As the final week of recovery came to a close, Sheeva had to shrink the Stargazer and hide it for both him and herself to get decent rest before they set off for the temple. It would be a long trip, and considering they would be traveling on foot, they would have to allow time for increased breaks and sleep. Tazaro had buried himself in exploring the skies, sometimes in solitude, other times, with her at his side, gazing up at the stars along with him.
Occasionally, she sat off to the side reading the book she borrowed, and Tazaro even gave her a sympathetic look when she snapped the book shut in a fury after learning one of the hard-working characters was simply tossed aside after a severe injury. He agreed with her frustrations and urged her to at least finish it...and then she could hurl it off the balcony if she still wanted to. He was confident she would not want to and would end up being as pleasantly disappointed as he had been, but perhaps he was being foolishly hopeful.
Vincent had agreed to remove the cast from her arm and the splint from her wing with the promise that she would allow him to make sure she was healthy enough to leave first. Sheeva felt sure that she was okay since she treated her wounds with magic every chance she could spare.
Sitting around a large scrap of cloth on the floor of Tazaro’s bedroom, Tazaro chipped away at the plaster, being careful not to drive the chisel into Sheeva’s arm. The stone-like material cracked and flaked, and Sheeva resisted the urge to wriggle her arm at the decompression. When a chasm had been fully carved, Vincent stepped in, taking a pair of scissors and cutting away the bandages and cloth underneath.
“Okay. Moment of truth.” Vincent muttered, removing the cast from Sheeva’s arm. She looked, eager to see the progress. Other than indent lines from the fabric, there was no swelling or discoloration. Vincent pressed his fingers to the bones, feeling around for anything that was out of place. There was nothing save for a buildup of bone from where the fracture had healed over itself. She grabbed her arm and squeezed, turning it over and rolling her wrist around, finally able to stretch it.
“That is a good sign. Seems it’s healed nicely.” He stated, ushering Tazaro out of the room. “Now for the splint on your wing. Hopefully, that healed well, too.”
Sheeva turned her back to Vincent, shirt already shed, eager to remove the restraining thing binding her wing in place. Unable to hold still, she helped him unravel the medical tape around the metacarpals that strapped them down.
He reached above Sheeva’s head to remove the splint around her wing’s humerus. As Vincent unbound it, he prodded at the limb as he had with her arm, happy to find it healed well, too. After he finished, Sheeva spread the wing out, stretching to her full potential, mindful of the furniture. The wing trembled a little, its muscles atrophied, and Vincent helped to hold it up while he further examined it. It seemed to set straight, as well. Sheeva hoped the muscle weakness was something she would be able to fix with physical therapy.
“I’m really grateful; I think you’ll be alright to fly.” He commented, wrapping up the scraps of cloth in the tarp on the floor and bunching the bundle under his arm, ignoring the half-naked woman in the room as she moved and tested out the wing’s mobility. "Of course, what do I know? Never dealt with wings before," Vincent dismissed himself.
Sheeva shook her head, feeling he had little reason to discount his medical knowledge.
“I am relieved, though I was not too worried.” She puffed, stretching again and popping her back. Vincent cringed at its sound; its depth seemed to be something she had suffered with for a while.
“When will you two leave? I think you should stay a couple more days.” Vincent asked, somewhat reluctant to see them go. He still had a couple of ideas that he wanted to stick into Sheeva’s brain, hopefully helping her get out of her pessimistic mindset, though she seemed to be incredibly pacified over the last week and in a slight, cheerful haze. He dared not ask what had happened after she and Tazaro had left their motley crew but decided his guess that they had relieved some of their sexual tension was more than likely wrong anyway.
“We will be. We need to prepare for the journey ahead. It will take us a week to get to the temple.” Sheeva answered, struggling to shuffle her wing back into wherever the things disappeared to. She grabbed a shirt and threw it on, buttoning it up. Now that there was no wing in the way, the overly large shirt felt more like a dress, hanging far beyond the bottom edge of her shorts.
“You’re not just going to chase after the man you’re looking for?” He asked, wondering if he was able to talk some sense into her after all. By the expression reflected in the mirror, it did not seem so. She shook her head at him and sat down in Tazaro’s chair.
“No. Tazaro needs to be further trained. Plus, I don’t imagine city-dwellers would take too kindly to people flying around in the sky. I need to rehabilitate and strengthen myself as well.” She stated, crossing her arms and legs and leaning back in the chair she was in. She stared out of the window. Vincent figured that was good enough.
He reached for the package on the desk and handed it to Sheeva.
“Here. Some medical supplies, in case you guys need them.”
Sheeva inspected the supplies, laying them out on the desk to take an inventory of them: two splints, rolls of bandages, and a block of pain medicine. She hummed in appreciation and began to shuffle the items into her medical kit.
