Chapter 7
The Price
Meridot, Egidienne County, Republic of Artagna
It was now the traveller's fifth day in the village and it was the first time the woman joined them at the dinner table. She was starting to walk around but was still unsteady on her feet. She needed to build up her strength and to that end, the elder's wife parted from her usual vegetarian menu to bake a chicken. The elder and his wife would not partake, so whatever the woman did not eat would go to the traveller. Though the elder's wife had been a passable cook up until now, the traveller was eager have some meat for a change.
Out of respect for the elder and his wife, the traveller folded his hands and was silent while they said grace. He did not close his eyes, but he noted that the woman did, though she did not recite the words of the prayer along with them.
Once the prayer was finished, the elder opened his eyes and said, "Let's eat, shall we?"
"I hope the chicken ain't too dry," the elder's wife said. "Been least 35 years since I last cooked vittles what got a face."
Perhaps they should have been thankful that the bird had been dressed first and not cooked whole, feathers and all. Rather than being dry, the chicken was actually a little undercooked. Medium rare was fine for beef but not so much so for poultry. However, meat was meat and the traveller did not intend to complain.
Watching the traveller cut into his piece of chicken, the elder licked his lips before returning to his salad and bean soup. Judging from the way he was looking, the old couple's vegetarianism was not his idea.
The elder and his wife did not make a habit of talking much during meals, which suited the traveller just fine. The woman would not speak unless spoken to, so the meal proceeded in relative silence until the woman's knife got stuck and when she tried to free it, her arm bumped her teacup, which fell from the table and shattered.
"Oh!" the elder's wife cried ruefully. "That was my grandmum's... Dear, oh, dear..."
"I... I'm sorry," the woman said.
Although the elder's wife was clearly upset, she tried to downplay it, saying, "Oh, don't you worry yourself none, dear. These things happen."
The woman did not leave it at that, though. She pushed away from the table and got down on her knees to collect the broken pieces of the teacup.
"Oh, you don't need to do that, dear," the elder's wife said, getting up from her seat. "I'll clean it up."
The woman, however, did not stop collecting the pieces, and when she had them all, she set them on the saucer. The elder's wife moved to take the saucer away, but the woman held up her hand to stop her. Confused, the elder's wife stood in place while the woman turned her attention to the teacup. Holding her hands over the fragments, she closed her eyes and her mouth started to move wordlessly, reminding the traveller of the time they first met.
The pieces of the teacup started to glow. They rattled for a moment before returning the cup to its original shape. When the light faded, the cup was whole once more. The woman then opened her eyes to the sight of the three others in the room staring at her.
"How is it that you can use the Art without paying the Price?" the stunned elder asked.
"'Art'?" the woman asked in turn, cocking her head curiously. "You mean the Arcana?"
"Perhaps that is what your people call it."
"And what do you mean by 'paying the Price'?" the woman then asked.
The elder adjusted his glasses as he explained, "Perhaps this is a lesson you once learned and have merely forgotten, but the Arts are powerful and they would cause untold damage if people could wield them freely, so it is said that God imposed the Price on everyone with the Gift for whenever they would use the Art. To use the Art, you must pay the Price. The greater the Art, the greater the Price. For simple Arts, you may only feel a moment of weakness, as I did when I healed your injuries. For the greater Arts, though, the Price may be so great that your life will be forfeit.
"Because of the danger, many who have the Gift never dare attempt the Arts. Then there is the more ambitious sort... They rarely last long."
The traveller did not know much about the Gift, the Arts or any of that, but even without the elder's explanation, he knew the woman did something unusual, which was consistent with what he knew of her thus far.
"In the morning I would like to assemble the other elders," the old doctor said. "If you would not object to it and if you have the strength for it, I would like you to attend. You, too, Mr. Kaarlsen."
The traveller looked to the woman first. When she nodded, he then said, "If she's up for it, I'm up for it."
"I am still working out how to introduce you," the elder said. "I don't suppose you've remembered your name."
The woman shook her head.
"What shall I call you then, I wonder."
"It was a Sunday when I found her, I think," the traveller said. "Until she remembers, why don't we just call her Sunday?"
The elder looked to the woman and asked, "Do you object?"
The woman shook her head.
"Then Miss Sunday it is, I suppose."
"We call you 'Sunny' for short, if you like," the traveller said.
"If you want to be that informal, Mr. Kaarlsen, maybe I should call you by your first name," the newly dubbed Sunny said.
Since it was an assumed name anyway, the traveller saw no harm in giving it out.
"Marx," he said. "Marx Kaarlsen."
The woman crinkled her nose a little. Did she not like the sound of it? It certainly seemed that way as she said, "Alright then... Marx?"
The traveller—Marx—nodded.
"Well, now that that's settled, let's finish eating and make an early evening of it," the elder said. "My colleagues are mostly early risers and if I want them to stay in one place for long, we need to get them together while the morning is young, for we certainly are not."
The elder chuckled to himself, being rather pleased with his turn of phrase. Sunny smiled politely. That was nice of her.
