~~~
Ensore crossed the ground in three strides, stared down at Sarehl and then at the healer, and raised an eyebrow questioningly. He heard a slurred mumble and the other eyebrow went up.
"How is he?" he asked. "I don't seem to have had much time with him the last few days."
"Very much improved," laughed Kaleb. "When I came in, he was damning me. He's holding long conversations without too many signs of exhaustion, is very alert and interested and has become quite argumentative. He also has fewer nightmares, though when they come they're still very bad and quite uncontrollable."
"And in body?"
"We'll see, my friend. You'll notice his scar has healed."
"Yes, I've noticed that," agreed Ensore. "When he puts on weight and the scar fades, he'll still be a most striking looking man."
It didn't take them long to remove the splints. The forester held his breath. The legs resembled wasted fragile sticks but they were straight, Ensore suddenly realising again that they were impossibly long. Sarehl was at least six feet seven inches tall, and all the height, the forester reflected, seemed to be in these delicate limbs. The healer gently tapped and probed each leg, occasionally glancing up at Ensore as he did. He worked quietly with each limb, then the hips.
"All's well," he reassured the forester. "He needs to strengthen, but he'll walk again, albeit with a limp. I can't do anything about that." Ensore gave a sigh of relief and stretched.
"How can he strengthen those legs?"
"Oh he'll do it for himself, that one," Kaleb said in an amused tone. "He has a strong will." He straightened.
While the healer packed away the splints neatly and rolled up the bandages, Ensore lounged to a chair and sat there with Sarehl's book in his lap, idly flicking through it. He yawned, watching Kaleb pick up two goblets and a wineskin and sit opposite. Kaleb poured out the wine and stretching across Sarehl, gave a goblet to Ensore.
"How's the boy coming along?" Kaleb asked conversationally, relaxing back with a sigh of contentment. The forester put down the book. He answered quietly.
"He's intense in what he does and generally does it very well. He'll make a good fighter in time, at quite a young age in fact."
"And what are your plans, my friend?" Ensore went quiet and looked reflectively into the goblet. Kaleb sipped his wine, waiting. When the forester looked up, the healer saw unusual uncertainty in his expression.
"I don't know," Ensore said deliberately. "I've been talking with Sarehl -." He stopped and glanced at Kaleb. "Yes, yes, I know you said not to discuss too much with him, but the man makes sense."
"It also interests him, so I doubt it'll harm him," responded the healer mildly, with a shrug. "Besides he's not as weak as he was." Kaleb drank deeply and added reflectively, "Also, an active mind being stimulated may well help the man come to terms with things and events that bewilder and profoundly anger him." Ensore studied the healer's face impassively for a minute, then nodded and spoke in his quiet way.
"I take your point. If it helps him, well and good. What's so important, from another point of view, is how he talks of organisation and tactics. We badly need him for his quick grasp of situations and his extraordinarily flexible mind." Ensore ran a hand across his beard. "But I know he can't go northwest where he'd be on the move, can he?"
"No, my friend, he can't. He must move on as soon as he's able, but at a pace that suits his ability. He'll never be a fighting man, if he ever was. I sense genuine scholarship about him." Kaleb drank, his eyes on Ensore.
"True," agreed Ensore. "It may be that such a talent and formidable intellect may work to our advantage. He speaks of coordination of forces and of attacking for specific reasons, rather than indulging in random assaults. He says we're too fragmented to be fully effective."
"Is he right? I'm a healer, not a fighter as you've been forced to become, so I can't comment."
"Yes, I think he is. I want more time with him before you move. I'm sure he can help our cause a great deal."
"You assume I'm going north as well, Ensore."
"Aren't you?" quizzed Ensore. "You wouldn't leave Sarehl in other hands now, would you?"
"No, probably not. What though," pursued Kaleb, "about the boy?"
"He'll presumably go north with his brother. The boy's much too young to be a fighter. He's scarcely more than thirteen cycles," replied Ensore, in an adamant tone.
"Dase won't be happy about that, but I see we'll not agree," sighed Kaleb. He looked across at Ensore and gave him a smile of long friendship. "Time, my friend, will show us the way."
Ensore raised his goblet in a salute.