Vincent figured he would leave her be, headed for the door, opened it, and caught Tazaro’s eye. He silently tipped his head toward the living room, indicating that he needed to talk to him about something. Bracing himself for whatever it could be, Tazaro nodded and walked out, muttering that he would be back.
“Take your time. Once we leave Roussell, you likely won’t be returning home for a while.” Sheeva called out.
They paused and looked back. Sheeva sighed and shook her head.
"I figure you have a lot to talk about. And, I imagine you’ll be wanting to lecture me about something else to make me question my bizarre ways, Vincent.” She said with a small smile. “So, we will take a couple of days and do that. We should spare the time. I wanted to say goodbye to Josef and the other kids before we left, anyway.” Sheeva explained.
“Well, I had a couple of things I wanted to say and get through that head of yours, but that just depends on how stubborn you are,” Vincent said with a smirk. Sheeva turned and gave him a tired smile, then waved him off.
“Heh. Go.” She chuckled, turning back to her things.
Tazaro followed Vincent out into the living room, and as Vincent sat down in his big green chair, Tazaro sat in his usual spot: the left side of the couch.
“What’s up?” Tazaro began, sure Vincent wanted to point something romantic about the two of them embarking on such an adventure. He leaned his head on his arm, drumming his fingers on his knee with the other hand in wait.
“I just want to make sure you’re really up for this. Taking off to train, possibly kill the guy that killed your Mom. It, uh, seems a little...” He paused, unable to find a word for it.
“Nuts?” Tazaro offered with a small smile, relieved that this was Vincent’s concern. If he were honest, it did seem crazy.
“Uh, excessive, maybe. I mean, I know you’re dead and all, but are you sure? I mean, you could start over in some other town. Forget about this Zakaraia.” Vincent suggested. Tazaro shook his head slowly.
“One: Mom’s death aside, he’s been killing people all over the place. It hasn’t just been Mom.” Tazaro began, holding up a finger as he began to list his reasons. Vincent blinked and raised his eyebrows as this was news to him, though unsurprising.
“Two: I’d really like to keep learning all this new stuff. The only way I can see that happening is if I go with her. Plus, she’ll likely need help with Zakaraia.” Tazaro added, holding up another finger.
“Three…” He sighed and dropped his hand, then stared at the bookshelf. “I’m...kind of not normal anymore. Being in this town–especially when I’m supposed to be dead–is…weird to me. I can’t go see some of my friends, and when I do, I’d probably have to be disguised. I–I have wings, and I probably couldn’t show them any of the cool spells I’ve learned without freaking them out. I’m not the same. It’s really, uh...” He began to fidget with his fingers.
“You and Micah have been supportive, but if I were around anyone else, I would feel like an outcast. So, I should leave, I think. At least for now. Maybe I’ll come back and visit when I’m less eager to show off.” He gave a smile. “Also, that way, if I am discovered to be alive, it’s less awkward. I can say I’ve been...traveling, or something, I don’t know. But anyway, after a few years, no one will actually be waiting for me.”
Tazaro turned and looked in the direction of his bedroom.
“Lady’s teat. I guess this is how Sheeva feels daily,” He blurted, the chilling thought slipping from his mouth before he could stop it.
Vincent could only stare, mind grasping at thoughts that wisped away before he could form anything coherent.
“I...I have nothing to say. Huh. Don’t know what I expected, really.”
Tazaro shook his head, feeling relieved to drop this final bombshell.
“There’s...nothing you really can say. I’ve made up my mind and have already dedicated this much of my time. Good luck would be nice, though.” He cracked, chuckling at his wit and leaning back on the couch to drop his gaze to the floor, unable to thoroughly shake the troublesome feelings.
Vincent raised his eyebrows, then nodded in acceptance, his lips pursed. Tazaro was right, and he seemed to have made up his mind and thought about it extensively.
“Well. There it is. I wish you terrible luck, Tazaro.” He smiled.
Tazaro scoffed and rolled his eyes, the curl of a humorous smile creeping to his face.
As though he were leaving at any minute to embark on his journey, Tazaro stared around at the room, sighing in bittersweet reluctance. He would miss the grandfather clock ticking away in the corner, with its swinging tongue as it barked at them to get to sleep at a decent hour, and the stone fireplace, which, between both himself and Vincent, had always been providing heat over the five long winters they had suffered in the stuffy apartment. He hoped that the temple Sheeva spoke so nostalgically of harbored a hot-water system of some kind, or at least one better than this shoddy complex, tired of needing to boil water whenever he wanted a scalding, hot-as-hellfire bath.
“So, what happened between you two after you two left the festival? Did you bring her back here to, uh,” Vincent paused to snicker, “Make your own fireworks?”
Tazaro shot him an unamused look.
“Really, Vincent? Is that what you honestly think we did?” He asked, glancing down the hallway. It seemed Sheeva was still in his room, hopefully with the door shut.