And so they finished their meal and proceeded to wind things down. Early mornings are best met with early evenings, after all.
* * *
Marx must have drunk too much of the Missus' tea, because he found himself waking up in the middle of the night in need of making use of the chamber pot.
As the chamber pot was in the corner near the window, while Marx was busy relieving himself, he noticed some movement outside. It was a woman in her nightshirt and dressing gown out digging in the garden. It was not just any woman but Sunny if his eyes did not deceive him. He would not imagine her to be in any shape to be digging around in the dirt and to do so at this hour was most certainly peculiar.
When she finished digging, she planted the shovel in the ground, looked to her left and her right, and then took a nearby bundle and placed it in the hole she had just dug. She then straightened herself up and stretched out her hand. A tongue of blue flame appeared, spiraling around the bundle and setting it alight. Sunny let it burn for a minute or so, still standing there with her hand outstretched, then with a flick of her wrists, the flames were gone.
Next, she took her shovel and filled in the hole, moving the dirt around so that you could not easily tell where she had dug, almost the same way soldiers would camouflage their holes.
Once she seemed satisfied with her handiwork, she started to go to return the shovel where she found it, but as she did, something prompted her to look up in Marx's direction. He sprang back out of view. He could not say for certain if he had been seen or not, but the last thing he wanted to do was to go back to the window and find her still there looking up at him. No doubt she had her reasons for doing whatever it was she did, and the last thing he wanted was to give her cause to go digging another hole.
It was probably him being overly paranoid, but he did not sleep much after that. Part of him expected Sunny to show up with shovel in hand, intent on burying him along with her secrets.
* * *
When the rooster crowed to herald the dawn, Marx woke with a start. There was no Sunny with shovel held aloft to put him back to sleep, and he might have thought he dreamt what he saw the night before were it not for the fact that he was sitting upright in bed.
He went over to the wash basin on the dressing bureau and washed his face. He looked at himself in the mirror and thought about shaving but decided to keep his whiskers for the time being. The less he looked like himself, the better.
He then changed out of his nightshirt. The elder's wife gave him some of her husband's old clothes that he used when gardening. The trousers were too short in the legs and too baggy 'round the middle, but Marx would almost be willing to take one of the Missus' paisley frocks over the rags he showed up in.
As he was buttoning his shirt, he could hear the elder's wife calling.
"Mr. Kaarlsen! Oh, Mr. Kaarlsen! Come down for breakfast!"
He donned the well-worn and patched tweed jacket and tucked the mismatched flat cap into the back of his trousers before heading down. Sunny was already sitting at the dinner table along with the elder.
"Good morning, Marx," Sunny said.
"Yes, good morning, Mr. Kaarlsen," the elder added.
"Mornin'," Marx replied before taking his seat.
He noticed Sunny was dressed in a reasonably nice gingham shirt and calico skirt whose colors almost went together. She could almost pass for a regular village girl.
"You, ah, you look nice," Marx said.
"Thank you," Sunny replied.
Marx found that his eyes kept straying back to her, not so much because she was nice to look at—though that was certainly true—but more that he still had this lingering paranoia that she was going to do something about last night. It was a welcome distraction to have the elder's wife come in with the pot of porridge.
She must have overheard Marx complimenting Sunny, because the first thing she said was, "Well, aren't you a gentleman, Mr. Kaarlsen? Payin' a lady a compliment is a fine way to start her day."
"Uh, you look nice too?"
She did not seem to notice that his response fell somewhat short of a definitive statement and giggled like a schoolgirl—or as close as woman her age could giggle like a schoolgirl—and said, "Oh, don't go thinkin' I'll be roastin' another poor chicken for you that easily now. As for Miss Sunday there, them's hand-me-downs from my daughter. She was a fair bit, shall we say, meatier of a girl. Had to take in the waist quite a bit or else that skirt would've slipped right off them slender hips. Oh, when you have little ones, it'll be quite the time, let me tell you."
Marx was trying very hard not to be thinking of the skirt slipping off Sunny's hips or the process that would get her to the point of being troubled how narrow her hips were. If Sunny could tell what he was trying not to imagine, she was kind enough not to say anything.
The elder's wife ladled up porridge and distributed the bowls, saying, "There's plenty for seconds, thirds even, I imagine. Now, rushin's bad for the digestion, but don't shilly-shally too long. You need to be headin' out before eight."
"I'm sure that you'll get us out the door in time, won't you, Eunice?" the elder said.
"I've never let you be late for an appointment yet, have I, Doctor?" his wife replied.
"How did you two meet, if you don't mind my asking," Sunny said.
Marx wondered if she was genuinely curious or just trying to make small talk for a change.
"Oh, I was a lay sister with the Carmelites," the elder's wife said. "It was about the only way a person of my raisin' could get taught nursin'. They send me here to help Horace when he first set up his practice. Young doctor and a young nurse workin' side by side all hours... Well, you know how it goes. We weren't the first and we surely won't be the last."
