The main street of Curcea was always fragrant. Whether favorably so depended heavily on which goods were for sale, and one's individual taste in spices. Argider perused the stalls as he walked toward the docks, vendors smiling or glaring or dozing behind piles of brightly-colored spices and sacks of wheat and corn. Rothecona's major exports, here in such surplus to feed the local populace as well as the harbor rats who milled about on the docks waiting for work.
Argider counted himself among the latter, having known no other lifestyle since he was fourteen. Wait for a ship in need of a crewman, hop aboard, and go where it takes you. He had seen much of the world this way, but always made his way back to Rothecona somehow. The younger Benat could not understand this.
"It's the only place that feels like home," Argider replied, adjusting his seabag and scanning the ships that were arriving. "Never had much concept of the word, but I've ended up here so many times, it seems to fit."
Benat snorted. "I can't wait to get out. Working the fields all day, milling in the evening, that's no life for me! There has to be something different out there."
"Oh, there is. The question is, will you like what you find?"
"Anything is better than this." Benat opened the top of his bag and punched down the contents. A week shy of twenty-two—as much as he'd told Argider—he was eager to leave his hometown behind and find, as he put it, "grand adventure." Argider worried that he might have gotten a few too many drunken yarns into his head about the nature of a sailor's life, but that a relatively quick trip should help him decide whether he really wanted to pursue it.
"Let's find out then, shall we?" Argider made his way to the front of the crowd as a smaller ship pulled into the harbor. The Westerell was relatively new, in terms of both ship and crew, and was in need of a few more hands on deck. They were, according to the captain, making a short round-trip to the port town of Calmeni, in Meraleda, the perfect kind of voyage for Benat to find his sea legs.
The next morning, they were on board and at sea. Benat took to his work very well, unsteady at first but finding his footing quickly. He worked alongside Argider, talking and smiling in the sunlight. In fact, his grin seemed even brighter than the sun, wide enough to split his face in two.
...Split his face in two...
And there he was, his teeth exposed far beyond his lips, a gash running down from his forehead, his body sliding toward the sea...
...toward the sea...
With a cry, Argider sat up, greeted by a jolt of pain running through his right leg. His leg...Benat...Benat's face... None of it was a dream.
No matter how hard he'd hoped it was.
He looked around, and found himself in a small kitchen, his leg propped up on a chair. Hurried footsteps descended above him, and a woman in a blue-gray dress leaned over the railing. What was her name? Esma?
"Are you all right?" Esma asked, coming down the remaining stairs.
Argider nodded. "Discovered my bad leg again. I suppose I slept so soundly I'd forgotten it."
"The doctor will be in to see you later today. I went to town this morning, but he was kept pretty busy with everyone else from last night's incident."
"Everyone else? How many...who made it?"
"Dr. Faron has seen several serious injuries, but none that he deemed life-threatening. He told me they're still going through the manifest to see who might be missing." Esma narrowed her eyes. "Your name isn't on there."
"Wouldn't be." Argider sighed. "The Westerell picked us up at the last port as extra labor. Unofficial, we'd be paid on return."
"We?"
"Me, and Benat. The one who didn't make it."
"I see." She went to the stove and uncovered a pan, filling the little kitchen with the aroma of cured meats. "It's nearly noon; are you hungry?"
Argider pressed his hand against his eyes. The scent of food was tantalizing, and his stomach churned in anticipation, but the thought and image of Benat still hung fresh in his mind and turned the sensation into one of sickness.
"No, thank you."
"I understand that it's difficult to eat while you're in pain. Did you want anything else? Water, coffee?"
"Perhaps water. I swallowed plenty last night, but it was the wrong kind." He gave a half-hearted chuckle and was surprised to see the trace of a grin on Esma's face as she handed him a glass.
He studied her from across the table. He hadn't been able to notice many details the night before, but if he had to describe Esma in a word, it would be intimidating. She wasn't particularly big, nor any longer in her prime, if the white streak in her braid was any indication, but she was incredibly strong. She had pulled him out of the water after rowing through stormy seas and brought him back to safety. Who knew how often she'd done that, or how long she'd been running this lighthouse? Alone, as well, apparently. And her eyes! Dark and intense, they demanded answers from a man.
Who would dare to cross this woman? Perhaps anyone who did now slept beneath the waves.
"Is there something more I can help you with?" she asked, tilting her head, the single concession he'd seen her make toward feminine mannerisms since they'd met.
"Nothing at the moment. I'm still not...quite here. After last night, I'm still in shock."
"I'd like to tell you that the doctor has something for that as well, but unfortunately, the only cure I know of is time."
"And is it a cure?" He met her eyes again, noticing the subtle dulling of their light. "Or is it but a salve?"
She reached out and gently fingered the cuff of his shirt. "That, I think, depends on each of us."
* * *
Argider flung his head back and cursed at the ceiling as Dr. Faron manually examined his leg.
