Xaxac was dying, and his primary concern was how Agalon was going to react to that fact. Xac really did not want him to come home and find a corpse, but as he doubled over the toilet, vomiting into it, he didn’t know how to avoid it.

His entire digestive system had stopped working properly, and it was thirst, more than anything, that was going to do him in. He couldn’t stand long enough to pump the water into the pitcher that he had successfully gotten to the sink, but he did manage to pull himself up on shaky legs to sit on the toilet before the next bout of diarrhea hit him.

He had discarded his pretty clothes, not only because he knew that with them on he would shit himself, but because he didn’t deserve pretty adornments. He had lost any beauty he may have once had; he was drenched in sweat, he had gone from stubble to what could be called an actual beard, and he knew his face was sallow and sunken. His body shook so he leaned forward to brace himself and keep from falling.

He grabbed the bucket that he used for cleaning and felt his torso convulse, heaving as he vomited into it.

“Daddy,” he begged, weakly, involuntarily, because his father was somewhere out in the fields. He couldn’t have heard him if he shrieked. There was no one there to help him. He was on his own. He was going to die alone, which was fitting, because he had been born alone. Agalon had reminded him, often, of the fact that he had been bought in, not born on the plantation. Bought from some slave merchant who claimed he was a shifter, probably expensive. Agalon had said that Abe and Abby were not his real parents, but they felt like real parents, and Xaxac missed them like real parents.

If he survived, which he did not think was a possibility, this was going to be hell to clean up.

“Help,” he begged the empty bedroom, but he was alone, naked, covered in sweat and full of pain.

All his friends were gone. No one had brought him breakfast.

He was going to die here.

He was so thirsty.

He tried to catch his breath as the convulsions rolled through him, tried to time it so that he would not pass out into the bucket of vomit, tried to ignore the smell and blink the dark spots out of his vision.

He was not going to die today.

He was going to stand up.

He was going to pump water into that pitcher.

And he was going to drink it.

One.

Two.

Three.

Up!

He heaved himself onto his feet and grabbed the pump with both hands to throw his entire body weight into it. He had to get the water up three floors, and it was an ordeal, but he rocked with his entire body, because there was no strength in his arms, and he pumped, back and forth, up and down, until the water began to flow.

Be solution oriented.

He was not going to die today.

He had been this sick before, and he had not died then. He needed that tea that Hattie May brewed, the kind that settled your stomach and made you sleep. But he wasn’t a witch, and he had no way to get to her.

But Lorsan was magic.

And he was a healer.

Xaxac fell back onto the toilet and drank the water straight from the pitcher, forcing himself to sip slowly, even though he knew it was the thirst that would kill him, and his instinct was to get as much water into himself as possible. He knew if he put too much of anything into his stomach he would throw it right back up.

Mrs OfAgalon had tried to poison him. She had put some kind of meat in his food. He had been this kind of sick before, but he barely remembered it. He had only had to go through it once to learn his lesson, and his conviction strengthened with this realization. There was poison in his body, and he just had to get it out so he could heal. He realized that he probably shouldn’t have swallowed the bile that lingered in his mouth, but he was too thirsty to think of such practicalities until the burning subsided. He slid his tongue around his filthy teeth and felt that they were all present, all whole; shifters could heal from anything. He was a survivor. He was not going to die today.

His fear was turning to anger.

He just had to get through this, however long it took to flush the poison from his system, then he would go downstairs and take a bath. He was not going to die today, and he was not going to sit idly by and let someone attack him. There was no reason for it! Life was difficult enough!

“Xac, are you decent?” Lorsan’s voice asked from the bedroom.

“No,” Xac had meant to shout his answer, but he did not have the strength, “I’m dyin! I’m a vegetarian!”

“Shit,” Lorry said, and Xac could hear that he was leaning against the door. He said nothing else for a few long seconds, then added, “Well, the wardrobes are here. So… that’s happening.”

“Lorry,” Xac begged, “Help me!”

“Just sit there and try not to die while we get the wardrobes in here,” Lorsan instructed, “uh… stay hydrated. I got this. I got you. I’m gonna make a potion, settle your stomach.”

“I need tea,” Xac begged.

