Chapter 6 #2
Ulla appeared at Bastion’s shoulder, and he startled as Finn reached around to nose her.
Reflexively, she batted him away. Finn tossed his head, his inky mane and forelock catching the firelight as he squealed indignantly.
She shrank back, her scrunched-up shoulders at odds with the determined set of her mouth.
Bastion reached out to steady Finn. The horse settled under his hand, and Ulla took a hesitant step forwards.
When the gelding didn’t move, she knelt and ran her hands tentatively down his leg.
The soft glow of her healing magic trailed her fingertips like the afterimage of a blink.
Bastion stood dumbstruck. She finished and moved to the next leg, and the next.
When she’d seen to all four, she returned to Bastion’s side and placed a clawed hand on Finn’s sweaty ribcage.
The cant of her head made it look like she was listening to–feeling–his heartbeat. Bastion recalled their palms skidding across each other the night before, when she’d taken his offered hand to dance.
Thump, thump.
Loneliness had sat in his chest for years, a snarled knot that only grew tighter and tighter–until she’d shared her own loneliness with him. She’d trusted him with a vulnerable facet of her being to ease his hurt.
Thump, thump.
Ulla looked up at Bastion. He blinked, eyes dry from staring. Suddenly aware of how slack his jaw was, he swallowed.
Thump, thump.
“Why are you alone?” he whispered.
Her eyes shuttered, surprised. Then her expression sharpened, jaw clenching until there was no softness left in her face. She stood there glaring with enough vitriol to flay him open.
Bastion held his breath.
He’d gladly bleed out at her feet for the answer to that question.
She spun and stalked away, snatching up the saddlebags as she went.
Bastion was so taken aback that she was well beyond the circle of firelight before he started after her. By the time he stumbled into the dark, she was gone.
__________
You failed. You failed. You failed.
Bastion kicked at the shards of rock scattered around the boulder’s base. Ulla had been gone a long time, and he wrinkled his nose, cursing his own stupidity.
To distract himself, he opened the bedroll and threw it over Finn’s back. A pair of hobbles dropped to the ground. Bastion debated using them on the gelding. They weren’t foolproof, and with the Thatian reputation for trouble, Bastion worried he’d wake up to find Finn gone.
In the end, he secured them around Finn’s front ankles before he removed the bridle. The Thatian inched his way to the stream and took a long drink before turning to graze.
Appeased, Bastion looked around. Ulla still hadn’t returned, and part of him feared she’d gone back to the sea.
Unable to stand the sight of the empty camp any longer, he stomped off into the dark.
The grass brushed against him with a soft swish as he paced, running his hands through his hair.
He’d bumbled too many interactions with Ulla.
Not because she was fierce or beautiful or deaf. But because she was Yvri.
He paused to look up at the stars, bright with barely any moon to compete with.
His eyes landed on a familiar constellation. Some called it the Knight, others, the Hero. Legend claimed it was named after the acolyte of a forgotten goddess, tasked with guarding a great evil.
Whatever the case, Bastion had always had a certain affinity for that particular group of stars.
He looked at it often during training, going over the pillars of knighthood before he went to sleep each night.
Now, it filled him with bitterness. The island had forsaken him and instead of appearing competent and confident in front of Ulla, he’d been an idiot.
Sighing, he made his way back to camp, his steps sullen while he absently skimmed his palms over the grass. Maybe his failure on the island was a sign he truly wasn’t worthy of–
Ulla sat atop the boulder, now clad in her mottled shift. One arm draped over her knees while she propped her chin in the other. The saddlebags lay beside her, a pinch of lace peeking out from one flap the only indication of her borrowed clothes.
Before he could say anything, she held out the green leather book, pages spread for him to see the lines written there.
I encountered nothing and no one. My prayers have gone unanswered all my life, so I should not be surprised it is the same here. If there was ever a god that favored me, they are sleeping or dead.
Bastion’s body went cold and rigid, like he’d jumped into the ocean and hit the waves sideways. For a long moment, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from those words painted in firelight. The way she brandished them now felt like she was trying to peel back his skin and rub salt beneath it.
