DEAD WALLS RISE - FARRIS
Special thanks to the forever amazing @thundering-susurrus for editing.
“You should smile more.”
Farris turned his head to eye the thin figure sitting under the window. Without use of his eyes, Kent could no longer see the sunlight spilling down onto him, but the human still enjoyed the warmth of the sun’s rays nevertheless.
“What are ye on about?” Farris asked. “I smile plenty.”
Kent didn’t turn to face his Vhasshalan guardian. “I can hear it in your voice when you frown.”
“The fuck ye can.”
“See?” said the man with a knowing grin. “You did it just now.”
Farris stepped away from the pan of toasting spices to glare at his ward. “Aye, because I have a smarmy lil’ wanker tellin’ me I frown too much.”
“I believe what I said was – ”
“BAH! I know what ye said. When I have a reason to smile more, I will.”
“Seems like you have good reasons to smile now,” Kent said, turning his face to Farris at last. There was no real point in facing the giant when they spoke other than an old inclination from when he still had use of his eyes. “No one’s caught fire in a while. That should be a good enough reason to me.”
Though he clearly saw that Kent was trying to goad him into a lighter mood, Farris did not possess enough spirit at that moment to feel anything other than the same weighted guilt that always followed him day in and day out. “Gonna take a lot more than that, lad.”
Kent’s mild smile faded away. “Isn’t just… being alive enough?”
“Not everyone’s as chipper about that as ye.”
A silence fell between them. To Farris, it felt heavy and dreadful, and he had half a mind to demand the human to simply drop the topic and allow him to go on with his day. Work was numbing and was the only thing he had found that came close to alleviating the pain. The pain brought on from the memories and the knowledge of what he had done. He had his reasons, of course. He had made his choice: the lives of his boys over the scores of captured humans. He was responsible for the workers under him and the humans had been enemy combatants. But that justification only held water for so long.
“You’ll forgive yourself one day, Farris.”
Kent’s words felt like ice in his chest. He brushed a hand across his nose as he bent to grab the pan from the fire. Tipping the now-toasted spices into a bowl, he set it aside before grabbing the next batch and tossing the raw spices into the still hot pan. Giving it a firm shake, his eyes drifted to the flames and he watched them dance for several long moments. He sat the pan down.
“No,” he finally replied in a soft voice. “Ain’t no forgivin’ what I’ve done.”
“You’re too good a man to let his legacy ruin you.”
“Good men don’t murder in…” He stopped himself and sighed. “Ye wouldn’t understand, Kent. And I don’t expect ye to.”
“I think I do a little. Was on the other end of that mess, don’t you forget.”
“How could I?” Farris asked as he glanced over his shoulder. “Ye remind me all the time. Even though I was there.”
“And your bedside manner is as terrible as ever.”
He had to laugh at that. Walking around the table, he went to the counter where Kent was sitting and poked the man’s side. “Was there a point to this or do ye just like hearing yerself blabber on and on?”
“Hm… maybe a little of both?” Kent replied grinning. “No, I did have a point.”
“Then make it so I can get on with my work.”
“You’re a good man, Farris,” Kent said seriously. He reached out and patted Farris’s hand. “Even if you don’t think so. And there aren’t a whole lot of those left in the world. I do hope you find a reason some day to forgive yourself. Even just a little. And maybe you’ll start smiling again.”
Farris eyed him, suppressing the urge to be angry or brush away the man’s touch. Kent always confounded him. He had every right and opportunity to be a bitter wreck of a man after everything he had been through and yet, despite it all, Kent was endlessly cheery and kind. Sometimes frustratingly so. For several moments, Farris stared at the small scarred hand resting on his own. He grunted and pulled his hand away. “What’s got ye all sentimental this mornin’?”
“Hm? Oh, I dunno. Been thinkin’ about my place in the universe. Meaning of life. The usual,” Kent paused as a devious smirk crossed his face. “And of course see how long I can distract you until you catch on that your spices are burning.”
“Wha…? Ah! Ye lil’ fucker!”
Kent’s laughter filled his ears as he rushed back to the hearth to try and salvage his work. In the following years, Farris would regret not appreciating that sound more. It would be the last time he would hear Kent laugh.
The next night, he came down with a hellish fever.
And by morning, Kent was dead.
………………………………………………………………………..
