CHAPTER 4
1118 Words
The morning came slowly, pushing through the clouds that still drizzled. Arin worked in the front room, avoiding the back door more than she meant to. As much as she wanted answers, she was still wary of the stranger.
Patients came in numbers, mostly storm injuries delayed by fear or stubbornness. She stitched a cut along a fisherman’s arm, reset a man’s dislocated shoulder, wrapped three sprains, checked a fever, and gave two children mint tea strong enough to settle their stomachs.
Routine helped.
It was the one thing that kept her from thinking about Saar’s voice, saying, “Like it’s waiting.”
By midday, the drizzle had stopped. Arin stepped outside to empty a bucket of dirty water into the gutter and nearly collided with two women whispering near the clinic. They fell silent when they saw her.
Arin kept her voice even. “If you need help, come in. I have time now.”
The older woman shook her head. “Not today, we are just… talking.”
The younger leaned close to her companion, whispering just loud enough for Arin to hear.
“She’s sheltering him, the storm-marked one.”
The words prickled under Arin’s skin, and she looked back at them. “If you have questions, ask them already.”
The younger woman flushed, but didn’t back down. “We heard the lightning took shape, that it marked someone, and you dragged him home.”
“And?” Arin kept a straight face.
“And storms don’t pick people without a reason.” Her eyes darted to the clinic door. “People think it’s a sign, a warning.”
Arin breathed slowly. “Storms also throw debris into rivers, and that man could have come from anywhere.”
“But those marks…”
“Those marks are injuries,” Arin said sharply. “They are not curses, and they are not omens, just wounds.”
The older woman tugged her companion’s sleeve. “Come on, leave the healer alone.”
They walked away, whispering again before they reached the next street.
Arin stood still until their voices faded; she didn’t want Saar to hear any of this. He didn’t need more pressure than whatever he was already carrying inside him, but when she stepped back into the clinic, the back door was open. Saar stood, just inside the threshold, leaning lightly on the wall.
Arin let out a slow breath. “You shouldn’t be on your feet.”
He gave her a half-apologetic look. “I heard the voices, I didn’t understand the words though, but I felt the weight of it.”
“Weight?”
Saar tapped his chest lightly. “Yes, like they were pushing through here.”
Arin rubbed her temples. “It was nothing, just gossip.”
“It was something to them.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “But it doesn’t matter.”
He studied her in that unblinking way she was starting to recognise. “It matters to you.”
She looked away. “You’re my patient, that’s all.”
“Then why do you feel afraid?”
Arin’s breath caught before she could stop it. “I don’t!” She said, forcing her voice steady. She wasn’t about to let her fear show.
Saar didn’t argue; he didn’t have to because the room already carried the answer.
She forced her voice to remain steady. “You need rest, so get back in bed.”
He didn’t move.
“Saar?”
He exhaled slowly, “Can we talk about the night you found me?” He asked, sounding worried.
Arin was glad he brought it up, she was eager to know more about this stranger in her space and if he was a danger to her.
“Let’s do that, and also the imaginations from your fogged memory.”
Saar went quiet for a few seconds. He looked irritated by the way Arin dismissed his memory as imagination. “I know I’m struggling to remember who I am and how I ended up here, but what I told you was not from a broken memory; it's not imagination.” He paused.
Arin realised at that instant that she had been wrong, but she wasn't ready to apologise to a stranger still at her mercy.
Ignoring his irritation, she said “When I found you at the river, I picked up a staff. I believe it belongs to you, seeing how faithfully it stayed by your side, even in the raging torrent.”
Saar simply nodded, still clearly irritated by her words.
The staff was formed from gnarled roots twisted together, as if the tree itself had been torn and reshaped. It looked impossibly old, older than anything she could imagine, even older than Saar, and she wondered how someone so young could possess something that ancient. Her curiosity deepened. She wasn’t afraid of Saar himself, but she was scared of the storm he might have brought with him, or the one that might be coming for him.
“You seem obviously young for a staff that ancient, what's the story behind it?” Arin asked away, not wanting to guess anymore in her head.
Saar, still nursing his annoyance, wasn't in the mood for friendly conversation; though nothing about Arin's tone had been friendly.
“You should pay more attention, then,” he said with a smirk.
He began walking back to the backroom, which was starting to feel like his private space, then stopped and looked back at Arin.
“Would it kill you to admit you were wrong? Would it make you feel smaller to say you’re sorry? Or are we just going to ignore the fact that I felt insulted by you a few minutes ago?”
Arin was taken aback by his boldness, “Easy, stranger, you are still under my roof. I'm the reason that torrent didn't wash you away. You still sleep in the bed I provided, I still tend your wounds, and you still eat my food and drink my water. You are not yet in a position to feel insulted or get angry at what I say. You only have the right to gratitude, so set aside your pride and help me figure out what you are” She scoffed.
“What I am? Do you not even see me as human?” A pained look creased Saar's eyes.
“Try to remember who you really are, and how you were able to withstand that storm. That seems like the best place to start.” Arin said sternly.
Saar walked away. As he passed, Arin felt the hum again. She watched him go, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.
- Writer
