Arthur spent the next one year travelling in a circle around Forbearn, the one place he wanted to be, but the one place he couldn’t bring himself to visit. So, he kept it just out of his reach, tormenting himself with the thought of home, Reifire, everything they had done, everything he had had to do, and all his secrets he couldn’t afford to tell even the pages where he was writing down his own story.
But he decided to do something new this time. He didn’t stay anywhere for more than three-four days. He still told stories though now he charged coin from anyone who wanted him to record their story. This became an efficient way of not only earning coin but also gaining acceptance for his presence. He was nearly not threatening enough if all he did was write down peoples’ stories. They tended to trust him with their anger, frustration, thirst, hopelessness, hope, love, and desire. They would leave feeling cleansed after the outpouring and sometimes they left behind more than the coin he charged, like an extra sweet bun, a glass of beer or new ink pots.
He learnt how to listen, something he hadn’t learnt even as a courtier. He learnt people didn’t want to be taught anything. They didn’t want to listen. They wanted to be heard. And when someone like Arthur gave them his attention that’s all that they wanted.
During one such conversation, a man who was seventy said, “You know Mr. Chubs, we folken, we don’t need anyone to fix things for us. We can do that. But we do want someone to listen to us. Show us we’re important. We’re not just somebody you oppress in the name of ruling. But somebody you take into consideration when making the rules – all of us. Not just me or you, but even Vickie the wicked or Rani the warrior.”
Arthur nodded. He had much to say on why he was right and wrong, on how it was impossible to do what he was saying but he also knew it was perhaps the principle of what he was saying that mattered more than if it was feasible.
Things changed, as they were wont to, when you least expect them to. In one of the villages he visited, he got a hastily scribbled note, asking him to meet the writer of the note at the outskirts of the village, near a lake. There were clear instructions on how to find the cabin that was strategically obscured using brambles and other foliage. Such a summons was outside his realm of experience so of course he had been reluctant to follow it.
Then he had asked himself what he was afraid of and when he couldn’t come up with a courageous answer, he grit his teeth and started to walk towards the lake.
As he walked, he noted ideally how much easier it had become to travel without his wagon. Though he missed the feel of books in his hands and he had taken those copies from the royal library because he had wanted to save them from Reifire’s wrath, it was easier to run without them.
He reached the cabin. It wasn’t as obscured as the sender of the note had thought. He had been able to see it clearly from the edges of the lake. He knocked on the door and when a hooded figure opened it, he took a step back, heart in his mouth, expecting a blow of some sort.
“Have you forgotten me, old friend?” said a voice he recognized.
“Selma?” he asked, shocked.
The hooded figure threw back the shawl. Her face was still half burnt but the years had softened the edges. She could only see from one eye but he knew even so she could be deadly. “I couldn’t believe when I saw you sitting under the tree yesterday. But I think it was your posture: head down, surrounded by people and ink pots that put me so in mind of dear Artie that I knew it had to be you.” Selma said all this as she threw her hands around Arthur and he returned her hug just as enthusiastically.
She let go, looked around as if for some hidden threat then closed the door with a finality. She took hold of his hands and they just looked at each other for a time, listing down all the old scars, new changes and how age had bent them both. Even the spark that had been ever present in their eyes had diminished.
She smiled but it looked sad, weighed down by years of keeping secrets. Arthur assumed he looked somewhat similar. They walked to the fire and sat down on the mat. Though it wasn’t cold, the fire was welcome. It provided an intimate atmosphere, one that helped them shed the years between them and mimic safety.
Selma broke the silence. “Tell me everything.”
So Arthur began by telling her everything he had done since Reifire’s death. It took him most of the night to relate his side of the story. Deep in the night, after they had had several cups of brandy and munched on some nuts and bread and cheese, they decided to get a shut eye. They didn’t move away from the fire though. It felt too safe and familiar to move.
They slept the way they had slept countless times. With their backs to each other, and the promise that no harm would come to them while the other was alive. It was the best sleep Arthur had had in a long time.
*
Selma woke up to the smell of tea and stew brewing. She had had Banes’ stew so many times, it nearly brought tears to her eyes at the flood of memories that smell evoked. She wiped them away, and got up to set the table when he said that breakfast would be ready in a few minutes.
“Any trouble?” she asked, unsure what she meant. How would he know the kind of trouble she had got into since they had parted? She hadn’t told her story yet.
Arthur shrugged. He put down the stew and the warmed bread. He poured the tea, put a dollop of honey in Selma’s tea, he still remembered how she took her tea, and sat down. They didn’t speak as they ate.
Once the breakfast had been tucked away, he took her hand and said, “Your turn.”
Selma started with telling him how she had been captured by a few folks and since they hadn’t been able to demand recompense from Reifire, they had extracted it from her. They had sold her beyond the empire as a pleasure slave. She pre-empted his question on why she hadn’t fought. She was nifty with just about any weapon.
“I had to get away Artie. I had to. There was nothing for us here and I couldn’t bear to wait where the chips may fall with Janah. We had made so many mistakes with Reifire, I had lost all confidence in my abilities to serve a king. I thought this way, maybe I could re-learn who I was.”
After being sold, she changed many hands. Some were cruel, some gentle. Much like Arthur, she had developed a sense of when her usefulness was at an end. It had saved her life one too many times.
“What made you turn home,” he asked, touching the scar on her cheek. He softly tapped around the eye that looked opaque. She had got this injury years before Reifire had turned into a mad king. It had been a village fire. She had saved three children and a family but had had to sacrifice her beauty. It was her proudest sacrifice.
“I got bored,” she said with a shrug and a chuckle. “Finding yourself isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.”
He was so shocked that he let out a full belly laugh. Stretching himself across the table, Arthur hugged her. “Oh I have missed you, my old friend.”
“And I you…dear Artie…”
This is Chapter 18 of 26 of The Travelling Librarian series. Written as part of #BlogchatterA2Z.
Psst: I also have 2 ebooks on Kindle – and if you’re on Kindle Unlimited, they’re free!
- Read The Gunslinger here.
- Read 23 Letters of Love here.
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