Chapter 23 #3
The thought made Bastion shiver. He had spent his whole life actively avoiding being seen, in every way but one.
As a knight.
Gods, he failed at everything he tried–
“So what if you failed!?” Minato exclaimed, spreading his arms wide. “I failed to be the perfect son. To support my pod. To further our family line. And if I hadn’t, I would have missed out on the greatest gift of my life: Lawrence.”
Bastion stared at him, aghast. He felt like he’d tied his own hands behind his back and jumped into the sea.
“Have you considered that the gods did intervene?” Minato asked. “That if you had succeeded, you never would have found Ulla on that beach?”
He bent to retrieve the soaked book from the floor and slapped it into Bastion’s hands.
“Now, pull it together,” Minato said. He scooped up the basin of dirty water and stalked into the attached bathroom. “Lawrence is bringing you a surprise.”
Bastion bent the soggy book back and forth in his hands. He swallowed as he opened it to the title page and considered the doodle of the imp.
Cynicism colored his opinion of the gods. The imp was still a mystery, but as Bastion thought about it, he hadn’t really done anything but be a nuisance. In fact, it could be argued that he’d helped Bastion. And if that was the case, perhaps the hand of the divine was present in his life.
He turned to the back, scanning the lines of Ulla’s bold, expressive handwriting. His eyes caught on one phrase.
Do not betray yourself to be understood or accepted. Make your own wind.
His eyes burned again, and Bastion let out a jagged sigh.
She’d written more in his Account than he had, speaking truth where he’d feared to.
Those few pages meant more to him than anything else, save her.
If he had truly lost her, he couldn’t bear to let this record disappear into the depths of the library.
He rubbed away the tears with the back of his hand, then tore the pages out. It was a defiant, selfish act that made him nauseous, but he would have something for himself. He wobbled over to his bag and stuffed them inside. As he straightened, the door opened.
Lawrence entered, a small tray of food in his hand, and with him, Rowan.
A choked grin hit Bastion, despite himself.
“Bastion!” the boy exclaimed. He pelted across the room and caught Bastion around the waist in a hug that was all gangly arms and uncoordinated strength. “Are you hurt again?”
“I’m afraid so,” Bastion said. He sat on the chair by the fireplace. “Let me look at you!”
Rowan stood back and turned in a circle, his lips pressed into a proud smile. He wore a navy page’s tunic, with a column of three white flowers emblazoned on his chest. At his side, thrust through his belt, hung a wooden practice sword. A series of telltale scuffs and smudges dirtied his uniform.
“What have you been up to?” Bastion asked, the words coming in a singsong.
“I’ve been training with Captain Hanniel!” Rowan exclaimed. Lawrence set the tray down and handed Bastion a pint with a strong medicinal smell.
“And talking more,” Lawrence said with a smile.
Rowan suddenly went sheepish, his shoulders scrunching as he gave a tiny nod and whispered, “Yes, but sometimes I still don’t feel like talking.”
Bastion took a long pull from the pint. He screwed up his face and forced the bitter herbal concoction down. “That’s all right. I didn’t talk for a long time at first, either.”
Rowan’s eyes grew round. “Really?” Bastion nodded. The boy’s features stretched into something wild and joyful. “Then I’ll be as good a knight as you!”
The words made Bastion blink. He glanced at Lawrence, who shrugged. “Don’t look at me. The boy wants to be a knight.”
Minato appeared in the doorway, drying his hands with a towel. “Ah, good. Maybe you can talk this lovesick idiot off the cliff.”
Ignoring the Yvri’s quip, Bastion asked, “Why do you want to be a knight?”
“So I can help people.” Rowan tilted his head as if it were obvious. “Like you do.”
Bastion’s heart lurched. He didn’t know how much he’d helped. The memory of Haddrick’s body strung up from Buck’s ship stirred the nausea still bucking in his stomach.
“Rowan, the work of being a knight isn’t fun or pretty.
It’s day in and day out, and no one is going to cheer for you while you build strength and endurance.
And it’s dangerous.” He gestured to the wound at his side.
“There will be bruises, broken bones, aching muscles, late nights, and early mornings. Wounds you may never recover from. Even death.”
Beneath his fringe of sandy hair, Rowan’s brow crinkled. The expression cut Bastion with guilt. He’d spat the words out without thinking, probably destroying the poor boy's hopes and dreams!
“But,” Rowan began, “there are people who care about us who will help. Right?”
He turned and looked over his shoulder at Lawrence, who watched the exchange like a proud papa.
“Just so, my boy. Just so,” he said.
Bastion shook his head. He couldn’t help but go on.
“Yes, but it’s not all songs and glory. It’s going to be hard.”
Rowan smiled. “That’s all right! I’m not afraid to fail.”
The declaration gave Bastion pause. Horrific things had befallen Rowan and yet, here he was only a few weeks later, facing down Bastion’s deepest disappointment with the simplest logic.
He glanced at Minato who gave him a meaningful look as if to say, if Rowan isn’t afraid to fail, why are you?