~~~
The summer weeks passed quickly for Daxel. It didn't take him long to become at ease around the foresters, who treated him as if he were everyone's younger brother and teased him. He took it because it was done with lazy affection. What Ensore told him he accepted without question. At last he felt as if he belonged somewhere. Sarehl saw the boy's eyes brighten and Daxel didn't hunch defensively, but when Sarehl commented on this to Ensore the forester merely looked grave, but made no response.
Daxel was an observant boy who picked up things very quickly, nor could he live among adults without becoming more like them, his maturing more rapid than could normally be expected. To a casual observer he wouldn't just seem a thirteen-cycle boy. The exercise and training that Ensore put the boy through had a physical affect too. He looked lean and fit, rather than lanky and gawky. His coordination improved when he learned to ride which he did with grace after a season. Arth, a gifted horseman, taught him horsemanship and said the boy had the potential to be an excellent rider.
Daxel's confidence, so badly shattered, returned. The most pleasing aspect of Daxel's maturing was the smile that often crept across the young face, or the reluctant grin he gave when he was caught out in some way by the men. Ensore was delighted when he heard the boy break into spontaneous laughter one day, aware that he'd never heard Daxel being boyish. Nor did Daxel hide away. He became steadily more sociable and the taciturn boy, who seldom spoke, was almost garrulous.
He learned to handle a pike and a broadsword. He was encouraged into archery for which he had very real aptitude. He learned to ride and shoot, still astride, in a fluid motion and because he did daily training his stamina and strength increased. The forester also supervised what Daxel ate. That surprised the boy, especially when he was handed powders that he was told to add to his food. When Daxel asked what they were for Ensore looked at him and said they were for growing pains.
"I seem to stretch overnight," mumbled Daxel, looking at the forester with a grin.
"Your father was very tall, Sarehl tells me."
"I never knew my father. Sar's the only father we ever knew, other than Bruno for a short while," was the very soft response, before Daxel turned away. Ensore watched him go thoughtfully, his brows knit.
One day in midsummer saw Daxel lethargic, he made mistakes and it was obvious his mind wasn't on what he was doing. They all sprawled out, eating a midsun meal. Ensore's look at Daxel was a searching one, though he made no immediate comment as both sat in silence. He noticed the boy had an unusual dullness. While Daxel ate, Ensore lounged opposite, studying the lean, intense face.
"Is something on your mind, lad?" he asked. Daxel didn't look up and kept eating. "It's considered rude not to answer when you're spoken to," Ensore chided him.
To his surprise, Daxel threw down his plate and rose precipitately. He fled from the fireside. Ensore watched the retreating figure with a frown that didn't lift when Kaleb came over and squatted down beside him. The healer looked enquiringly across at the forester.
"What's upset the boy?" he enquired, scooping up a mouthful of stew.
"I merely asked what bothered him," answered Ensore preoccupied. "Now what the gods can have upset him?" He looked sharply at Kaleb. "Is Sarehl all right?"
"He was a few minutes ago when I took him food," replied Kaleb. About to take another mouthful, he added
, "He's getting difficult to handle. I think we should let him hobble about on sticks."
"How will he react to that?" asked Ensore, momentarily diverted.
"With disgust, I should imagine," was the amused response.
The meal passed without much further conversation, then Ensore strolled away to find Daxel. He found the boy where the forester thought he'd be, because Daxel always came back to the spinney when he needed to think or things got too much for him. He was on the ground leaning against a sapling, his long legs stretched out and his face tear-stained. When he saw Ensore, he quickly tried to surreptitiously wipe away a stray tear. Ensore stood where he was.
"Am I intruding, Dase?"
"No," came the mumbled reply.
"May I sit with you?"
"Yes." Ensore advanced, settled himself on the ground, and leaned back on an elbow.
"Will you tell me what troubles you? It sometimes helps to share a burden, you know."
"You taught me fighting skills, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did," said Ensore, a note of surprise in his quiet voice.
"How can I use them as a forager? I'll forget everything."
"What are you talking about, Dase?"
"About going back to forage." This time the young voice was despondent. "You must know how I'll hate it. And I like being with you. I feel I belong with you and the others."
