Chapter 11
XI.
She stayed productive the time Baró was away so that she would not notice his absence.
She nattered to herself and to the house, to her flowers and berries and herbs, to her knife and to the goblet.
She talked so much to fill the silence that the pitcher refilled itself many times.
Days flowed into each other and she lost track of time, often dropping to sleep at the kitchen hearth because she did not wish to drag herself upstairs to her room.
One whole day she devoted her efforts to collecting all the beeswax candles she could find and then did a second sweep when the Magic replaced them. Beeswax and animal fats made the best bases for her concoctions but she did not have to ask for the candles.
For her diligent efforts, she filled one kitchen cabinet with boarberry salve.
She had not intended to start with the boarberry, but after seeing the injuries Baró presented the day he left, she did not think they should be without it.
She even made julica creams too if Baró again wore impressive bruising in the near future, even though the julica was not as plentiful.
Her other medicinal forays resulted in some questionable jars of what she had intended to be soreness soothers and ache relievers but ended up as sweet-smelling nothings.
Even the plant poison balm which she made dozens of times before came out suspect since she tried adding some of the willetvine in for scent, which had only succeeded in fouling up the texture.
On the food front, she experimented with the meat that had been kept below, obliged to cut it off areas that she could reach.
Without any salt stores or proximity to the ocean, she tried sun baking, which only attracted insects.
Dehydration in the oven proved more effective.
She lamented her first attempts, but improved until she had one jar filled with tasty preserved meat bits.
She worked herself to exhaustion so often that one day when she woke, a mushroom that dwarfed the food platter greeted her along with three large speckled feathers arranged a little less meticulously than the meal.
She marveled over the offerings. The mushroom would make several magnificent portions of dried slices and a few fresh helpings for both of them.
The feathers she could not identify, but they were larger than her hands and shone blue when she twirled them in the hearth light.
She intended to thank him for his gifts when he next requested her company, but she had no chance, not that day and not the following days. Her discontent came back ten-fold with the new knowledge that he was here and yet still did not attempt to seek her out.
The scent of hormones filled the fortress and tore him away from his intentional distance from her. The siren call of her blood clouded all logic and reason, luring him through the passageways until the perfume overwhelmed him at the entry of the kitchen.
Rivani’s soiled linens bubbled in the cauldron while she busied herself with sorting clothing for the next batch of washing. When she noticed him, her manner closed up. She glowered at him impressively.
“You leave for days, for my own benefit according to you, return, but avoid me. Tell me, Baró, do you regret agreeing to me as a companion? That can be fixed. If you intend on staying away, there’s no point in keeping me here.”
He hoped they might be able to resume where they had left off and eagerly anticipated his return to her company.
She had touched him last time, which made him feel daft for the amount of pleasure such a simple gesture inspired.
He hoped that they would continue their comfortable living arrangement with the possible development of friendship.
Her unexpected surliness caused him to take a step backward and question if perhaps he had returned a little prematurely in her cycle.
“Y do mooste humblie apologyse,” he offered her, a little confused by the reason she wanted an apology, but nonetheless willing to offer it. “Y meant no ynsult by long absence.”
“You won’t even argue with me!” She ripped the scarf from her hair and threw it down on the table. “And that’s it then? You apologize, everything is great, life goes back to normal?”
“Y am attemptyng to express syncere contrytionne. Yf thou needest more of me for yt, thanne please say for Y am unpractyced when yt comes to expressyng my acknowledgment of wrongdoyng.”
“Not at all, Baró,” she scoffed. “In fact, you do it rather too well. Nothing seems ‘unpracticed’ with you — your words, your movements, your gestures, all a little too practiced! Careful with our words, careful with our time away, careful not to overstay our welcome, careful with our manners so as not to send the Rivan woman vomiting on your feet again!”
Careful? Of course he was careful! Nothing would be served if he intimidated her with his size or actions however unintentional. Were not deliberate displays of non-aggression simply practical consideration?
“Tellest me what thou needest.” Maybe there was more he could do.
“Can’t you just be natural?” She pleaded and accused. “Can’t you just speak like you’re not reciting a monologue and move without it looking like you’ve memorized steps? If you don’t want me or my company, you needn’t be coy about it. Just tell me!”
“Y do wish thy companie,” he assured her. “And yf my actionnes seem mooste unnatural, thanne Y do syncerelie apologyse for that yn addytionne.”
“I keep getting meaningless apologies,” she growled, a sound to rival any he could make. “Is that all you can do? What reasons have you, Baró? Or are you no better than a trained bear mouthing words? I thought more of you than that.”
Astonished at the accusation, he faltered. He had definitely returned to her prematurely.
“Y was once told, by a sorceress of thy people, that an apologie coupled wyth a reason ‘twas only a way to justyfie a wrong. Yf thou desyrest reason, Y shall give yt thee.”
“Very well.” She sat sideways on the bench and crossed her arms. “You have apologized without justifying it. Now tell me what the hell is going on, Baró.”
“Thy blood time came early and heavie.” He pointed to the cauldron of linens. “I fynd such yntoxycatyng and fyght not to be underfoot. Y came today because thy smell ys strong and Y could not stay away any longer.”