“I didn’t think so, but you never know. Tell me you guys at least had a good time the rest of the night.” Vincent seemed to plead, appearing incredibly hopeful. Tazaro stared at him for a second, briefly contemplating telling him the truth: that he’d shattered some evil, malignant paradigm that Sheeva had enclosed herself in and–well, perhaps it would be best to not admit that he had made her cry.
“Yeah. Talked about a few things.” He summed. The ambiguous answer seemed to satisfy Vincent, who nodded approvingly and sat back.
Tazaro continued to eye the room, although less attentive to the yellow, corduroy ottoman he liked to lean on, or the couch that likely had his six-foot, four-inch bodily imprint on it from tossing and turning overnight for the last two months, and more concerned with how Sheeva was actually doing, considering she’d been quaintly reserved and passively withdrawn, but seeming at peace whenever they shared the balcony.
“Can I say something else?” Vincent asked, crossing one leg over the other and leaning on his arm. Tazaro looked up from the green rug in the middle of the floor, trying to remember where they’d gotten it from, unable to fully recall.
“Hm?”
“You can’t compare Sheeva to Kirin. She’s anything but, I think. Sure, she’s assertive, but likely because she’s had to be to survive.”
“Mm. Yeah,” Tazaro muttered, trying to suggest dismissal of the topic, certain he knew where Vincent was leading with this.
“Seriously. Kirin broke you down. Disrespected you, berated your ideas, ignored your boundaries. Sheeva...builds you up. Respects you. Listens to your ideas. Has… a very odd sense of boundaries. Have you, uh, considered that maybe you two could–
–She’s about to be my teacher. That’s a bit messed up, isn’t it?” Tazaro countered.
Vincent scowled and rolled his eyes so hard that they physically hurt.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! It’s not like you’re a horny teenager hot for your thirty-year-old teacher! She’s your age, isn’t she?” Vincent barked, raising his shoulders in question. “Besides, you were going to ask the woman on a date about two months ago, Tazaro. It’s not that messed up.”
Tazaro snapped his mouth shut and chewed on his lip. He had forgotten he told Vincent about his silly idea. He furrowed his brow and dropped his head.
“Yeah, but that was before...everything.” He countered, then heaved a heavy sigh. “Look. I’m not going to push it. I can’t risk it. She, uh, likely understands the things I am going through or about to go through that others wouldn’t. I kind of need that more than–more than anything else. If anything, maybe letting things slowly unfold themselves for now. Work on becoming better…partners? I’m not sure, but until then, no.” Tazaro insisted.
Vincent sat back again, humbled, as he hadn’t considered such a lonely outcome if things went south.
“Fortune favors the bold, you know.”
“And risk ending up like that guy with the ruptured testicles? No thanks. I’d like to have kids someday.”
Vincent clicked his tongue and scrunched his face.
“Good luck.”
Sheeva announced her presence loudly with a clearing of her throat.
“You seem to wish him more luck than he needs, Vincent.” She snickered, tightening the holster for Abraxas to her hip on her way out of the door. “I’ll be back later. I’m going to see Josef and the others.” She announced, stepping through the threshold and into the warm, summer sun.
Tazaro and Vincent stared for a moment, and Tazaro couldn’t help the glimmer of hope ignite its way through his chest.
More than I need, huh?
“We might need to start passing notes like we used to in class. I don’t know how much Sheeva heard.” Vincent stated, giving an apologetic look to Tazaro. He shrugged and waved it off, heading to his room to begin packing.
Sheeva basked in the soothing warmth of the sun’s rays on her skin as she hurried her way through town, not caring who she bumped into as she briskly headed to the run-down house on Dekkir Street. She hoped it still stood and had been at least repaired in some way.
Panting slightly from her rushed walk, Sheeva stared down the old, run-down house, relieved to see that none of the children she cared for were still living in it. She crossed the threshold and stepped toward the picture on the wall, lifted it, and set it aside carefully, clapping the dust off her hands. The sigil still sat there, etched and carved into the wood.
She retrieved a knife and held it at the bottom of the sigil, hesitating briefly, wondering if, should she slice through the sigil, a large gash would appear on her arm. She poked at a corner of the sigil to test it, and when nothing happened, she scratched at the spot a little deeper. A shattering sound reached her ears as the sigil broke, the flow of energy disrupted.
Her arm itched like an irritating mosquito bite, and as she scratched at it, she hissed at the mild burn that spread as the sigil glowed, though it was nothing compared to the searing sizzle of the destructive fire that burned Mildred’s house down. She blew on the now stinging wound to soothe it, dousing a handkerchief in water and freezing it. Dabbing at the damage to her forearm, she checked around the empty house for any belongings to distract her from her burning discomfort.