“Fuck tea,” Lorsan said, “I’ll make you a healin potion.”

Xac took a deep breath, wiped the tears from his eyes, and tried to catch his breath.

“Thanks, Lorry.”

“Yup.” Lorsan said, “Thesis, Xac, the smell’ll knock you down. You rottin away like a corpse?”

“Yeah,” Xac said.

“Good to know,” Lorsan said, “Don’t open the door. Just sit there and try not to die.”

“Kay,” Xac agreed, because he had no intention of letting anyone see him in his current state. He was hoping that no one would notice he was in there; if he was very very quiet he thought that perhaps he could fake nonexistence.

Lorsan had been right about the smell though, and being trapped in the small space with it was doing nothing to settle his stomach. He was the kind of sick where his insides were making noises all by themselves, without his permission, and had he had the authority, he would not have granted such permission.

Mrs OfAgalon had no right to poison him. Most of the people who disliked him had no right to do so. He had never injured Mrs OfAgalon, and he hadn’t really done enough to Billy to deserve being punched in the face. He was getting sick and tired of people hurting him when he hadn’t done anything to them! He didn’t mind punishment, would take what he deserved, but he didn’t deserve this! What the hell was wrong with them? Were some people just perpetually looking for someone to be angry at? Was there a type of disposition that people could have that just made them disagreeable to everyone? Did he have a particularly punchable face?

He heard sounds in the bedroom and tried his best to pretend he didn’t exist, even as he heard the first real sounds of people he had heard since he had woken up the day before.

“Hold on a sec,” Lorsan said, “Lemme get these boxes outta the way.”

Xaxac thought that more of his clothes must have been made of jewelry, because he heard it jingling and assumed Lorsan was just tossing them backwards. He didn’t seem as if he was particularly concerned with their potential destruction; he was focused on speed.

“Just set um down,” He said, and Xac felt his eyes watering and his mouth filling with liquid.

He leaned forward in time to vomit into the bucket, and knew that anyone in the bedroom would hear the sound of his retching, and of the sobs that followed. He couldn’t even drink water? This was ridiculous! He took another drink from the pitcher, but this time he swished the liquid in his mouth and spit the bile into the bucket.

“Go bring the other one up!” Lorsan snapped, “Just get um in here out of the cart so they can leave. I don’t care how it looks. Daddy can deal with that when he gets back.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Xaxac recognized the voices of the men who answered him; they were the same people who had moved the first wardrobes out.

He moaned when he heard the knocking on the door.

“How you holdin up?” Lorry asked.

“Bad,” Xac cried.

“Why’d you tell me you was a vegetarian?” Lorry asked, “You think somebody put meat in the beans?”

“Mrs OfAgalon hates me!” Xaxac lamented.

“She’s made herself a little mistake is what she’s done,” Lorsan said and stomped off, leaving Xac, once again, alone.

Xac heaved himself onto his feet to pump more water into the pitcher, and thought that it was a little easier this time. He thought he had been right; he just had to work the poison out of his system, and he healed so quickly that he thought he may be making progress. His head didn’t swim when he stood that time, and he could almost stand without leaning on the counter for support. He plopped back onto the toilet and took another drink of water, listening to the sounds of the men bringing the second wardrobe into the sitting room.

The process went much faster the second time with nothing in the way.

“Alright, great,” Lorsan said, “Thanks. Daddy’ll love it.”

Xaxac heard him disappear into the sitting room and start rifling through drawers. Then he was gone again, and the men followed quickly, likely, Xaxac guessed, to escape the smell.

He was beginning to have an idea that he may not be alone. Lorsan was difficult to predict, but he did seem to keep his word, whatever it was, so he took solace in the fact that his cramps were not rolling so quickly, his pain was not so severe, and Lorsan probably would actually come back for him.

It eventually subsided enough that he was able to sit up straight, and he was fairly certain he wasn’t going to die.

He listened attentively and heard Lorsan enter the sitting room, then the bedroom, before knocking on the door again.

“Xac?” Lorsan asked.

“I reckon I’m gonna live,” Xac said as he tried to catch his breath, “But I ain’t happy about it.”