He scowled and shook his head.
Ulla waved the book between them, frowning. She pointed at the page, then at her heart.
“No,” he said. In two strides, he crossed the space between them, leapt up onto the boulder, and snatched the book from her hand. Bastion shoved it into his tunic and slid back down to the ground, landing in a heap by the fire.
You failed. You failed. You failed.
He thought he’d scrubbed those words from his mind.
But he didn’t have to fail here. He could fix this right now by simply swallowing his pride.
Unclenching his fists, Bastion stood and turned. Ulla hadn’t moved, her face as smooth as still water.
“You’re right,” he said. “I shouldn’t have expected an answer to such a personal question if I wasn’t willing to also share. But that’s not something I can talk about right now.”
A mixture of bewilderment and annoyance rippled across her face, but he didn’t offer any further explanation. The wind gusted, making the fire flicker.
He took the opportunity to change the subject.
“Are you cold?” He shrugged off his cloak and leapt back up beside her. “Hungry?”
He dropped the cloak over her shoulders and collapsed at her side, groaning as his ribs protested. Belatedly, he remembered that Yvri didn’t need warmth the way humans did, but she didn’t seem to mind. He pulled the saddle bags closer, retrieved the bag of food, and offered her a winter apple.
She took it, her twilight skin against the rosy fruit an attractive color combination. Bastion dragged his eyes away. He withdrew a wedge of cheese from the bag and used his long knife to carve off a slice.
“How about we start small?” he asked. She tipped her head, eyes falling to his lips. “Back at the inn, the way you communicated with Bart–is that something you taught him?”
Ulla’s brows pinched. Her gaze roved over his face, as if she couldn’t quite make up her mind about what she saw.
Then she held out one hand, palm up.
Bastion looked at it, perplexed. Ulla closed and opened her fingers several times, and he blanched, leaning away. They assessed each other for a long moment. Finn shifted and wickered.
Swallowing, Bastion reached into his tunic for the book and passed it to her. Ulla arched an eyebrow.
With a sigh, he rummaged through the saddlebags until he came up with a piece of charcoal and dropped it into her waiting hand. She turned to the last page and began writing under their first exchange.
Bart taught me, Bastion read.
That surprised him. “How did Bart learn?”
He has a deaf sister, she scribbled. I could only communicate the Yvri way when I met him, and I– She paused and looked at him, her face guarded, as she rolled the charcoal between her fingers. Then she continued. He taught me to sign.
“You seem close.”
Ulla looked away, her gaze distant with memories. She nodded.
“Well, how do you say ‘thank you?’” Bastion asked.
Ulla glanced down at his lips, as if she’d misread. When he didn’t repeat his question, she closed the charcoal in the book and set it down with her forgotten apple. It rolled away, landing near Finn. She touched her fingertips to her lips, then let her arm fall forwards at the elbow.
Bastion smiled and put his knife and the cheese down. He repeated the gesture, emphasizing his next words.
“Thank you for helping that village. Thank you for the information about the pirates. Thank you for coming with me and caring for Finn.”
Ulla swallowed and turned towards Finn, who now munched on her apple. Her brow flattened, and she glanced down at where she’d set it.
When she looked back, Bastion asked, “How about ‘sorry?’”
Slowly, she made a fist, placed it over her heart, and moved it in a circle.
Bastion mirrored her.
“I’m sorry for asking such a personal question earlier.”
Shock softened her jaw, and she blinked at him. They stared at each other until the wind kicked up. Ulla leaned towards him, hunching her shoulders.
Bastion couldn’t contain a rolling shiver. Ulla’s eyes widened, and she smacked his bicep.
“I’m fine!” he laughed.
Ulla shook her head and opened his cloak, inviting him in. When he didn’t move, she rolled her eyes and threw it over him, too. Then she touched her thumb to her shoulder and swept her cupped hand in a half circle in front of her until her little finger touched the other shoulder.
“What does that mean?”
Ulla picked up the book and wrote one word.
Ours.