It seemed the place was picked clean, and assuring herself it was by the previous occupants, she made a mental note to thank Micah for his efforts.
She crossed back onto the leaky porch and paused to take one last look, surprised that she would be so attached to a building, of all things. Sheeva chuckled to herself and scrunched her nose, amused with her silly self, and shook it off to continue down the street. Her gait had slowed considerably, thanks to the injury to her leg, and, unwilling to set herself back, she languidly paced herself toward the barracks. Still, it helped alleviate her downed spirits to thumb the silver watch in her pocket with one hand and the pommel-stone of Abraxas with the other.
Ah, familiarity. Sheeva smiled to herself.
Upon reaching the spacious compound for the military barracks and training grounds, she retrieved the small, poorly sketched map Vincent drew for her to find Micah’s office and followed it as well as she could, needing to squint at the illegibly scribbled calligraphy that only a doctor would have. Pausing at the door labeled “Captain’s Quarters,” she rapped her knuckles in the pattern Vincent would upon returning home from work. Inside, she heard Micah say something along the lines of “well, that’s someone I know.”
She heard him call to Sophia to “get the door” but reached out and snatched the door before it could open, holding it with all her might, a playful smile on her face. She heard Sophia calling out the fact that someone was keeping the door shut.
“Speak the passphrase, and I will let go,” Sheeva called. The force on the other side of the door stopped abruptly, and silence ensued for a moment before Sophia spoke.
“Where do the Tinker Owls roost?”
Sheeva felt her eyes lift in pride and cheer, and she let go of the handle.
“The belfry of the clocktower…dear," she finished hesitantly, a twinge of longing for Mildred's calming company.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
The door flew open, revealing the shocked bunch, all clambering near the entrance to welcome her. Their hands grasped at her clothes and arms to wrestle her in, surrounding her and clamoring in joy. She turned her back on Micah as well as she could, not wanting him to witness the bittersweet tears she felt welling in the corners of her eyes.
They had all witnessed her cry once, and that was far more times than she’d cared for. Sheeva returned their hugs, looking between them all to see how much they changed in the last couple of months under Micah’s care. Their faces had filled out, color returning to their cheeks, and their hair seemed less wispy and wiry, no longer needing to fend for themselves, able to get decent meals and sleep. Everyone appeared to have even grown a couple inches; Yelena reached Sheeva’s waist, and Nook stood at Sheeva’s elbow, while Sophia stood halfway up her upper arm and Arc was almost to her shoulders.
Realizing Josef was not there, she turned and looked to Micah for an explanation.
“Where is Josef?” She asked, trying to still her worry.
“He’s working in the kitchens. I can take you to him.”
“He is?” She asked, surprised.
“Yeah! Arc and I work there, too! Everyone’s nice to us!” Sophia interjected, grinning. Sheeva smiled; even their teeth were whiter, finally having the things needed to care for them.
“They are? Good.” She asked, further relieved.
“They better be. Anyone that gives these kids a hard time will be running laps until they sweat blood and hate living.” Micah threatened, shuffling on his coat and donning his cap while trying to get to the door. “I think I’ll see if Josef can leave early. Give you some time to catch up.”
Sheeva nodded in thanks and directed her full attention to the four still crowding around her.
“Micah said you were healing. What happened?” Yelena asked, looking up at her with a worried look. Sheeva took a deep breath, held it, and sighed, sitting cross-legged on the floor, wincing as her thigh stung. In her eagerness to see the children, get some fresh air, and stretch her legs, she feared she had pushed herself too far.
She ushered Yelena into her lap, with a soft beckon followed by “gently, please.” Yelena’s growth-spurt became more apparent as Sheeva learned she could rest her chin on the top of the child’s head. Sheeva chuckled at the fact, then felt her face terse in seriousness.
“I’d like to wait until Josef is here to explain. Would that be alright?”
They all nodded and settled, Nook on her left, Sophia on the right, and Arc in front of her. Sheeva took another deep breath, wondering where to begin. She retrieved a brush from the pouch at her side and started detangling Yelena’s impossible–less so, now that the child received proper care–tangled mess.
“How have you been doing with your reading, Yelena?”
Yelena turned in Sheeva’s lap and beamed at her proudly.
“Really good! Micah’s been helping me with big words.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“Mm… masticate. Belligerent. Contemptuous. Pulchritudinous.”
Sheeva’s eyebrows raised in question. Those were undoubtedly big words for a six-year-old, and Sheeva wondered if they were just words Micah used to describe people, and Yelena simply overheard and absorbed them.
“I was not aware Micah could read,” Sheeva muttered.
