Chapter Four #2
Gasping, she staggers back. Her pulse is drumming in her ears, chest so tight it feels like every beat is forced. Strangled. Khiran is wearing her face, her clothes, down to the stubborn piece of chestnut hair that’s escaped her braid and the ring encircling her finger.
Her copy’s eyebrows rise. “What do you see?”
It feels like a trick question. Anna stares back at him—at herself—and it’s so disconcerting to see her wild-eyed expression reflected in those cool hazel eyes that match her own.
She swallows the lump in her throat, lets her eyes travel over the reflection of her face.
“Myself,” she answers, a trembling whisper on her breath.
It feels like the wrong answer even as she says it. “I see myself.”
Khiran steps toward her, a picture of a calm confidence Anna has never felt in her life. “What else?”
She doesn’t understand what he’s asking. Doesn’t understand how she’s supposed to respond. The confusion and the panic must show on her face, because he shakes his head. “Do you see someone worth fearing?”
Anna traces the gentle curve of her jaw, the softness of her eyes, momentarily unable to answer. Then her gaze dips and she sees the pale patch at her shoulder peeking outside her collar and she flinches, hands reaching up to adjust the one at her own throat. “It’s different. If they saw—”
Khiran’s head tilts. “Did they? When you were with Eira?”
Her heart stutters, because no. In the decade she worked at Eira’s side, not a single patient ever mentioned catching sight of it.
“It’s not the idea of starting a new life that scares you,” he says, softly. “It’s the idea of doing it alone.”
His words strip her. All her excuses—the thin armor she’d scraped together—falls to pieces around her. She feels exposed. Bare. The knowing in Khiran’s gaze—through a mimicry of her eyes—scrapes her raw.
He closes the space between them until they’re so close Anna can see the individual flecks of color in her irises and their breath mingles. “You’re not alone,” he says. “Not anymore.”
It takes three weeks to get to the little unnamed town a day’s walk past Scarborough. Khiran must have come through fairly recently, because some of the locals recognize the face he wears.
It’s … odd. Watching him interact with people who have no idea who he really is or what he’s capable of.
The motions, the charisma, all come so naturally to him.
Anna wonders if that’s not a power all on its own.
By the time he’s negotiated a place for her to live, Anna’s surprised at how little negotiation actually took place.
Khiran helps her settle, the excuse of being her uncle enough to draw away any suspicion of them being in a room together.
His eyes gauge her reaction as she takes in the space.
It’s minimal, really. A threadbare mattress on the floor and a creaking table and chair.
There’s enough room to dry herbs, though, and its location on the edges of the village is enough to offer some semblance of privacy should she want it.
She chews her lip, anxiety creeping over her like a veil.
“I’m not trained in midwifery. Eira only ever had one patient while I stayed with her. ”
He runs a hand over the table, fingers drumming across the surface. “I’m aware. There’s a widow by the name of Elizabeth who will train you in what she knows. She’s delivered many children over the years.”
Anna frowns. “Then what need do they have of me?”
“She’s dying,” he says. His answer feels as simple as commenting on the passing of seasons, but Anna feels it like a slap.
“The knowledge is there, but her strength isn’t.
You’ll help each other until she’s unable.
” A quick glance around the empty room and he adds, “I’ll bring you some materials on the subject as well.
I trust Eira’s taught you to read and write? ”
“Yes,” Anna says, embarrassed, “but I’m afraid I’m not very good.”
“All the more reason you don’t let the skills you’ve learned go lax. I’ll bring some writing parchment and ink for you as well.” He catches her gaze—as if he knows her hesitance. “It’s a skill that will take you farther than most. Don’t squander it.”
Anna flinches. “Eira didn’t have much for me to practice with.”
“I suppose she wouldn’t,” he hums, considering. “The woman is older than the Bible and she still hasn’t managed to grow any new interests.”
He looks up at her, smiling at her stunned expression. “Let’s not make her same mistakes, yes? I’ll lend you some books.”
In her chest, her heart stutters, a flush creeping up her neck. Books are rare. Expensive. The closest thing she’s ever held is Eira’s notebook on herbal medicines, the one held together only with string. “I couldn’t.”
He tests the sturdiness of the single chair at the table, frowning at the way it creaks but trusting it well enough to take a seat.
“You can and you will. Don’t worry, I don’t plan on testing you.
Whether you read them or not, whether you learn or not, is entirely in your hands.
” He drums his fingers over the tabletop, his gaze sharp.
“However, I’d be lying if I didn’t confess I believe you to be smart enough to take an opportunity when it’s given. ”
Anna isn’t sure if she feels comforted by the compliment or concerned that he can still see right through her.
The first few years are the hardest.
Khiran visits but never stays. The first year she could count on him almost monthly.
Always a different form, different face, but always with the same calculating gaze and a different book under his arm.
He trades them out, forcing her to finish reading one before trading it in for another, the subjects varying from midwifery to other subjects she’s not sure she has a need for: Math and Science, History and Geography.
Information she’s not entirely sure she’ll ever have a need for, but she struggles through them anyway—even in the cases where she only really understands a fraction of what she reads.
It gives her something to do, something to practice, when her meager wages don’t afford her anything else to occupy her time.
After the first few volumes, she finds the actual act of reading has become infinitely easier—more instinct than thought—and grudgingly admits that Khiran was right to push her into perfecting it.
Once she’s more established, more confident in her independence, he comes less and less until it’s three months, six months, a year, between his visits.
For a while, she feels bitter about his waning interest in her well being.
Then she remembers the way he stared back at her, wearing her face, and it dawns on her that he could be checking on her far more often than she knows—plucking at strings behind the curtain.
The more she thinks about it, the more she’s convinced.
How else would anyone rent a private space to a strange woman that traveled alone? How else would she secure a job when she carries no references? She asks him one night, during one of his short visits. The only answer she receives is a smirk that reaches his eyes and one word.
“Perhaps.”
It’s a small comfort, a threadbare thing, but she grasps it with both hands. Particularly since she’s found interacting with the townspeople to be even more difficult than she had first feared.
Living with Eira had been easy—she knew her secrets and accepted them.
Anna didn’t have to keep her guard or keep her distance, the only people she saw were those that sought them out.
Living within a community is different. It’s having to manage little interactions multiple times a day, dodge questions that should be innocent (where do you hail from?
Poor dear, did you come here all alone?) but the lies feel awkward coming off her tongue.
Every awkward interaction is a reminder of just how bad she is at blending in.
Anna is certain she gains the reputation of being odd.
People who were friendly enough at first would sour, their smiles growing stale at the corners and their conversations sounding as forced as she feels.
Anna’s a little ashamed to admit that it’s more a relief than anything—she’s fine being the odd one.
It’s infinitely better than being labeled a leper.
Even Elizabeth, who spent countless hours training her in midwifery, never seemed interested in her friendship.
She does her duty, teaches her with a patience that is both short and sharp.
The older woman only lives six more months.
Enough time for Anna to feel regret over her passing, but not sadness.
It’s almost a relief—being alone. She only has herself to worry over and no one to mourn when the time comes to leave.
She only stays in that tiny town for six years. Enough time to feel settled, but not enough for anyone to notice the way her skin never ages and her hair never grays. Short enough for her acquaintances to never bloom into friendships. It’s better that way. Easier.
When she picks up and moves on, she never feels like she’s leaving anyone behind.