The wedding feast preparations had been a symphony of chaos: carefully planned, but executed more with stubborn will than any finesse or strategy. He had assumed the weeks of prep they had done would carry them further than they ultimately had, and by the second to last course on the last day they were scrambling to keep up. Luckily for Farris, most of the guests were happy enough to indulge in the free flowing wine and liquor between the courses. They would be too inebriated to be able to find their own feet, let alone be able to tell that the next course was late.
And then, of course, that was when Yale brought him the thief.
A human child. She was a small and pitiful creature. Dirty, skinny, and terrified, but a thief nonetheless. He was far too busy to spare her any consideration of leniency. It was her poor luck that she chose to steal from him on the single busiest day in more than a decade. She would just have to wait, he decided. Secured in one of the wooden cages left over from the delivered livestock, he placed her on the counter inside the pantry, gave her a firm warning to be quiet, and left her there. She didn’t scream at him or try to escape. In fact, the little thief barely even made a sound other than muffled weeping. If it had been any other day, he may have felt pity for her. Instead, he was annoyed to have something else dumped onto his already overloaded plate.
Several hours later, when he had a moment to even consider her again, he found that she had wedged herself in the corner and fallen asleep. He opened the cage and slipped a ramekin of water inside before closing it back up again. The human child did not stir.
Even balled up as she was, he could tell she was very young. Too young to be wandering around on her own. A suspicion began to form in his mind that she was not just some young hooligan from the Hill Tribes making trouble. He’d had plenty of those come through over the years and after threatening to toss them into a pie, each of the little troublemakers would be quick with their excuses and defenses. So, after a good scare and a lecture, they’d be sent back to Gregis for another lecture and whatever punishment the Hill Tribe leader saw fit. The war might be over, but danger still remained, even within the castle.
However, Farris could not recall ever having come across a thief so young. Her clothes were made of a rough homespun hemp and, best he could tell, seemed too small for her. She wasn’t even wearing shoes. Autumn had been mild but still chilly enough to warrant shoes. Where in the Seven Hells did this girl come from? And where were her parents?
He decided to leave the questions for later and went to help with the last big push to get the dessert course out the door and cleanup underway. There was a large tankard of dark ale waiting for him at the end of the day and he did not intend to be late. He felt as though he had earned a drink.
…………………
“So what’re ye gonna do with the Dumplin’?”
Farris had sat down to supper that night, more aware of his age than he ever had been. The arthritis in his left wrist was acting up, his joints creaked, and his back hurt. But still, he felt a deep sense of accomplishment for the work they had done. He opened his eyes, glancing towards the source of the question, and shrugged. “Notified Donal. He’ll inform the King tomorrow and then it’ll be his discretion as to what’s to be done with her.”
That seemed to surprise Saen and the rest of his staff. Yale sat up a little straighter. “Why’d ye do that? Ain’t ye just gonna send her back to Gregis? Like the others?”
Farris chuckled. “That lil’ mite ain’t from the Hill Tribes, lad. She’s feral.”
“How can ye tell? She say somethin’?” Yale asked.
“Nah. Just a hunch,” He took a long swig of ale and, as he sat it back down, sent a vague gesture towards the pantry door. “Fer one thing, Gregis wouldn’t let a child run around in that state.”
“She was pretty mangy lookin’,” Yale conceded with a chortle. “Looked like the thin’ needed a good scrubbin’.”
“Thinkin’ a keepin’ her are ye?” Saen asked, elbowing Yale in the ribs.
Yale grinned. “Crossed my mind.”
“Well,” Farris said. “first she’s gotta face the King’s justice.”
“Still. If she ain’t from Gregis’s lot,” Yale said, “where the hell she come from?”
“Who knows,” he replied. “Where do any of ‘em come from anymore?”
Beside him, Bart laughed. “Half the time it seems like they just pop out of the ground like cabbages.”
Grinning, Farris took another long pull from his ale before getting to his feet and reaching for one of the communal bread loaves. He tore off a small but still sizable piece and turned from the table.
“Well, suppose I should go feed her somethin’,” Farris said. “That one’s the skinniest dumplin’ I’ve ever seen.”
Light laughter followed him as he opened the door to the spice pantry. The hearth light fell in an illuminating column into the room and onto the cage where he could see a swathe of red. Farris froze.
The girl was awake and on her belly, clutching the rim of the water cup he had left her. Her skin was red with a distinctive rash and she was pulling in short gasping breaths all the while, laying in a small pool of her own sick.
Farris felt his stomach drop. The red reap.
He recalled the night Kent fell with the fever and how the rash soon followed. His breathing had become raspy and labored and it was not very long at all before he breathed his last breath. But Kent had been an adult, a grown man. The Dumplin’ was just a small child.