“I’m gonna make you a potion anyhow,” Lorsan told him, “I gotta go to the kitchen, but I want you to wash off, ok? You’re nasty.”

“Please!” Xac begged, “Please let me do that!”

“Can you get downstairs?” Lorry asked.

“Ain’t no way in hell,” Xac admitted.

“Alright,” Lorry said as if he was deep in thought, “Alright I’ll… make Nancy bring up a washtub, like they use on the laundry, and some water, and then we’ll open all the windows and light a fire, try to get rid of that godawful smell.”

“Sorry,” Xac said.

“Sorry you’re hurtin,” Lorry said, “But honestly, Xac, it’s kinda good to see that you’re… human. You freak me out, actin like... a toy or somethin.”

Xaxac leaned back in the washtub and scrubbed. He wanted to get out as quickly as possible. The water was as nasty as he had once been, and he wasn’t even trying to take a proper bath; he just wanted the shit off. He wasn’t aiming to smell like roses; he just wanted to get away from the feces and sweat combination long enough to make it to a proper bath.

The worst part was that he still felt sick. He wasn’t sure washing off was actually going to accomplish anything.

Lorsan sat by the roaring fire dumping dried leaves into a cauldron he had on the hearth, close enough that it had began to boil. He had said that he wasn’t making tea, but it certainly smelled like tea, and it was a welcome change from the awful scent of Xac’s bathwater. Xac shoved himself out of the washtub and picked up the towel Lorsan had provided him with. He didn’t really have the energy to dry off, so he rolled the towel onto the floor and sat on it.

“Nancy!” Lorsan shrieked, and when she didn’t appear, his voice rose in both pitch and volume, “NANCY!”

Mrs OfAgalon appeared in the doorway, smiling at Lorsan with that unsettling way she had.

“Yes, young master?” She asked pleasantly.

“Daddy’s pleasure slave is sick,” Lorsan said, and Xaxac could have mistaken him for his father, “Which is right weird to me, on account of he’s a shifter. They don’t really get sick. I reckon somebody put somethin in his food. Y’all know he’s a vegetarian.”

“Of course,” She said, though Xaxac saw the confusion flash over her eyes before she hid it away.

“It means he can’t eat no meat,” Lorsan explained, “And probably ought not have no eggs, no milk, nothin what come from an animal. Who made the soup beans we ate last night?”

“Well,” Mrs OfAgaon said, “We’re very short staffed. The cook and the head kitchen maid are gone. It’s really just me, the servers, and the scullery maid.”

“The kitchen maid’s gone?” Xac asked.

“That’s what I thought,” Lorsan said, “Well, here’s what I need from you. Because the pleasure slave’s sick the watercloset is nasty. And that washtub. So drag the washtub into the watercloset and get them both cleaned up. We don’t know when daddy’s gonna be back, and I’d sure hate for him to see it how it is right now.”

“I’ll send up the maid,” Mrs OfAgalon said, and turned to leave.

“No,” Lorsan said, “This is daddy’s rooms. He don’t trust nobody but you and Lee in here. There’s some expensive stuff up here.” He looked away from his cauldron to turn to her and continued, “So you’re gonna have to do it.”

Xaxac remembered, the first day he had arrived in the big house, Mrs OfAgalon had told him how to clean the room he had been locked in. She had taken some sort of strange pleasure in telling him that he would have to clean the watercloset.

“I threw up in the scrub bucket,” he told her, “I can’t eat meat. I feel like I’m gonna die.”

Mrs OfAgalon had apparently lost all the blood in her face when she replied, demurely, “Yes, Master Lorsan.”

She came to the sitting area and began to drag the tub toward the bedroom as Lorsan turned back to his cauldron and began to hum as the rings in his ears began to glow. Xaxac recognized the melody.

Little bunny Foo Foo

Hopping through the forest…

Lorsan pulled over a teacup he had set out, with a strainer over it, and slowly poured the liquid from the cauldron through it. It had turned from the clear color of the water to a light green, and Xaxac recognized it. Despite what Lorsan had said, it was the tea Hattie May had brewed for him.

Lorsan took out the strainer and banged it against the side of the cauldron to deposit the plant matter back into the concoction, then handed the cup to Xac.