It certainly was a cliche story, but the old couple seemed to make it work. Oddly, despite being the one to start the conversation, Sunny did not pursue it any further and the rest of the meal proceeded like the others, mostly in silence. Once they were done eating, they got around to go. Sunny tied up her hair in a kerchief, completing the look of a mostly normal village girl.
They went to the house of the chief elder and it was a good hour before the others were assembled. They took their seats at the dinner table, which was about twice the length of the one at the home of Marx and Sunny's host. The two of them were seated together opposite the chief elder.
The chief elder began by saying, "A belated welcome to our village. I am Michel Lerner, the chief elder here in Meridot. Horace, would you be kind enough to introduce our guests here to the others?"
"I believe some of you have seen Mr. Kaarlsen here about town doing odd jobs," Dr. Furst said. "Beside him is Miss Sunday, something of a placeholder name as she is currently suffering from memory loss. Miss Sunday seems to have been caught up in that fireball incident from last week. She was fortunate enough to have someone like Mr. Kaarlsen find her and bring her this far. She has been recuperating at my house ever since, but she is mostly recovered by this point, as you can see, excepting the issue of her memory loss."
"That's an int'restin' story, Doc," one of the elders said, "most excitement we've seen since that two-headed lamb was born at the Müller place back in '74, but why'd you feel the need to call all us here?"
"Miss Sunday has no idea who she is or where she came from," Dr. Furst said. "She may never remember. As the leaders of this village, we need to decide what we're going to do. We could take her in ourselves, or we could entrust her to St. Anne's."
"One girl wouldn't be too much of a burden," another elder said. "Pretty thing like that would have no trouble findin' a husband who'd look after her."
"St. Anne's is a better place for unfortunate girls," a third elder argued. "Not sayin' I'd refuse her if she was to stay, but thinkin' 'bout what's best for her, they're more likely to provide it."
"There's more," Dr. Furst said. "She has the Gift, and that's why there's a third option to consider."
"A third option?" Mr. Lerner asked.
Turning to Sunny, Dr. Furst said, "If you go to Aix-Clovin, perhaps the Imperial Circle of the Mysterium can help you. In all the Empire, there are none more skilled in the Art nor any more knowledgeable in its nature."
Without the slightest pause for deliberation, Sunny replied, "Very well. If that's what I must do."
Not having any memory, she was clearly underestimating what she was committing herself to. Dr. Furst tried to impress this upon her, saying, "It is a long journey to the Capital, well over 500 kilometers. Surely you don't intend to go alone."
"What choice do I have?" Sunny asked.
Marx found his mouth moving before his brain could object.
"I guess I could go. Might as well see this thing through."
"Are you quite sure, Mr. Kaarlsen?" Dr. Furst asked. "This is no small undertaking."
"I said I was headed west," Marx replied, "and Aix-Clovin is west." He then looked to Sunny and added, "That's if you don't mind havin' me, of course."
"I owe you my life, Marx," Sunny said. "How can I refuse?"
Marx thought back on his many failed romantic exploits in the past and knew that there were plenty of ways a girl could refuse. No need to bring that up, though.
"Naturally, we would like to give you the money to get to Aix-Clovin," Mr. Lerner said, "but we are not exactly a village of great means."
Marx held up his hand and said, "I'll only take what I've earned."
"I appreciate the sentiment," Mr. Lerner said, "but this does not concern you alone. Are you sure you can speak for the young lady?"
"I wouldn't want to spoil Mar—ah, Mr. Kaarlsen's resolve," Sunny said. "This village has already been kind enough to me. It wouldn't be right for me to ask for anything more than what I've already been given."
"Still," a fourth elder said, "young girl goin' that far with a man whose neither her husband nor relations, don't sit right with me."
"If Mr. Kaarlsen were going to do anything untoward with me, he would have done so by now, I'm sure," Sunny said. "Would it be right for me to hold the man who saved my life in suspicion?"
To this the fourth elder had no answer.
"I suppose it's settled then," Mr. Lerner said. "Mr. Kaarlsen will take Miss Sunday to Aix-Clovin. Those who owe him for his work will render him his wages and we will send them off whenever they're ready."
"If it's alright with Sunny, er, Miss Sunday, and Doc here gives the okay, I'd like to be goin' sooner rather than later," Marx said.
"I feel I've imposed on you kind people long enough," Sunny said. "Doctor?"
"Had I not treated you with my Art, you would still be in no condition for travel," Dr. Furst said, "but as it stands, I've observed no physical impairment that would concern me. Mr. Kaarlsen seems like a reliable enough gentleman, so I can find no reason to object."
"In that case, I thank you all for your help," Marx said.
"Think nothing of it, young man," Mr. Lerner said. "It was the least we could do. Miss Sunday, Mr. Kaarlsen, your time with us was brief, but if you ever find yourself returning this way, you will always be welcome here."
"Thank you," Sunny said.
"Well, I'm sure we won't see any excitement like this for another twenty or thirty years," Mr. Lerner said with a chuckle. "After all, what more could come to Meridot?"