“Seven fuckin’ Hells,” he cursed. It was Kent all over again and, though he would never admit it aloud or even to himself, Farris was scared. He turned to call back over his shoulder. “Yale, get me warm water, not hot, and a few towels.”
His assistant looked up at him from his place at the table with round cheeks, unable to answer him with his mouth so full. Beside him Saen was grinning at him cheekily. “Oh aye? Be needin’ some relaxation after all that exhaustin’ spice grindin’, eh, Farris?”
He glared at the cook. “Shut yer gob Saen before I bash it in. It ain’t fer me,” he said and turned his gaze back to the sick little girl. “The human’s got the red reap.”
All of the merriment and cheer died in an instant as all eyes of his staff turned to him. Yale especially looked upset as he mechanically chewed and swallowed. “She didn’t look ill earlier.”
“They call it the reap fer a reason, boy. There’s no warnin’. It just comes. Now get off yer arse and get me what I asked fer.”
Yale was on his feet in an instant, rushing to the shelf to grab a bowl. “...right away, boss.”
He stood beside her cage, feeling the weight of his shame and harshly cursing himself for his cruelty. It was very probable that these would be her last moments and he had her put into a cage. As a joke. But no one was laughing. He opened the cage and removed the cup of water. There was sick all over it and down the side, but he did not pay it any mind. When he reached back inside for the girl, she shied away with a pained mewl. She was shaking and weeping.
He had done this to her.
“Hush now,” he murmured softly to her, resting the tips of his fingers lightly across her back. She tried to squirm away from him. “I know it hurts, lil’un. I know yer scared. Just keep breathin’...”
Yale was there with the water and towels. “Where do you want this, Farris?”
“Upstairs,” he said, considering the girl and how best to pick her up without doing her more harm. “And I’ll need the salve from the drawer there. And a Cayne leaf. Small one.”
In the end, he simply scooped her into his cupped hands. She was so small and light, but shockingly warm. The fever had well set in and he knew she may not have much longer.
Yale followed him up to his private quarters and once inside, Farris directed him to set the bowl of water on the table. His first attempts to remove her vomit-covered clothes resulted in her struggling against him and he snarled at her in frustration. “Stop that, girl. Yer covered in sick.”
He decided it best to get it all over with as quick as possible and simply yanked them off her. She showed signs of malnutrition and was so thin that he knew she wouldn’t have the strength to fight off the fever. The realization seemed to hit Yale at the same time. Once she was clean, he wrapped her in one of the towels and tucked her into the crook of his arm. He applied the salve to her eyelids, where it would help cool the raging heat of the rash. Then he slipped the Cayne leaf into her mouth, which she immediately spat out.
He didn’t blame her. Cayne leaves were rancid and vile tasting things. But it was also one of the best pain remedies known.
“Ye can go Yale,” he said. “I’ve got ‘er.”
His assistant looked at him with wide and fearful eyes. “Ye sure?”
Farris nodded. “If she makes it through the fever, she’ll live,” he said and sighed deeply. “We’ll know by morning.”
He reached out and grabbed Yale by the shoulder with his free hand. “Regardless, I need you awake and alert tomorrow. There’s too much that still needs to be done. If she lives, she’ll be seeing the King. If not, well, the reap will have made the judgment fer ‘im.”
“All right,” he said with a lingering concern in his eyes. Yale touched a finger to the girl’s head, petting her softly. “Good luck, lil’un.”
After Yale had left, Farris went to his bed and sat down. He was not sure how long he sat there, watching the human sleep. The red rash had spread along her neck and face, but she did not stir from her sleep. Her breathing remained raged and labored.
In the quiet of the night, when he knew no one was around to hear him, Farris spoke to the girl.
“Yer just a lil’ thing,” he said quietly as he ran a finger across the top of her head. “Probably all alone in the world, eh? Either that or yer folks are right shit. Don’t look like the world’s been very kind to ye, lass. Even now, it’s still tryin’ its best t’beat ye down. But yer a strong one, ain’t ye? Not gonna let a fever take ye. Nah. Too green fer it all to end so soon. Yer gonna be alright there, Dumplin’. I’ll make sure of it. One way or another. Yer gonna be just fine. Yer gonna wake up…”
His hands were shaking.
“Please. Please, wake up.”
…………………..
