Meeting Selma unlocked something in me. The memories of the time I had spent with Reifire, first as his friend, then as his advisor and finally as his paramour, could no longer be denied. But there was a distinct change in the…flavour as it were…of the recollections. Before I thought of them from a distance, like they weren’t something that had happened to me but someone I had known.
But seeing Selma and hearing her story took away the comfort of that distance. It was I who had participated in the arrests of storytellers and performers. It was I who hadn’t done anything, despite having the king’s ear and being his advisor, to stop him, to cool his fire.
When I had run from Forbearn, it had been easy, imperative, to excuse away my [well our but I never did think of it as a shared responsibility] previous inertia: I never had the time. I couldn’t foresee it would get this bad. How was I to know? He was the king, if he wanted to arrest and kill citizens who had dared to ridicule him in some way, who was I to stop him? I had no power. He wouldn’t have listened in any case.
The list had been endless.
Now that I had distance and the lens of helplessness had been erased, I knew it for what it was. Failure, excuses, and good people not acting when they should have. It didn’t matter that after, I had done everything I could to reintroduce storytellers into the society. It didn’t matter that I had done everything in my power to restore the glory of performers.
In the end, I hadn’t done enough. Becoming a nomad had barely scratched the surface. I hadn’t done anything. I had barely begun.
*
Arthur stopped. He was trying to write his history so that others wouldn’t repeat his mistakes. Not so that he could berate himself. He snorted. What a privileged viewpoint to think anyone would want to listen to him.
He was seated on Selma’s table. She was away on business. He didn’t ask and she didn’t venture information. Their initial few days had gone in catching up and settling into a rhythm that only friends of old could have settled into. No topic was out of bounds and no secrets were kept. He even let her read the pages he had written about his bond with Reifire. She hadn’t said anything, only given him a hug. Of all the courtiers from that time, Selma was perhaps the only one who knew exactly what Arthur had lost.
He shook himself from the mood. Selma had left him a bunch of chores and a raised eyebrow, as if challenging him to not only remember them all but actually accomplish them by the time she returned. She had been kind enough to leave him a list.
So he got himself busy, filling the tank of water, replenishing the herbs in the kitchen, polishing a new pot to contain water now that Arthur was there, and tidied the place up. They had still not migrated to the bed, Selma too leaving it in favour of sleeping with her back to Arthur’s. They had made two pallets of blankets in the small place in front of the fire where they spent all their time, like they were children.
When Selma came home, he had just finished his lunch and was putting away the bread and cheese. He saw her expression, how pale she looked and how clammy her hands were, he nearly shat in his pants.
“Royal guard,” she said, squeezing his hand a little too tightly, “in the tavern. They were looking for you. They had a drawing Artie…a really good one.”
“Did you…”
Selma went from afraid to angry so quickly it left him dizzy. “Of course not. Do you take me for a fool? I made no overt movements. Went about my work as per usual and came here as per usual.”
“They could have recognized you,” he said, pointing at his own cheek.
She looked down like it pained her to admit it. “No one would. You’re safe, for now. I’d give them two days. They’ll leave after. What will you do?”
Arthur sat down on the chair and Selma sat in front of him. She took his hands in her own. He looked fragile. Like a wrong word would break him. He had never been that strong, she thought. The difference in status between he and the other courtiers had been too stark. And once it had become clear how dear he was to Reifire, people had loathed him.
But she hadn’t. Selma and Yonik and Ullea and Terry. The five of them had been unstoppable. She laughed. Two out of five alive wasn’t a bad score now was it; considering all that they had withstood? She had been angry with the four, in the beginning, for leaving her behind. But as the years had passed that anger had turned into despair and then hope. Hope that wherever they were, they were safe. She had heard about Yonik and Ullea’s death through Terry. The three of them had managed to stick together for a time and had devised a way to communicate with each other when circumstance and need drove them away.
Terry…Terry and she had taken up with each other, for a time. Until his piling number of debts had chased him away. He had been found dead in a ditch. No one had done much to find out why except announce his death. She had had to run when his debtors had started to hound her instead.
“Selma,” his voice brought her back to the present. “I’m so tired of running.”
“Why don’t you just let them arrest you then?” she said sarcastically.
“Not yet.”
“Artie…” she gasped, putting her hand on her mouth. She had been joking.
He got up, letting go of her hand. He started to pace. “I cannot drag you down with me Selma. You seem to have found some peace here. I won’t let them have you. Not when they’re not even looking for you.”
“It had been our decision,” she said softly.
“But it had been me,” he said just as softly. “Selma you have punished yourself enough. It’s time to let it go.”
Angry again, she got up too and rounded the table. She slapped him across his face. “Isn’t it time you let it go too?” She didn’t raise her voice, even though she wanted to.
“I can’t.”
She caught hold of his collar and shook him like she could rattle the stubbornness out of him. “You owe him nothing. Not anymore.”
“Don’t…”
“He is dead Artie. Reifire is dead. You have to accept…”
“It’s not that and you know it.” He gently took her wrists in his hands. He kissed one and then the other. “I will stay till they leave. Then I will leave you to your peace.”
“I shall find no peace knowing what you’re about to do.”
Arthur hugged her. “I would have taken you with me, if I could. But you know I can’t. This is not your cross to bear. We had decided it would be me. Let it be me.”
Selma clutched onto his shirt tightly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Why, why must I lose you so soon after I found you.”
“Such is life.”
Arthur had never really learnt how to be strong for himself. But for her, and their dead friends, he could be strong.
This is Chapter 19 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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