"Well, who in the name of the gods is making you forage, you silly child?" asked Ensore, exasperated.
"You're sending me on soon, aren't you?"
"Sending you where?"
"To the next camp, with Sarehl."
"Ah," said Ensore, with sudden comprehension. "Now what have you been hearing, my lad?" Daxel felt his chin gripped and his face turned to look directly into the forester's. He tried to jerk his head away, but Ensore gripped him so hard his fingers hurt the young face. "Answer me!"
"I heard them all talking, last night. They said you'd be going north to a troop but that Sarehl and the boy - that's me, isn't it - were going to a refugee camp once Sarehl could walk again." The grasp on his chin didn't lessen.
"Look at me." Daxel found himself looking into formidable, gray eyes that no longer smiled. "Now you listen to me." Daxel's head was shaken a little. "Have I said anything to you at all?" Daxel tried to shake his head. "Has your brother spoken to you about it?" He tried again. "Do you always believe discussions you hear at the fire?" Daxel blushed. "Well, do you?" demanded Ensore inexorably.
"Not usually, no."
"Good," said Ensore, letting go the chin. "Gods, what a child you are," he commented on a sigh. "There's something you'll bear in mind, Dase. I always tell people what's to happen and explain why. I'll discuss things with you at an appropriate time, lad." Daxel nodded. Ensore stooped, picked up the bow and quiver that lay beside Daxel and held them out. "You'll care for these as you've been taught. They're now yours and you'll always have them accessible."
"Thank you," came the gruff, breaking voice. There was a considerable degree of affection in Ensore's expression as he looked across at Daxel.
"You mustn't be a liability to us, lad," he said, very gently. As he stood Daxel looked directly back at the forester and saw the seriousness behind the smile in Ensore's eyes.
"Does this mean I can go with you?" Ensore held up his hand.
"One step at a time, boy. Your brother isn't yet walking. It's also his decision, not mine."
He noticed Daxel looked behind him, bow and quiver in hand and turned, following the boy's intent gaze. Limping towards them, grimly determined, was a tall figure who leaned very heavily on sticks. Kaleb walked beside Sarehl with a resigned expression.
"Quickly, lad, over to him before the stubborn fool falls over."
It didn't surprise Ensore to see Sarehl up and trying to walk. He caught Kaleb's eye as they drew closer and couldn't restrain a grin. The forester watched as the healer gently, but firmly, bullied Sarehl to eat and exercise, and made him take medicines and rest. Under this care, Sarehl was no longer so distressingly emaciated. More noticeably, he had spirit. Having been standing with sticks, learning anew how to balance for several days now, he insisted on trying to walk. He hailed Ensore cheerfully as the forester and his brother came up to him.
"Gods, what an effort it is," he said breathlessly.
"I told you to maintain balance first," scolded Kaleb.
"Does he bully everyone?" asked Sarehl.
"Most of the time," answered Ensore, moving beside Sarehl and taking one of his arms, while Kaleb took the other. Daxel grabbed the falling sticks. "Now, Sarehl, relax and try to walk," Ensore suggested, encouraging Sarehl to lean heavily on him. "You may find it easier this way."
Quietly, he and Kaleb turned Sarehl around and let him limp slowly back the way he'd come. The healer turned to Daxel.
"Remove those sticks well out of his range, won't you?"
Grinning broadly, Daxel did exactly that. He picked them up and took them into Kaleb's tent as Ensore gently helped Sarehl ease himself into a seat the healer drew up. The forester stood quietly looking down at the seated figure.
"I need to talk with you," he said gently. Sarehl looked up.
"You're troubled about Dase, aren't you?"
"We have to decide on his future, don't we?" Ensore crouched, his face serious. "He's in something of a fret, you see," he added, in a very quiet aside.
"I know," whispered Sarehl, raising a hand to stop any further conversation because Daxel approached with a heavy cloak draped over one arm.
"Kaleb said you're to wear this," Daxel announced, carefully draping it round his brother's shoulders. Ensore got to his feet.
"You stay and keep your brother company, lad. I'll let you know when it's time to eat." He left as he spoke and Daxel settled on the ground, looking up at his brother.