“Gee, thanks. I don’t spend all my time in the gym or the training fields.” Micah announced as he walked back in with Josef in tow. Sheeva looked up at the young man from her cross-legged spot on the floor, urged Yelena out of her lap, and stood to level with him. He was now as tall as she was and had filled out, no longer the scrawny kid that tried to spook her every chance he got. Hopefully, he no longer picked pockets, and she would not need to chide him for it. She took in his uniform, the grey chef coat clean behind a dirty black apron, a bright, shimmering nametag over the breast pocket, and a red bandana holding his dusty blonde hair back. She smiled at him, thankful he seemed to have an actual job compared to what Vincent told her he had been doing two months ago.
“I’m sorry–He began, cut off abruptly when Sheeva shook her head and pulled him into a comforting hug, assuring him that they would talk later.
Micah slipped by them and sat down at his desk, trying to distance himself from their reunion. He handed a folder to Wedge and requested him to “drop it off at storage, and have a good night.” Wedge took the hint and left, tipping his hat at Sheeva on his way out.
Sheeva watched him leave, then turned back to Josef and straightened out some flyaway hair.
“I owe you all an apology. I could not leave my hiding place to care for you, so I asked Micah to take you all in. I hope you have been good for him and haven’t given him too much trouble.” She said with a grateful smile.
“What happened to you, Sheeva? Where did you go?” Arc questioned. Sheeva frowned and dropped her hand, then crossed her arms as she thought of a way to put it delicately as to not disturb the youngest two in the room.
“I fought a man to protect some people, as well as all of you.” She answered, looking between the room’s patrons, including Micah, which surprised him a little. “He hurt me badly, and I–” She stopped herself, mindful of Yelena and Nook’s innocent ears. “I needed time to recover and heal.”
The children swarmed her with hugs again, and she gave them a soft chuckle and loving pats on their heads.
“Is he going to come back?” Nook asked. Sheeva cupped his dark brown cheeks in her hands and stooped to his level, as the master of the temple would when bestowing her with excellent advice.
“If he comes back, though the outcome may be unfavorable, I would fight him again to keep you all safe.” She assured with a forced smile and a hug to hide the frightened glimmer in her eye at the mere thought of Zakaraia’s return.
Micah had to admit that he was impressed and amazed with her ability to behave warmly towards the children he fostered. It was a complete one-eighty compared to her treatment of other adults, and he told himself he would ask about it, given a chance, but not in front of the kids in the room. He diverted his attention to the papers on his desk.
Sheeva listened, thankful and proud as they filled her in on their accomplishments since Micah took them in, surprised to hear that Micah refused to let the children go to the orphanage. She caught glances with him when Arc and Sophia admitted the fact, giving him a questioning look that could only mean that they were to talk this over at a later time.
Yelena was already reading well beyond the other children her age. Nook was the best at hide-and-seek and enjoyed putting other soldiers in training to shame with his prowess on the obstacle course–the admittance of which earned another questioning look. Arc, Sophia, and Josef enjoyed their jobs in the kitchen. When Arc and Sophia were old enough, “Chef Nelson” ensured she would train them to start with preparing raw fruits, vegetables and completing other simple tasks. Josef had made a name for himself but had not yet gained his “rite of passage,” in which the head chef would threaten to cook or prepare him in some clever way and serve him to guests.
The look of concern mixed with horrified amusement grew with each threat: their bones boiled in water to create a broth from their marrow, or their livers seared and roasted with sauteed onions and a butter-rosemary baste, or to be “plucked, trussed, dressed, and roasted like a cluckatrice and served with their own eyeball jelly.”
The best of the threats arose from a staff member pissing off the head chef so terribly, his brains were to be “simmered in his ‘already empty skull’ and served on a plate with his genitalia sticking out of his ear for garnish because they would be ‘too small and unfit for eating.’” Sheeva tsked in disapproval but secretly filed away the insults for later should the occasion arise, feigning disgust at the idea of cooking the kitchen staff.
By the time the kids wound down, it was well after ten, and when Josef ushered them to the spare shed that Micah turned into living quarters for the lot of them, Sheeva walked with them, eager to make sure the place was fit.
“Micah doesn’t want me to tell you this, but he wanted to make sure we were better off than some ‘sketchy orphanage.’ It’s not much, and we’re constantly adding to it. Still, it’s working much better than the house we used to squat in,” Josef explained.
Sheeva nodded as she looked around the place. It was larger than she expected when she first heard the term “shed,” reminding her more of a cabin for one out in a backwoods area. Still, the inside was warm, dry, and could accommodate the five of them.
She stood by the door as she watched how Josef made sure the others brushed their teeth and hair, further pleased with his assumption of responsibility as he tucked them into their sleeping bags laid out on cots. Yelena cradled a purple sea-creature under her arm, out in minutes.
Noticing an extra cot fit for an adult, she pointed it out. Josef looked and gave a sheepish smile.
“Micah crashes here most nights. He really cares about us, I think.” He paused to tuck in Nook. “Either that, or he’s scared shitless of you.”
