Kothos (prime)/The Stone Set in Your Eyes

Kothos shifted the slight figure in his arms across one shoulder, so he could more easily operate the transportation device on his wrist. Reynai’s bandana crinkled a little as her head turned toward his motion, then she collapsed against his cheek once more. She had every right to be exhausted, the priest thought. I will get her to a place she can sleep without fear, for once. He gave Kiyna and Vaemyr a nod farewell, and bent down to share a parting kiss with Delindra, wishing as he often did that they would have had more time, though he knew she understood.

In his mind, he reached out with his thoughts, calling to his brother and one of the healers in the Temple’s Children ward, telling the latter he was bringing a new charge who would need her own space, isolated from the rest of the Temple’s activities. The mordant reply came a few moments later.

“Brother Blud, of course I agree on offering hospitality for the little one. However…we are still near-full, with those who still suffer from the Blight or have run afoul of these krolvin invaders.” Sister Nock paused, Kothos could nearly hear her brow crease in consternation before she continued. “We have vathor victims here. I do not have a chamber to offer away from the other residents.”

“She can have my bed, Sister. Xanthium and I can sleep by the fishpond. I will be there in moments.”

A tap of his finger, and he stood in front of Moot Hall, searching the sky for his brother Danell’s falcon, and was rewarded by Redwing’s flutter of rust-hued wings swirling overhead. A column of storm-grey cloud followed the bird’s passage, and he stepped within it, neatly avoiding a trip over a boulder surrounded by vipers and panthers while carrying a slumbering ten-year-old.

Several days later…

Dawn in the Vipershroud is a gentle event. It takes the sunlight much effort to pierce through the fog and the foliage, by the time it pours over the water, the sun is well over the horizon, a soft glow absent of harsh glare. Kothos sat in the shelter of the courtyard’s banyan, just past him was a gap in the wall, giving him a view into the rising light across the cypress-strewn swamp. Golden rays stretched over him and his charge; Reynai clung to his arm, crouched in the grass next to him. Her other hand kept the yierka-hide blanket wrapped about her shoulders, despite the close heat of the bog in morning. Here and there her grip would falter and her fingers would hunt for and fiddle with the various little toys and figurines that Kothos and others had brought her over the past few days; a wooden raven, a clockwork knight with a little tin lance, a polished soapstone mammoth, and a cotton-stuffed rag doll that she seemed to like best, from the way she lovingly moved her fingertips across the doll’s silk-stitched face.

Kothos appreciated the generosity of his friends and companions, each of the objects were easy for her to identify by feel, as she still refused any attempts to have her eyes healed and her sight restored. That troubled him, but he understood well enough what it was like to feel haunted. What worried him more than her physical injuries was the spiritual and mental trauma, and despite being away from the Harbor, she continued to be plagued at the very least by memories of what she had seen. She was reluctant to speak of her nightmares, and Brother Blud had chosen not to press her. She slept often; she had allowed Xanthium and Sister Nock to wash her and her clothes, though mornings like this in the swamp had restored the mud stains to their proper place upon her dress and trousers.

“…and the boy gave the Empress her new name, and the lands were saved, the palace and plains restored, and all the fantastic beasts and brave heroes went back to their homes, to live happily ever after…” This had been their pattern, during Reynai’s waking hours. By now she’d heard every story from his childhood he could recall, and a few of Alosaka’s less depressing yarns. Just thinking about the young healer had him questioning his decision again. Despite his certainty days ago that Reynai would be safe here, he felt he had made little progress with her; perhaps she would have been better off with Guarrin, or Rohese. Still, at least there was a ghost of a smile with her now, and her face was turned toward the sun’s warmth. He felt another crush of frustration, of what had been done to her to make her afraid to gaze upon the golden rays spilling across her cheek, see the beauty of the spring blooms in the Vipershroud. It was an abomination, along with those who had brought this curse upon her.

“Does the heat remind you of your home?” he asked, reaching down to stroke her scalp, tugging her ponytail out of her dress collar.

“A little.” She whispered, leaning forward inquisitively. A moment later, she sniffed, and said, “It does smell different. Today it’s sweet.”