Sarehl stared down at the boy reflectively for a long time, before he said calmly, "I think you and I need to have a brotherly chat, young man. Would you agree?" He saw how Daxel coloured deeply and drew his own conclusions. "Well, little brother, what do you want to say to me?"
~~~
When Ensore approached the brothers to advise food was ready, he paused, watching them from a short distance. They were alike in many ways, yet very different. Sarehl behaved like a man considerably older than his twenty cycles with, still, a languid tiredness to his gestures. Daxel was vivacious with bright eyes; he had a youthful vibrancy that contrasted sharply with his brother's languor. Daxel knelt next to Sarehl, laughing up at him. When Sarehl looked up he saw, over the boy's head, the still figure of the forester outlined against the fading light.
Once they were all comfortably ensconced around the fire, Ensore sent Daxel off to get food for both himself and his brother. Sarehl waited for the boy to go, before speaking to Ensore in a low voice.
"I think I'm losing him again." Ensore heard sad recognition and acceptance.
"He wants to fight, doesn't he?" was all he said. There was a long pause that the forester didn't want to break.
"He wants to be with you." This time Ensore heard the faintest sigh from Sarehl after he spoke and understood it.
"Because I'll teach him to fight. It would be someone else if it wasn't me," he answered softly.
"Maybe. They grow up so fast."
"What do you wish me to do, Sarehl? He's your brother and it must be your decision what happens to him." Ensore saw a haunted expression flicker across the scarred face. "Don't make a decision you're uncomfortable with. The boy will adapt, one way or the other."
"I'm not uncomfortable. The boy's seen all he holds dear torn from him and knows depths of despair. He wishes to fight those who've so wronged him and hurt me, so I say he goes with you if that's his wish and you're prepared to accept responsibility for him." Sarehl's smile went awry. "I know he's mature for his age, but he's still only a boy." Ensore put a firm hand on Sarehl's shoulder and kept it there.
"I'll take care of him for you, Sar, be assured of that. I'll never le
t harm come to the boy." Ensore paused. "His youth concerns you deeply, doesn't it?" Sarehl thought for a moment, before speaking.
"I know he'll be safe with you and that you won't let him fight until he's older. It's not that, it's..."
"What really concerns you?"
"If I send the boy north to a camp, even in company with me," Sarehl began, then he paused again. "He'll get bored and lonely, even with me. He told me this evening that not knowing what happened to his brother tears him apart. He experiences surges of pain and fear, but says he's coped better since you've been here and I suspect it's because you keep him fully occupied and he has little time to brood."
"Does he miss Bethel, too?" asked Ensore, rather surprised. He was aware Sarehl turned his head and stared oddly at him.
"I speak of Lute, his twin brother." The forester stopped eating and looked back at Sarehl in astonishment.
"I didn't know he had a twin brother," he replied blankly. It was Sarehl's turn to be surprised.
"But Kaleb -. " He broke off, then continued. "Kaleb noticed how haunted the boy was, seasons ago, and asked me if it was Bethel. He didn't understand why the boy continued so desolate and uncertain. It's Lute who troubles Dase so deeply." Ensore frowned into the fire.
"And no one knows what happened to Lute?"
"No one."
"Twins know, don't they," pursued Ensore, "if one of them's badly hurt, or has died?"
"Dase doesn't feel Lute's dead -." Sarehl broke off and put a warning hand on Ensore's arm as Daxel appeared, a heavily laden tray in his hands that he carefully placed in his brother's lap before he turned and went back to the foresters. Ensore was reflective.
"We know little about twins – they're quite rare in our part of Ambros and barely known further south. Dahkilah hasn't known twins for a very long time. There are types of twins too, aren't there? "
"Aye. Dase and Lute are considered less common because they're truly identical. They don't just mirror each other as some do – they are the same, though split in half. No one could tell them physically apart. Mam thought she could. I couldn't. They thought and spoke in unison. Bethel and Chlo knew which was which, but only some of the time. As they began to grow their personalities showed traces of individuality, but they still spoke and thought the same way until the sack of Ortok. They didn't bother to speak until they were four cycles. They had no need to. They were a sort of unit of one in themselves."