“I do not suppose I can tell you to watch your language, Josef?” She chided with a small smile. Josef shrugged it off; he heard worse in the kitchens, particularly with a last-minute, ridiculous change to an order, because such frustrations could not be more beautifully put than “What kind of hork-swill chugging bastard wants medium-rare cluckatrice? Vilgek eteud!”
Arc and Sophia bid their goodnights to Sheeva with one last hug and crawled into their respective cots. Josef paused to brush his own teeth, picking at a finicky bit of food hiding between two of them. He turned back to Sheeva and motioned for them to stand outside to talk without waking the others.
“So. You have really taken to caring for the younger kids. I am pleased.” Sheeva began, crossing her arms, leaning against the stone shed’s wall, and staring up at the stars. The moons had risen well above the horizon, beginning to become shrouded by dark rain clouds. She chuckled to herself, imagining Tazaro going nuts with no Stargazer to examine the skies through before they were covered.
Even if he managed to find the machine tucked away beneath Burke’s thick bushel of leaves, there would be no way for him to use the shrunken thing. Besides, he was supposed to be visiting Tyler tonight, anyway.
“Of course. They’re my family. Not by blood, but, uh...” He smiled at himself. “I made the cheese rolls you showed us for Chef. She wanted a dozen to take home to her family. That’s a hell of an accomplishment, you know.” He redirected, grinning from ear to ear. Sheeva smirked. It seemed the recipe was a winner wherever it was presented.
She looked over as the pop and sizzle of a match sounded out, and her mouth dropped open as Josef drew in the flame over a chunk of something in a pipe and puffed. She frowned and held her tongue but gave him a stern look anyway, hoping it was not tobacco turning cherry-red in his pipe. As the smell of it wafted to her nose, she calmed, finding it was only Cannabis. If the master of Malfa Temple could smoke the stuff and live to be...however old he was, then Sheeva figured it would be fine for Josef.
She waved her hand when he offered it to her.
As she recalled the specifics of how he had tried to care for them on his own and how she had begged Micah for his help, her lips pursed, and she gave him a stern look, unable to fight her disappointment in his choices. Josef’s calm faded, and he dropped his head in shame, a billow of smoke flowing from his heavy sigh. His shoulders slouched.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. You were gone for so long, and I, well, I–
–You can call me Sheeva, you know.”
She shook her head at herself, intending to get to the point before they were interrupted.
“Do not be sorry, Josef. You did what you felt you had to. While I am not fond of your choices, I understand why you did it. I am at least proud of that. Now…” She gave a pause so that he could digest her words and understand her sincerity. “That is all in the past, right?” She asked. Slowly, Josef nodded, sniffling and wiping at his eyes.
“Good. Forgive yourself, Josef. I forgave you long ago, though I wasn’t able to tell you.” She assured. Josef took a moment to appreciate her stance, nibbling on the button of the pipe with his lips. He chuckled at something and struck another match to relight his bud. He shook it out and flicked the snuffed stick into a nearby pot.
“Micah told me you said something like that, but I thought it was just his guesswork.” Josef’s demeanor changed again, growing tense with serious thought. “He wouldn’t tell me how bad it really was–your injury. Just that it was ‘bad.’ Yelena and Nook could accept that. They’re young. But Arc, Sophia, and I had a hard time believing it. So, really–what happened?”
Sheeva sighed, dropped her arms, and pushed herself off the wall.
“Even after my bones were broken, I fought a man to give some people a fleeting chance. In the end, it did not matter. Tazaro and I will be leaving soon to train and pursue him. Whether for vengeance or closure, I am still unsure.” She stated bluntly, relieved that she did not have to sugarcoat it around Josef. It helped the words to roll off her tongue and make them real. The more real they were, the more her resolve strengthened itself.
Josef took another long drag of his pipe, held his breath, and sighed, tapping the ashes out onto the ground with the heel of his shoe.
“Okay.” He decided. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Sheeva.” He stated earnestly. Sheeva looked up at him, further impressed with his newfound maturity.
She was even more thankful that he hadn’t tried to talk her out of it.
“Thank you, Josef. Take care of yourself.” She insisted. He snickered to alleviate the nerves at her demand and shoveled the pipe deep into his pocket.
“Might be a little old for this, but, uh, can I have a hug?” Josef asked, motioning for one. Sheeva nodded and stepped forward to fulfill his request. He held her tightly and gave her an exaggerated squeeze in gratitude.
“Thank you for loving us, Sheeva. You saved our lives.”
Hearing this filled Sheeva’s soul with immeasurable and uncontainable joy. With a broad, thankful smile, Sheeva returned his hug, eager to memorize the serenity she felt in case she would need it.
“You’re welcome, Josef. I’m glad you and the others are doing better than you were and am glad that you can all accept me as I am.” She choked, highly pleased with herself.
