in between the months when he was able to make the journey to buy more supplies.

Killian's father always helped with the transporting and the hauling, but the real work fell to Reimund. David knew much, but he didn't know enough. The village would suffer if he did not master the duties quickly. He wondered if they were simply going to search for a replacement, and then wondered fearfully what would happen to him if he was cast out.

Surely, they wouldn't. He'd been good, he'd worked hard. He had earned a place in the village and overcome the stigma of his parents, the whispers he overheard because nobody except Reimund had ever admitted to him what they'd done.

The priest finished the ceremony and led the way back down the cliff, trudging through the snow, the sound of his bell casting notes of finality across the mountains, which echoed the sad refrain. Back in the village, David quickly retreated to the house he'd shared with Reimund in the center of the village, slipping in the back way to avoid the front half where the goods were stored.

It still smelled like tea and the stew that Maja had brought them a couple of days before, enough to last them a full week. Bowls of it, along with bread and Elza's herb butter, still sat on the table. David's quiet tears turned into full sobs as he sank to the floor and drew his knees up against his chest.

Reimund deserved a better fate, deserved something better than to be slain in seconds by the venom of a newborn Sentinel that had somehow slipped past the barrier and crept into the village in search of warmth and food. Was that really the fate Lord Teufel had intended for such a good man? For the only person who actually cared enough not to let David die?

He was alone again. Well, except for Killian, but it wasn't the same. Killian had a family:  father, mother, aunts, uncles, cousins. All David had was Reimund and their little set of worn, but cared for rooms. Trips to the market every three months. It was a simple life, a hard one, but it was his and he'd enjoyed it well enough. Had looked forward to someday taking over the bulk of the duties and taking care of the man who had cared for him.

Eventually he grew too exhausted to continue crying, and the chill of the room forced him to act. He grabbed logs from the pile stacked neatly against one wall and carried them over to the stove in the middle of the room. Once the fire was going strong again, he fed the logs in one by one until all was set. Warmth slowly began to permeate the room and drive back the cold. David filled a battered kettle with water and set it on the stove, and while it heated, he began to clear off the table.

The tears resumed halfway through the chore as he realized he would never again make dinner for two, never have it ready and waiting when Reimund walked through the door looking cold and tired, but breaking into a smile and greeting him in that gruff way.

Reimund might not have been his father, but every now and then it had been easy for David to forget that.

David went to the old, chipped wash basin in one corner of the room. He broke the thin layer of ice over the top, and carried the bowl to the table. He poured in some warmed water, then set the kettle back on the stove. With a cloth and some soap, he cleaned up his face and hands and felt the slightest bit better for it by the time he was done.

When the kettle began to whistle, he added some tea leaves to a cup—almost crying again when he started to grab two cups—and then poured hot water over them. Sitting at the table, he bowed his head and drank tea while trying to ignore the quiet of the room, the fact that there would never be anyone else in it with him. The tea was dark, but faintly sweet. It had been a present from Reimund on his birthday. It reminded David of his gift for Reimund's birthday, still hidden beneath his mattress.

He had no idea what to do with it. Reimund would probably have told him to use it and not waste it. But thinking about it just provoked fresh tears.

A sudden knocking at the door made him jump and spill his tea. David huffed at himself, then went to answer the door. An old woman, almost completely hidden by a heavy fur cloak, stood holding a bundle of paper-wrapped parcels. Just behind her was Killian, holding a heavy iron pot—very heavy, to judge by the expression on his face.

"Maja?"

She clucked at him, smiled gently. "Let us inside, boy."

David stepped back to let them inside, closing the door behind them. He hastened to add more wood to the fire and fetched a cloth to clean up the spilled tea. Refilling the kettle, he set it on the stove and put the iron pot Maja handed him in the remaining space.

Maja pulled off her heavy cloak and left it on the bed in the corner—Reimund's bed. David had always slept on a pallet by the fire. That the bed was suddenly his was too much for him, and he shoved the thought to the back of his mind with all the others he did not want to face.

"There, there," Maja said, and she cupped his face, crooning softly. "Reimund would not want you to be so sad, my dear. It was his time, and all things happen for a reason. He would hate to see you grieve hard and long for him. Such things were not his way."

"I-I know," David said, but hearing it just made everything worse somehow. He wanted Reimund back, wanted the only man he had to call family to walk through the door and tell him there had been some horrible misunderstanding.

But he was dead, his ashes returned to the land and shadows, until he was fated to be reborn.

Maja patted his cheek gently, then moved briskly about to make them all tea and serve up the soup she had brought. "Spicy potato and sausage," she said, though the smell made it clear. "Your favorite. Sit, sit."

David sat, and though he had absolutely no desire for food, under Maja's sharp eye he forced it down, bite after bite, until the soup was finally gone.

Throughout the meal, no one said anything—not even Killian, which was strange, because Killian only stopped talking when he fell asleep. According to his mother, even then he still muttered and grumbled and snorted.

"Everything will be all right," Maja said into the silence. "I know you're worried David, but all will be well."

David nodded, words stuck in his throat. He drank the last of his tea, then finally managed, "I don't know how to do everything yet, Maja. Rei—Rei—he taught me a lot and I can do some of it, but not all of it and not the way he could. If I can't do my job—"

"Shhh," Maja said softly, reaching across the table to cover his hand with her own gnarled one, eyes so dark a purple but so warm. "The village will give you time and help you. It was Reimund's time to go, which means it is your time to become a man. You already are, really. This is just one of your final steps. Now, there is soup enough for the week, and someone else will bring you food for next week. Killian will stay to keep you company. Tomorrow:  rest and mourn. The day after that, we will begin to move forward."