“Here,” he said, “Drink that. I’ll be right back. I gotta run downstairs and get some stuff. I don’t trust nobody round here…”

“Thanks, Lorry,” Xac smiled and scooted until his back was against the armchair, then leaned back to drink.

With Lorsan gone, he could hear the sounds Mrs OfAgalon was making in the next room, and thought to himself that she may find herself falling ill. Then he thought about what she had said about the kitchen maid; Alice was gone. Why was Alice gone? Where would Aggie go that he would take two butlers, a cook, and a kitchen maid? In town the place where you were staying made food for you. Why did he take all those people?

Lorsan came and went several times, carrying crates that he slammed down by the fireplace with a huff before departing again as Xaxac watched. The final time he returned he was not carrying a crate, but the contraption he had seen Agalon use for magic, which he had, at the time, called a ‘scrying tablet’.

“Feelin better?” Lorsan asked, and Xaxac nodded.

He was feeling better, but he had been wrong about the substance he had been given to drink. It wasn’t the same tea Hattie May had made for him all those years ago; it tasted a little different, more earthy, and it wasn’t making him sleepy. But it did seem as if it had quieted his intestines; his guts weren’t fighting him anymore and had quieted both their rage and their volume.

“Good,” Lorry said, and sat on his knees next to Xac on the hearth to set the tray on the coffee table he had pushed against the couch to accommodate the washtub that had since been removed. Xac could see the tray more closely now; it was just a wooden box containing dirt. There didn’t seem to be anything particularly special about the box or the dirt within, but Lorsan grabbed two of the wooden sides, turned to Xac, and smiled.

“I’m gonna project it,” he said, “Which, because you don’t know anything about magic, I’m gonna let you know means I’m pretty damn good at it. It’s hard to cast next to a roarin fire, I mean, not for me, but when you first start out.”

“Ok,” Xac said, because he didn’t know anything about magic and didn’t really understand what he was talking about, but it seemed important and Lorsan seemed proud of himself.

The rings in Lorsan’s ears began to glow, and Xaxac nearly spit out his tea when he heard a voice fill the room.

“Lorry?” Agalon asked.

“Where the hell you at, old man?” Lorsan snapped, “Half the damn house is gone!”

Xaxac weakly climbed to his knees to hover beside Lorsan and look into the box. The dirt inside had arranged itself into the shape of Agalon’s face. Xaxac thought he could feel something, moving through the air, that pressure, that currant he had felt the first time he had held Agalon’s earring.

“Xaxac?” Agalon asked, “Lorry, can he hear me? Are you projecting?”

“Yeah, and we both wanna know where the hell you’re at!” Lorsan snapped.

“Why is he naked?” Agalon asked.

“He’s sick as a dog. Whoever’s cookin, since you took the cook with you, musta made the beans with porkfat.”

“He needs to eat fresh vegetables, Lorsan,” Agalon said, “Honey Bunny, can you hear me? You feelin bad, darlin?”

“Lorry’s takin care of me,” Xac said, “I miss you. Are you comin back? Did something bad happen? When I shifted? Are you mad at me?”

“No darlin, course not,” Agalon said, “Just… had some business come up at the capital. I’ll be back here in a day or two. Be back in time to see Lorry off.”

“What business?” Lorsan asked.

“We’ll talk about it when I get back,” Agalon said.

“What business, daddy?” Lorsan asked, lifted his hands, and Xaxac saw the rings in his ears became brighter. The scene behind Agalon expanded for a moment while his figure shrank, and Xaxac caught glimpses of a large, opulent sitting room filled with furniture even more beautiful than he had seen at the hotel in Basilglen. He only caught a glimpse of it, but he noticed that the room had a large embroidery hoop by a giant open window. He had seen those at Sakala’s shop in Basilglen, and thought he would like to learn how to embroider.

But then the figure of Agalon clutched his hand, and the image in the dirt shrank back to just his face.

“Don’t get nosey, little boy,” Agalon said, “I’ll be back in a couple days. Stay safe, alright? Try to keep outta trouble? I love you, both of you.”

“I love you Aggie!” Xaxac said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

Lorsan had spoken at the same time, but all he had said was, “Right.”