Before she could lose her composure, Sheeva urged him toward the door to the meager shed and muttered a caring: “off to bed with you.”
Josef turned back to look at her and waved before sliding the door shut.
Immediately, Sheeva turned around to face the empty compound and dabbed at her eyes as she made her way back to Micah’s office, determined to share a few grateful words. The awning shielded the moon’s lights from the compound’s walkways, giving Sheeva a nostalgic longing for the stone hallways in the temple courtyard.
“They’ve really missed you, you know.” A voice called out to her in the darkness as Sheeva stepped underneath the canopy to the barracks. She jumped, startled, and instinctively reached for Abraxas but settled as Micah’s shape poked through the darkness.
Micah chuckled a little bit to himself, not expecting to catch her so off-guard. Perhaps she let her guard down around the kids, intent on being so shockingly motherly.
“You should know better than to spook me. Especially in the darkness.” She scolded, not dignifying his comment with an answer. Micah laughed harder and crossed his arms as he stepped further into the light given off by an old stub of a torch. The firelight glimmered off his Captain’s bars, and he held an umbrella beneath his arm.
“Ha, maybe you make it too easy, Warrior-girl.” He grinned, revealing pearly whites behind curled lips. She huffed at the nickname a little less firmly than she used to, hoping he did not pick up on the softened reaction. She watched his blue, grey-speckled eyes look behind her at the stone shed and turned to view it in the distance, too. It would be her last opportunity to see them for a while.
“Thank you for not disclosing the true nature of my injuries to the others. I fear it would have only terrified them.” She began, fidgeting with the drake’s teeth braided into the handle with frayed, black-leather strips.
Micah hummed in response and gave a slight nod. The kids had already grown up on the streets–who knew what other horrors they had witnessed?
“They’re sturdier than other kids their ages, but I think that’s thanks to their upbringing.”
“Hm. Have you talked to Tazaro yet?” She asked, veering the subject off of the children.
Micah shook his head in response. Tazaro had asked to reach out to Tyler first, which was understandable since the man was practically his father. He and Vincent could not hog the nerdy boy to themselves all the time.
“He’s visiting Tyler.” Micah voiced, walking past her and toward a bench on the edge of the compound. He sat, hiked a foot upon his knee, and leaned back. His broad stature took up half of the bench, and she watched the starched shoulders of his jacket bounce and shift as Micah retrieved a flask from his inner pocket, unscrewed the cap, and took a swig of whatever was inside. He turned and offered it to her with an outstretched arm.
Sheeva hesitated briefly for a second, then internally tutted at herself. She accepted his offer, finding the flask was lighter than she expected it to be. She sat next to him, held the spout to her lips, and tilted it back for a sip. Whatever alcohol inside was sweeter than she expected and easier to stomach, not offering such a sting on the tip of her tongue.
“Hm. Thank you.” She returned it to him, and he held it loosely between his fingers, elbows propped on the back of the bench as he turned his gaze back to the stone shed. They watched the lamp inside the window snuff out as Josef blew it out to retire for the night.
Clicks of boots echoed along the cobblestone hallway as some soldiers exited the showers, fluffy white towels tucked under their arms. Micah looked over his shoulder at the noise and called after them: “Oi! Caps!”
Sheeva looked in their direction and watched them scramble to don their caps, straightening them as well as they could manage without a mirror.
“Newbies. They’ll learn.” Micah commented when they were out of earshot, and Sheeva noted a slight smile on the corner of his face. If she did not know better, he was fond of teaching people.
Micah inhaled the crisp night air deeply through his nose, then lifted his flask, looked at it, and took another sip. The adam’s apple on his shaven neck bobbed with the action, and he made a scrunched face at the burn. Micah shuddered and offered the flask to Sheeva again, who took and sipped. He gave an exaggerated “argh” of a sigh, motioning back towards the stone shed.
“They’re strong kids. Think I can see why you took to them so well. Mebbie, they remind you of you when you were younger. They certainly remind me of me when I was younger.” He began, a serious look on his face. He uttered a light “tch” and shook his head at himself, but his overall demeanor eased as he sunk into the bench.
“Yelena fuckin’ loves to read–and write. I can’t supply her with books or paper fast enough. The kid would probably read a boring-ass battlefield manual if I gave her one.” He paused, blinking at a thought. “She might be a good decoder or interpreter someday.” He smiled and shook his head. They might take the time to figure that out later.
“Nook watches out for her on the playground, even takes on kids twice his size. Moves and strikes like a snake. He’d be a right-proper assassin someday–but I won’t train him in that.” Micah assured Sheeva, pointing and shaking a finger at the fact for emphasis. She nodded slowly, hands folded politely in her lap while she listened to his findings.