He started to nod, and hissed at himself for forgetting, again, that she couldn’t see such an expression. “It’s the pitcher plants just past the wall in front of us. They have a lovely scent, don’t they?” She gave him another tremulous smile, and nodded again, though the smile vanished in seconds from the girl’s face. He understood. Lovely as it was, she wanted to know more than just the aroma. He patted her shoulder and rose, carefully extricating his cassock from the child’s grip. For a moment she clung even harder, and he picked up the doll from her lap and offered it in his place.

“I’m not leaving, I’m just getting something to show you.”

She relented, and Kothos padded over to Ysharra and Xanthium’s garden, carefully avoiding the newer plantings. Devoted ally to the Temple or not, if he damaged any of Ysharra’s botanical offspring he’d only be fit for Service to Gosaena. Gingerly he gathered a bouquet of the established specimens from around the garden’s border, and made his way back to sit by Reynai once more. He opened her palm and laid the first of the flowers upon it, letting the small, tight knot of frilled petals drag across her skin.

“This is a marigold. It’s vibrant yellow, like a banana, with deep orange ‘round the edges. Where I come from, there’s a superstition that if a woman puts a marigold under her pillow, she’ll dream of her future husband.”

Reynai lowered her head to the blossom, sniffing at the musky aroma, giving him another small smile, and he continued.

“My friend Ysharra would be pleased, you’re giving me a chance to show that I paid attention to all her talk about these. In the old lore, flowers have a deeper meaning, a poetry. Marigolds mean jealousy, that would be why they found a home in this Temple. But that’s not all- they can mean grief, prophecy- and the sun.” He let the flower down upon her lap and brought out the next, a speartip-shaped cluster of tiny flowers.

“Astilbe. These are one of my favorites…” He passed the bloom over her upturned fingertips.

“It’s so soft!” she gasped, uttering the closest thing to a giggle he’d heard from her.

“The color is a bright purple, bordering on magenta. It means strength, or this message: I will always remember you.”

She drew the tuft up to her nose just as the last, the potent, jasmine-like scent drifting over them both while he brought out the last one. “This is an iris.” He led her hand across the bow of large, curved petals, each one nearly as wide as her palm. The mélange of apples and honey brought forth another smile. “Blue as the ocean, with a yellow and black throat. And it means “believe in me”.”

She turned her head back toward his shoulder again, and he let her rest, tucking each of the flowers into the front pocket of her dress. “I can almost see them…almost…”

“But you can, Reynai.” He reached down and twined his long fingers about both of her hands, his thumb caressing the crook of her palm. “This horrible event that has happened to you didn’t take what you already know. Feel the petals, breathe in their scent, let the color come to you from your memory and dreams. And there the flowers will be.”

She nodded, making a tiny sobbing sound against his arm, and not for the first time he thought how cruel it was, in that her curse had taken her eyes, yet she could still cry. Regardless, it seemed to soothe her, this time. Brother Blud felt her fall into a drowsy sleep against him, and he resigned himself to serving as her pillow for the rest of the midmorning. Looking out across the mists, Kothos drew his hands away from the sleeping girl, stretching them out in front of him, reaching for the glade. He called out, in his thoughts and his heart, to the spirits of the Vipershroud. The rolling fog with its glimmer of storm grey over white, the rippling cool green of serpent scales pouring down into the murky depths, and the brilliant hues of the vines, tendrils and blooms swaying in the morning breeze, calling all of the swamp’s core to his charge. He muttered the ancient words of the Well of Life, and let all of that thriving green sink down into Reyna’s sleeping figure.

The priest was glad of the banyan behind him, as the spell used him as a conduit, taking a portion of his life, along with what he channeled from the bog. He exhaled, waiting for his vision to clear- the girl slept on, but she looked far more peaceful now, the twitching and sobs gone. Soon, it would be time to take her back home, and confront those who had brought this horror to pass. But for now, at least, she would sleep, and heal. And he would have to think of some more stories…

The sun climbed high above the mists, shining down upon the two sleeping figures, the girl and her guardian. The morning stretched on, the warmth coming back to the recovering priest and the child tucked under his arm, with flowers in her dress and toys cradled in her lap.