Healer of Sakkara

Chapter 7 - Traces

By the third day, Behn was sick and tired of snow, and rejoiced when, at last, they left the thick drifts behind and entered a warmer clime.

Obi and Triss were equally pleased with the change; the party's spirits had sunk very low over the past night, which had been particularly miserable and cold, and lifted noticeably as they passed into a region where a warm autumn yet reigned in full glory. Triss apologized for snapping at Behn over breakfast, and Obi, who had fallen into a sullen silence the day before, struck up a friendly conversation with Behn, asking him about his uncle's stables and what they ought to expect once they reached Lastiff.

"I've only visited a few times," Behn admitted, "and I wasn't there long. I used to go with my dad to the annual ale festival. There are competitions and prizes for the best brews, not to mention bragging rights for the winners. Once I got old enough to handle myself, though, my dad started leaving me behind to run the shop while he was away, so he didn't lose the revenue for the week. I kinda missed traveling with him, though."

"You'll see him again soon," Triss said, coming to walk alongside them as the path widened. "In fact, it might be easier to convince your uncle to lend us only two horses rather than three. You could take a wagon back to Dern. I'm sure your father will be glad to know you're alright. Harrald, too. He must be worried sick over Galen."

Behn frowned at the implication that he would opt for an easy ride home rather than press on into further hardships at her side.

"Your mom must be worried, too," he said pointedly, but immediately regretted it. He knew that Triss's mother was a touchy subject, and he hadn't meant to bring it up like that, but the words had escaped him as unstoppably and unexpectedly as a loud, stinky fart.

Judging by the look Triss shot him, they were about as well received as one, too.

"Sorry," he said, flinching under the flash of her glare.

"I'm sure she is," Triss said. "You can give her reassurances for me as well, when you see her."

"You can give them yourself," Behn said, with forced cheerfulness, "when we return home together."

"I'm a deserter, Behn," Triss snapped. "There's no 'triumphant return' in my future. If I'm caught, I'll be sentenced to forced labor or hanged — preferably the latter, from what I've seen." She shook her head. "Once this is over — once Galen is safe from the order — I'm not going home. I'm going north, into Yotaim."

"Yotaim?" Behn crinkled his nose. "What's in Yotaim, apart from frozen wastes and a few scattered villages? Oh, and ice giants, if you believe the tales."

"My brother," Triss said. "Tristan's last message came from an outpost there."

"Triss..." Behn knew his pity would be, if anything, less welcome than his mention of her mother, but for some reason, he couldn't convince his stupid mouth to stop talking. "It's been years. Tristan—"

"Is dead. I know," she snapped. "I'm not expecting a happy reunion. I just want to find out what happened to him. I couldn't give my mom the family and the crowd of grandkids she hoped for, but at least I can give her that, even if I can't give it to her in person."

"You're only twenty," Behn argued, squaring his shoulders stoutly. "You've got plenty of time to do anything and everything you want. You can adventure across Sakkara until you find someplace and... and someone to settle down with. Then you can—"

"What? Have twelve children and take up knitting?" Triss scoffed. "No thanks. I'd rather meet an early, honest end than wither and worry myself into dust."

"You're not your mom," Behn said, taking an ill-advised guess at the root of the problem. "Everyone she loved has left her, one by one, but that won't happen to you. You just need to find someone who can make that promise honestly. Someone who'll stick by you, no matter what."