He nodded again, because that seemed the easiest thing to do. Maja stood up, and Killian went to fetch her fur cloak. She hugged David tightly and kissed his cheeks, then said, "All will be well, David. There is a purpose to everything, a picture we cannot see, and all will be well in the end. Get some rest, David. Everything will be a little more bearable in the morning.

"Yes, Maja," he said and hugged her one last time. She smiled at him, then let Killian help her into her cloak. She patted his cheek and said, "You take care of him, boy. None of your foolishness, understand me?"

Killian nodded and when she narrowed her eyes, hastily added, "Yes, Maja."

She sniffed, unimpressed, and patted his cheek again, this time much more firmly. "See that you do. Your biggest problem, boy, is your tongue. It wags when it should hold still. See you keep it still." A last warning look, a smile for David, and she left. The wind whistled through the village, clattering the door and knocking snow against the house, the bits of ice in it rapping against the old wood.

When he was certain Maja was well out of range, Killian said, "It wasn't his time to die, you know."

David froze. Stared. Fervently wished that Killian had just
listened
and kept his mouth shut. Some things, people just didn't want to know. "That's stupid," he finally replied. "It doesn't even make sense. What do you mean, it wasn't his time to die? How would you know?"

"I listen to'em when they get drunk," Killian said. "They sit around the fire in my house when they think me, my mom, and my aunt are asleep. They drink and drink and start to talk about things. Lots of things. But mostly their fates."

"That's not allowed!" David snapped. "Reimund would never—"

"Yes, he did!" Killian interjected hotly, drawing himself up. "I'm not lying. Why would I? Reimund said he was fated to die of illness when he was an old man. He was happy cause that meant he'd get to see you grow up and settle down and all. I remember. Now everyone is whispering about it and scared because what's it mean when a man dies in a way not fated?"

David made the signs of warding, remembering all over again the sorcerers, their extra days on the road, and the dead Sentinels. That forbidden word he should not say, should not even think. "That's absurd."

"Well, you tell that to the village, 'cause they're whispering
a lot
, and most of it ain't good. They're scared. Mostly of you, 'cause first your parents tried to fight fate, and now Reimund died against fate, and all those Sentinels dead—"

"It's not my fault!" David snapped, but sharp, sudden fear made his hands trembled. He fisted them to make it stop, not really succeeding. He whispered again, "It's not my fault. We were eating dinner. Talking about letting me try to hand out everything myself at the end of the week. Laughing. He-he-he was
laughing
when it bit him. Didn't even know what happened until too late. His blood turned black, and he said my n-n-n—" He broke down sobbing again, dropping to his knees on the floor and wrapping his arms around himself.

Killian's hands awkwardly patted his shoulders, and then with a sigh, Killian sat behind him, pressing their backs together. The attempt to comfort would have amused David at any other time, but right then it just made him cry harder.

He wanted Reimund back. He wanted everything to be good again. Was he going to be thrown out of the village as a bad omen, as ill luck? Would they give him food and supplies? Or would they simply cast him out for the Sentinels to feast upon?

It wasn't fair, but in the very next thought he acknowledged what Reimund had always said:  life isn't about fair, it's about making the best of an unfair situation.

As his latest bout of tears finally abated, David was struck with a wave of exhaustion. Being awake was suddenly entirely too difficult. "I'm going to bed," he mumbled and started to stand up to get his bed things from where they were stacked neatly by the wall.

"Oh, sit down," Killian said with a huff. He added more wood to the fire, set a heating stone on top, and made a half-hearted attempt to clean up the dishes while it warmed. "Now stand up," he ordered and tugged David to his feet to get him out of the many layers of clothes he wore. Hanging everything up on hooks in the little storeroom off the side of the house, he came back with heavy wool sleep clothes and helped David into them.

David watched, numb and heavy-lidded, while Killian picked up the heating stone with a pair of tongs and ran it through the bedclothes. "I can't—that's where—"

"Douse it," Killian replied. "It's a bed; it's meant for sleeping. It's stupid to sleep on the cold floor when there is a perfectly good bed, and you know very well Reimund couldn't abide stupid."

The words hurt, but they also stupidly made him feel better. It was true. Reimund would roll his eyes and look at him with that glower of his for wasting everyone's time by doing something stupid. He sniffled a bit, but thankfully it did not turn into another bout of sobbing. Shadows, he was just too wrung out.

"Into bed," Killian ordered, and he dragged David along across the room and pushed him down into the bed. He brought the blankets up to David's chin, then went to fuss with the stove so it didn't get too hot, but would keep the worst of the cold at bay.

When that was done, he removed his own boots and cloak and climbed into bed beside David. "Go to sleep," he ordered and then, in typical Killian fashion, promptly did so himself.

David listened to the sound of Killian's breathing, the lack of Reimund's snores, until exhaustion finally overcame grief and dragged him into sleep.

He woke to the sound of urgent knocking on his door and immediately started to apologize for accidentally falling asleep on the bed—and then reality returned and tears stung his eyes. But the insistent knocking kept him from drowning in grief, and he fumbled to get out of bed, stumbling to the door as he tried to right his twisted up sleep clothes.

Yanking the door open, he stared at Adam, the village baker. "What's wrong?"

"We need your bed," he said. At David's blank look, he added, "We were going to check the traps this morning, at the edge of the safe territory, and found an injured sorcerer in the woods. Almost didn't leave the safe area, but it's a sorcerer, right? Anyway, no one else has room for him. Maja is full up with those sick kids and Greta. She said to try you, seeing as you've spare room now. So hurry it up and come help us move him. There's a day to be getting on with and a sorcerer to make comfortable first."