“I had the same idea. Nook could definitely excel that way.” Sheeva agreed, copying his stance, happy to be able to dangle her elbows across the back of whatever she sat and leaned on. She fought the wince on her face at the pinch that still presented itself in her thigh whenever she attempted to cross the left leg over her right and subtly switched the two.
“Arc and Sophia like what they’re doing now. Arc likes chess and strategy games like I did. Sophia likes building stuff and figuring out how things work, much like Tazaro did growing up. Josef...is kind of the odd-ball. If he’s not cooking, he’s training with a sword with his new friend Zarkas in his spare time, against my advice. I, uh, figured you wouldn’t appreciate it, or something.” He admitted, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye to gauge her reaction. When she gave a contemplative “hm,” it threw him off, and he turned to look at her.
“No. I want you to train them. I believe everyone should know how to defend themselves and others. But…” Sheeva paused to gather her thoughts and sighed, feeling the sadness break on her face. “If becoming soldiers were to be their passion, I would ask you to object.” She requested.
“Pfft! They still might do it anyway. Who are we to stop them?” She pointed out, silently appreciating his attempt to steer them in a particular direction. Her eyes drooped, and her face warmed as the effects of alcohol swayed in.
“Oh. Huh. Sorry. I, I thought I was doing what you would want.” Micah muttered, fighting the sheepish smile on his face. It broke, and he covered it by stroking his chin and tsking at himself.
“Don’t assume so. You never asked. No matter; I appreciate the attempt.”
Her curt response made him bark out a nervous laugh, and he took another drink, a little heavier this time. He sucked in a breath as the stuff really burned.
“They’ve been, uh, good for me. Hope you know that. Want you to know that.”
Sheeva took the flask as he offered it to her once more, taking a deeper drink than she had previously. She handed it back to him and looked up to the sky, the moons hanging halfway overhead. Her eyes closed, and she felt herself melt into the bench, swimming in lax.
“That so?”
“Yeah. Generally, I’d be in a bar, flirting with a barmaid. But since I took them in...realized I had some growin’ up to do. It’s been a helluva challenge, but I think I’m doing alright. So...” He felt his voice quaver with gratitude and held his breath to stabilize himself. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Micah.”
Sheeva and Micah listened to the clinking of chains as they waved in the night. The ruffling whip of the yellow and green flag strung up on the pole further drove the security point the kids would grow up with. In yet another way, the barracks reminded her of home, and she smiled at the fact.
“Take care of Tazaro, willya? He can be thick-headed sometimes, but that’s just because he’s shy and stubborn.” Micah requested. She noted a gloomy tone in his usually jovial voice. Sheeva tore her gaze away from the entertaining obstacle course Nook must have enjoyed crushing others on and looked at Micah as he sat forward, propping his elbows on his knees to stare at his feet. She blinked as she remembered Tazaro would be saying his goodbyes to the people and places he grew up with and nodded to herself as she reminded herself to be compassionate.
“Ah. That’s right. You all grew up together, didn’t you?”
Micah snorted and chuckled, torso shaking from the act. He waved his hand at something and grinned at her.
“Feh! Only because Vincent and I wouldn’t let Tazaro spend all of his time by himself after what happened to his sister and his dad. Eventually, we grew on him.” He took another swig from his flask and traded it back to her. “You know, we all ended up in jail once. Once. Mildred was...displeased, to say the least. We got caught throwing cluckatrice through people’s open windows.”
Sheeva smirked, recalling a few of her own pranks and how Cassie and Kyle pestered her to crawl out of her fortress following Rose’s death.
“Sounds familiar, though I never ended up in jail. Just walking the temple’s grand staircase. Five hundred and forty steps. One for every damn day of the year.”
She tipped the flask in a toast to memory and took another swig.
“Tazaro is lucky to have friends like you.” She encouraged.
“Yeah? So are you, you know–to have friends like us.”
Sheeva’s shocked smile turned genuine, and she nodded in acceptance.
“Thank you, Micah.”
She watched a lone archer with red hair practice in the dim light, impressed with his skill as he struck a mannequin from afar with a precise shot.
“Tazaro is, uh...” Sheeva looked at Micah when he spoke up, then waited Micah’s silence out as the burly man tapped his chin in thought. “You’re probably the only person in the world right now that honestly understands what he is going through right now. With the–” He stopped, looked around, and tucked his head. “With the wings, and magic, and all that.”
“Please don’t...betray or abandon him, basically, is what I’m asking.” Micah pleaded. Sheeva nodded her promise.
“I do not plan to. I shall bother him to the fog and back.” She muttered with an encouraging smile.
“Good! Bug the fuck outta him for me!” He barked with a cheeky grin.
They finished the liquid in the flask, and as Sheeva took her time meandering back to Tazaro’s apartment, she grinned, wholeheartedly confident and believing that everyone would be well in their absence.