He woke at the same time he had for the last twenty-some-odd years. It was still plenty dark, but the lamp on the wall was still lit, a minuscule amount of oil still feeding the small flame. He knew it would last until the first rays of the sun reached the castle roof and then would need to be refilled. At first, his mind automatically went to sorting out the day’s tasks, but everything stopped with a sickening jolt when he remembered the child. His arm remained curled around the bundle and he wondered, if he were to look down, would there be another face to add to the collection of the dead within his mind and nightmares? With a fortifying breath, his heart pounding, Farris dipped his head down to look at the little girl. The harsh red rash that had covered her face was gone. She had not gone stiff, and he realized with a start that she was still warm.
She was still breathing.
She was alive.
“...ye… yer alive,” he breathed in shock, resting his free hand on the bundle. “Seven fuckin’ Hells… ye… I can’t...”
For a long moment, he sat there and watched her sleep, all the while riding the waves of varying emotions. In the end, he thought of Kent. Farris easily recalled what a pitiful and broken creature he had been when he had first laid eyes upon him. He remembered how he had made a place in his kitchen, his home, for him. He could do the same for the girl.
“...I could do that fer ye,” he said to no one in particular as he rose from the bed, careful not to wake his charge. With a warm smile on his face, he rocked her gently. “My lil’ Dumplin’.”
…………………..
It took Rheil less than an hour to return to the kitchens after delivering the girl to the King. Clutched in his gloved hand, he held Farris’s note. He stepped down into the kitchen and everyone eyed him eagerly as they slowed in their work to watch and listen.
“So?” Farris asked Rheil as he wiped his hands on a tea towel and leaned against the counter. “She give his Majesty her story then?”
“Aye,” replied the captain as he crossed the room and held out the note to Farris. He took it, but did not open it. Rheil crossed his arms and leaned up against the long table and regarded the kitchen master with neutral expression. “Orphaned.”
He nodded. “Figured that much.”
“And ye were right,” Rheil replied. “She ain’t one of Gregis’s. She ain’t even a refugee.”
Farris squinted in bemusement. “No?”
“No. She’s from the Southlands. The port,” Rheil replied. “Guess there was some big ol’ fire than killed her last living relative. She was trying to steal some food from the caravan when it was being loaded and she got stuck.”
“That’s a three day trek nonstop,” Saen butted in, eye wide in horror. “Ye mean she was stuck in that basket for three days?”
Rheil nodded. “She was. Probably too scared to ask for help. Who knows what the Beastmen would ‘a done if they caught her and once she passed the Gate… well. In fer a penny.”
Farris huffed. “No wonder half my persimmon order was gone. She probably ate three golds worth all on her own.”
Rheil made a face. “Seems awfully steep just for some fruit.”
Farris waved the comment away. “That ain’t nothin’. Them red mud boars were twelve gold a piece and one arrived dead. Weddings on the whole are expensive affairs. A royal wedding is extravagant and extravagantly expensive. But I ain’t one to tell the King how to spend his money. That’s Thame’s job.”
“Also, the lass thought Nethrin was still King,” Rheil added and Farris frowned.
“She what?”
The captain nodded, a smirk creeping along the edges of his mouth. “Aye. Thought she was gonna faint on me fer a second. Told her he was long dead, but I ain’t sure how much she believed me.”
Farris ran a hand down his face. “Where she now?”
“Lolly’s got her.”
“Well, we won’t be seein’ her fer a few hours then,” Bart laughed as he came down the steps from the courtyard. “Them ladies will be fawning over the Dumplin’ till suppertime. Mark my words.”
“True enough and just as well,” Farris conceded. “That’ll give her time enough to acclimate a bit and we can get on with our work.”
Bart gave him a questioning look. Silently, Farris handed the note to him. Bart’s eyes scanned the words before glancing back to Farris with the same questioning eye. In reply, Farris just nodded and Bart shrugged noncommittally.
“Well alright then,” he said and went back to work.
Farris opened the note again to scan the words, feeling an rising sensation in his chest, and Kent’s words came abruptly to the forefront of his mind.
“You’re a good man, Farris. Even if you don’t think so. And there aren’t a whole lot of those left in the world. I do hope you find a reason some day to forgive yourself. Even just a little. And maybe you’ll start smiling again.”
The note read:
If it comes to pass that the girl does not have any place to go, I ask his Majesty to consider that I might be granted guardianship over her. - F
And written just under his note in a much finer hand and with higher quality ink than his own, was the short answer:
Your request is granted. Take care of her, Farris. - W
Farris smiled.
.
.
.
.
.
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