“I missed you!” The phrase would ordinarily cause delight but an undercurrent of fury still existed. “You wanted my company and then you disappeared. You’d been gone so long, too long that I thought...”
The moments of silence stretched on.
“How woldest thou prefer Y be natural?” Baró ventured in a whisper.
“That wasn’t fair of me.” Her shoulders slumped. “You can’t help being what you are.”
While her accusations of mindless recitation and choreography of his movements embarrassed him, her allowance shamed him. She spoke the truth of course, but he fought the hampering changes of his body. He bowed his head and took a step back.
“Y move cautyouslie so as not to affrayen thee,” he said.
“Thou art correct. Y have with practyce adjusted my movements. Thou hast not seen me on all fours, though that beeth mooste natural for me. Y paas slowlie that Y may accorden upryght yn human fashionne. As for words...” He fumbled here, not sure what to say about the mechanics of his speech and his language.
“The Magyc requyreth precysionne yn thy words whyche therefore requyreth forethought.”
“It’s not just that. All your words are careful, Magic or not.”
“Words cometh not naturallie to me eft.” He had grown agitated that his efforts had been mistaken for dimwittedness or lack of consideration.
“Whan thys,” he gestured at his face, looking for words, distressed at the humiliation of having to explain, “doth changed, so too doth the rest — my jaw, my throat, my tongue. Y lost mine abylytie to speak.” He wished he could communicate the immensity of the accomplishment that he could do so now.
“For manie years, Y spoke not at all, reduced to grunts and growls until Y devysed a way to replycate thy sounds. Y know not how to further alter yt that yt mayeth seem more natural.”
“I know you’re trying.” She rubbed her eyes. “I knew there was something wrong with your...” She gestured to the area around her own throat.
“Aye.”
“I am so frustrated, Baró, and I am taking it out on you. If I don’t see you, I don’t have any company. When I do see you, our communication lacks, you by your changes, me by the fact your language is not my first. And you speak a dialect so old, I sometimes don’t understand at all.”
When her attention turned introspective and self-directed, Baró emerged from the corridor. He lowered himself onto the bench on the other side of the table and folded his hands, keeping them in sight.
“Mine apologies agayn, Rivani.”
“Do you truly desire my company? Or is there some other motive?”
“Y need thy companie and Y have come to desyre yt.” He stared at his hands.
“My mynd doth revert whence not yn companie. Y have lost so much of myself and continue to do so whan alone. Y once knew manie languages and yet am fortunate styll to have mooste pofsefsionne of oon.” He glanced at her, catching his bottom lip with a pointed tooth.
“Y thought that thou wouldst not desyre my companie more than necefsarie.”
“In the first days, I did not, thinking you were bent on torturing me because of some silly flower.”
“The rose hath more ymportance thanne thou myghtest realyse.”
“I know it’s magic,” she waved it off. “I know I should never have taken it. I was angry at myself, Baró, and I was angry at you because there were consequences for my actions. Being bound to the land for so long a time bothers me, but it is a small price in perspective. If you are here to help the time pass, perhaps I will not suffocate as I fear.” She paused, her face collapsing into introspective thought before she redirected her attention back to him. “Did you ever speak Rivanic?”
“Y knew some, deryved from others’ conversationne moostlie, and whan thy caravans or carttes passeth through, Y do oft harken to their speech.”
“Would you be amenable to re-learning? I often find myself questioning your words. If you need company and occupation to assist in keeping your mind engaged, then perhaps our communication would improve if you spoke my language instead.”
He considered the idea with enthusiasm. If they would have difficulty communicating no matter the language, he may as well be learning a new one, facilitating better understanding on her end and retaining his more sophisticated faculties.
“Thy language, yf memory serves, hath no wrytten component.”
“We use the common language of wherever we go for writing. Safer for us Rivani to not have such lasting identifiers.”
“Thanne Y would be a moost wyllyng pupyl.”
“Writing would deter you?”
“Y am not buylt for such delycate work.” He unfolded his hands and spread them out, showing off their long knobbed fingers and the unwieldy claws. “And my vysionne hath changed severelie, fer beyond readyng. Y more readylie relie on mine other senses.”
“Could you not ask the Magic for a lens?”
“My request for such hath been denyed on manie occasionnes.”
“Rivanic is not dependent upon the ability to read or write.” She glanced around the room at the linens that still boiled and the jars still awaiting the outcomes of her experiments.
She twisted her mouth and pulled the braid out of her hair.
“The deer below will likely go off in a few days. Bring it up and eat here while I work.”
“Y fere that such repeleth thee.”
“Baró, your manners are above reproach.” She gazed him down while her hands re-plaited her hair. “I know it may be different with a carcass, but I have been unfair to you about what comes naturally. I have no wish to make you uncomfortable for my sake. I will learn.”
His brow rose but he pried himself from the bench to follow through on her instructions.
“I did not have the opportunity to thank you for the mushroom and the feathers. They were lovely presents.”
“Y am glad they pleased thee.” He cast his eyes down for a moment but smiled.
“They did indeed,” she said. “It would please me more though if, next time, I see you before aught else.”