Homeward Bound

[Raffe]

Hana kept busy in the kitchen, each movement precise and efficient. She gave off the distinct impression that her routine was undisrupted by the unusual company - and certainly by all appearances she was utterly unfazed by the scruffy, half undressed man at her kitchen table. Life continued as normal.

The pot of stew simmered while she pressed out dough for tomorrow’s bread and listened to the Asha’man stammering his way through pleasantries. She had sons his age or older, or at least that would be her guess from what she assumed Jai’s age to be. He seemed very young, and not just because of his profuse blushes and the awkwardness with which he handled the situation he had woken up to. Araya had not said much, which she had gathered was because he had nothing to say. He did not know the man he had brought into his house like a long lost brother. But even if Araya’s estimations had not been enough for Hana, the pins were. Hana might not trust as emphatically as a man brought up among the Tuatha’an, but she respected the black.

She nodded acknowledgement to his gratitude; she supposed he must have questions as to the motivation, but those were better posed to Araya. Though she did not think Jai would get satisfactory answers if he did ask; Araya was a force unto his own when it came to such random seeming altruism. It was a difficult concept to grasp, that the man expected nothing in return; which was perhaps why Hana herself took such diligent care of the house and child. Araya would save a whole lot of frowning suspicion if he at least made an effort to understand that others often expected there to be a catch. But that was Araya. Oblivious.

Her gaze only rose from her work because of the unwieldy way the word ‘wife’ spilled out. Like it was something embarrassing. Other than the eye contact, more a measure of surprise than anything, there was nothing untoward in her expression; it was not a topic she found uncomfortable, nor an implication she had not heard before. “No. I’m widowed.”
Once, saying the words aloud had been like reopening the wound, reminding her of the sheer reality of it. Every time the crush of emotion had deafened out the waking world, like her subconscious repeated a panicked search for the missing presence in her mind. Time had softened that blow, else the words had lost meaning. The emptiness was still there. But so were the warm memories. The Wheel Wove as it saw fit.

She waved down any offered condolence at her loss; it was only a factual answer to his question, not an entreaty for pity. “I care for the house, and for Araya’s ward,”
she said, retrieving a glass from one of the cabinets and placing it down on the table. She’d have to be blind to miss the way he was staring at that pitcher, and she remembered all too well how Daeyl had been after a Healing. The enticing aroma of hot food must be a torture, though one he would simply have to endure until the spicemeat was ready to be served. Her gaze remained on his face a moment longer. Araya had asked her not to pry into the events that had landed Jai a broken jaw – he had cited reasons of integrity, and a promise she doubted Jai would even remember Araya had made. That was idiocy. Men did not drink themselves to fever for no purpose, and a man left to his own devices would only let the real reason fester. Araya might think he was doing his brother a favour by granting a wide berth of privacy, but Hana begged to differ.

The world deserves better, he had said, with all the weight of someone walking tight along the edge. She did not think it was uncommon for the Asha’man to face that sort of moral dilemma; how could they not wonder if they stood up to the task? Whatever façade the institutions of channelers presented, they were still human. Daeyl had worn the same black uniform, and beneath it he had still just been a man. Her fingers drummed a contemplative rhythm as she left the table. Hana was a hard woman, but she was not without kindness. What mother ever wanted to see a child wander off a precipice, even if that child were not flesh and blood? Not that she was the type to coddle, either. “The stew could do with another half hour to thicken, but it would not be totally spoiled for being eaten early."
She'd been prepared to make him wait for the meal; Healing or no Healing, she was convinced that Jai's state had been down to his own doing, and thus the hardship would do him no harm. But men talked better on full stomachs, and Araya would be home before long. At the stove, she ladelled a helping of stew into a bowl. "Is it common, these days, for men of the Tower to drink so? Or have you a whole load of sorrows to drown?"