R. Salvatore - The Highwayman

"Is there something wrong, Brother Dynard?" he heard Bathelais say, and when he looked at the man, he recognized that the question had likely been asked several times already.

"No, no," he blurted, and he took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. "No, Brother Bathelais, of course not. It is just that I am weary of the road."

"The knowledge you brought back with you from Behr is important to us, of course. If we are to send any more brothers into that vast southern land, as we surely will, then the information you provide may help keep them safe."

"There are fewer threats to us in the southern lands than you believe," Brother Dynard dared to reply, but he did so absently, his mind still caught on the horrible notion of this impending separation from his dear SenWi. In the silence that ensued, Dynard felt the gaze of Bathelais upon him and looked back at him.

"I offer this as your friend," Bathelais sternly said. "When you are before the brothers of Chapel Abelle, you would do well to adjust your thinking more clearly in compliance with the edicts of the Church concerning the people of Behr. You would do well to remember, Brother Dynard, that you went there to teach them, not to be taught by them."

Brother Bathelais stared at him hard a few moments longer, then spun on his heel and stormed away.

Dynard leaned heavily on his broom, needing its support. It wasn't until nearly a week after awakening that SenWi realized just how badly her leg had been injured. The limb would not hold her weight. Even using her Jhesta Tu powers of healing and concentration, SenWi knew that it would be a long time before she walked again, if ever.

That wasn't her primary concern, however. Her body was in such a weakened state that she could hardly find her line of chi, and even less so, that of the child within her. The battering she had taken, from that day she had used her powers to draw the poison from the poor condemned girl on the road, went too far, SenWi feared. Now every day was a struggle-to get enough nourishment in her to keep her child alive, to keep herself active so that her muscles would not atrophy any further, to regain her focus and enough strength so that she could get herself and the child through the trials of labor and birth.

She spent many hours sitting by the window, admiring the beauty of the vibrant coloring appearing on the leaves of the deciduous trees. SenWi had never seen anything like the autumn foliage or the dance of the leaves as they tumbled from the trees, catching the wind and spinning through every unpredictable fall. Bran Dynard had told her of the seasons in his homeland, something unknown in southern Behr, and Garibond had expanded upon that information now that he had the visual elements showing clearly before them. The leaves would fall and the trees and the land would go dormant through the winter season, with its blowing snow and bitter cold. And then in the spring, the buds would bloom anew, renewing the cycle of life.

SenWi found that notion comforting through the long days, and she used it to bolster her resolve at those dark times when she felt as if she must fail.

All would be better in the spring.

"They believe the book destroyed," Garibond said to her, surprising her as she sat deep in thought by the window one blustery day, the air alive with spinning leaves. "Even Dynard."

SenWi looked at him, tilting her head, not sure of how she should take that.

"He is devastated by the thought that his work of all those years is no more," Garibond went on, and SenWi nodded.

"But you did not tell him."

Garibond shrugged. "I would do anything to lessen his pain at this time-and most of that pain comes from his separation from you and not from the loss of the book. But, no, I did not tell him. I feared that someone might be listening."

SenWi turned her head, scrutinizing him all the more. "You feared that he would be foolish enough to again try to foist that book upon them."

Garibond didn't answer.

"He is a stubborn one," SenWi admitted with a laugh. She leaned over to the side then, bracing herself through every inch of the difficult motion. She slipped her hand under the bed and with great effort brought forth the Book of Jhest. "Do you read?"

"I am one of the few outside the Church of Abelle who does, yes," Garibond replied. "I learned very young, alongside Bran."

SenWi set the book on her lap and drew it open. "Come, then," she said. "I will teach you the language of Jhest. You will see what your friend has spent the last years of his life creating."

Garibond hesitated.

SenWi didn't allow herself to blink. Her duty was coming clear to her now. She didn't know when or if her beloved husband would return to her, and she could hardly be confident of her own health throughout the ordeal of this pregnancy.

She needed someone to trust.

Her child needed someone to trust.

"Come," she insisted. "We've not much time." When Garibond reacted to that comment with obvious discomfort, she added, "The sun is already nearing its apex."

Garibond stepped back out of the room, but only to retrieve a second chair.

Orphan Born Searing lines of fire ran through her ravaged body, but SenWi did not cry out. They were down in a smoky tunnel where Garibond thought that they would be safer during this trying and noisy process. Up above, the air crackled with energy as bolts of lightning split the sky; and the sulfuric residue, that peculiar smell and tingle of a thunderstorm, permeated even down here.

Garibond continued talking about the weather, about how unusual it was for a thunderstorm at this time of year. Winter had barely let go, with little snow remaining and three weeks left until the equinox. "These storms are usually for the middle of spring," Garibond explained, trying to sound excited and engaging. His voice trailed away, for he saw clearly that SenWi wasn't paying him any heed, that she was locked in a life-and-death struggle against the waves of agony.

Never had he felt so helpless. He hadn't ever watched a woman give birth before, and now here he was, serving as midwife, as the only support, and her pregnancy had not been going well for many months.

He bent low and whispered, "What can I do for you?"

SenWi didn't answer, other than to take his offered hand and squeeze hard.

Inside her, SenWi felt as if someone were grabbing her line of ki-chi-kree, pulling and jerking it back and forth. She tried to find some sense of center, some focus of energy, but there simply was none. Spasms shot through her as if they were drops of acid being splashed within her.

She reached with all her powers to try to touch her child, to try to find its life energy. And there was something strong in her womb, a powerful force. But it was not aligned, she understood; it felt as if the thread of this one's chi had been frayed.

SenWi couldn't pause and consider that. The pain and sense of urgency were too great. They tore at her and pressed the air from her lungs. She transferred all her pain to her breathing and used that as her focus, puffing in short gasps, gradually developing a rhythm that she transferred to her thumping heart.

And she felt Garibond's hand, a tangible connection to the physical world. She squeezed that hand with all her strength and let the pain flow through her clutching fingers to dissipate beyond her corporeal being.

But more pain built within, faster than she could let it flow from her; and deeper within, the pressure built against the inside of her birth passage. She felt her skin ripping, felt a sudden surge of agony and a contraction of her muscles so powerful that she was certain they must be tearing themselves apart. It went on and on, and she had no sense of time's passage.

Garibond wasn't holding her hand anymore, and she had to fight off a wave of panic, thinking that she must have fallen away from all the world.