"There," the doctor said, pressing on Argider's ankle and eliciting a howl from him. "It's not broken, just badly sprained. I recommend you rest it for the next four to six weeks or so. Stay off of it completely for at least the first."
"And for the pain?"
"Yes, yes, I have something for that, too." Dr. Faron produced a small vial from his bag, extended it to Argider, then pulled back. "Though I wonder, if you are anything like your crewmates, whether I can trust you not to misuse this."
"Don't judge me by that lot. I don't even know them."
"Quite right. But I must say that does absolutely nothing to ease my suspicions." He peered at Argider. "So, you were going to simply sneak into Meraleda and out again, for a paltry sum? What does that say about your character?"
"Doctor, please." Esma glared at him from across the room, arms crossed. "The man is clearly in pain; give him some relief."
Dr. Faron turned toward her, one eyebrow raised. "And you, advocating for this stranger? Tell me you've not been taken in by his tales of derring-do."
"What tales?" The corner of Esma's mouth turned up. "Besides, if anyone has taken anyone else in, it is me. Argider is in no position to charm or work his way anywhere he isn't wanted."
"Can I have the medicine now, please?" Argider groaned.
"I would feel better if this were administered in a hospital setting," Dr. Faron muttered, shaking a single pill into his palm, "but the hospital is currently overrun. Open up, now, son."
"What if I managed it?" Esma asked.
"Manage it? Don't you have enough work with the lighthouse?"
"This isn't much more. I simply make sure he doesn't take more than prescribed, right?"
"Well, there's more to it than that."
"Such as?"
"You cannot keep this man inside such a small space. Look, he can barely straighten his leg in here; how is he to heal properly?"
Esma was quiet for a moment, chewing her lip. She watched Argider take the pill, then turned back to Dr. Faron. "There's the cabin."
"That derelict shack? It's not fit for a mouse."
"It's sturdy enough. I can have an appropriate space cleared out within the day."
"And risk misfortune? Infection, illness? Might I remind you what happen—"
"No!" Esma's jaw clenched, the muscles at the base of her neck bulging. "No one needs to remind me."
Dr. Faron huffed. "Then why are you insisting on this? What does this man matter to you? You pulled him from the ocean like a fish; what makes him so special?"
"Nothing."
Argider looked up, a retort on his lips. But when he saw neither disdain nor pity in Esma's eyes, but instead an intense sadness, the words died in his throat.
"He's not special," she went on, "except in that he needs help. I have vowed to keep the light, no matter what darkness I've been through. Let me help him through his."
Silence descended on the room. Argider shifted and groaned, then tried to laugh. "No need to make such a fuss over me," he said. "I'll find a place. I'm not looking to cause any trouble."
Esma smiled. "It's no trouble at all."
Dr. Faron looked from Esma to Argider and back, then placed the pill vial in Esma's hand with a dramatic sigh. "Do as you wish. If he does prove to be trouble, you know where to find me."
Esma and Dr. Faron said little more as she saw him out, but when she returned to the kitchen, her grin had dimmed.
"Why are you doing this?" Argider asked.
"You need help."
"Conceded. But you could turn me over to anyone in town. Why take this upon yourself, for someone you don't even know?"
"You don't know me, either. Just as I don't know all of the people on the ships that pass, but I do my best to guide them to safety. It's rewarding, but..."
"Boring?"
"Lonely." Esma looked down at the vial and rattled the pills inside. "Sometimes I long to know the people out there, to hear their stories."
Argider gave a dry laugh. "Ah. So, I'm captive entertainment."
"You don't have to tell me a single story. You don't have to talk anymore, if you don't want to. Simply put, when I went to bed last night, knowing that there was someone else here felt...strange, maybe even wrong. But beneath that, there was a sense of comfort, of the smallest connection.
"You don't have to be anything to me. You don't even have to like me. Just tolerate me, please, and let me help you. Let me be part of the world again, through you, if only for a little while."
* * *
Dr. Faron was right; Esma's cabin was in a sorry state. Cobwebs clung to the corners, dust covered every surface, and sunlight streamed in through holes in the roof. But true to her word, Esma had made a space for him. A small bedroom on the west side of the house, with a window overlooking the strait and the mainland, had been cleared of clutter and thoroughly cleaned. The mattress had been dusted and fitted with fresh sheets, the little dresser beside it polished and filled with several changes of clothes. She had even gone so far as to pluck some wildflowers and place them in a vase on the windowsill. It may not have been luxurious, but Argider could not deny that it was charming.
"This cabin is yours, along with the lighthouse?" he asked, settling back against a pillow.
"Yes. They both belonged to my family. It used to be much more lively up here."
"I can imagine." Though, peeking through the doorway to the living room, he couldn't imagine how long it had been since the cabin had seen any life.
"My family just grew smaller over time," Esma went on, "until it was only me. And there's too much room here for one person, too much room for memories, so I moved into the lighthouse instead."
"And you avoided this place."
"The memories I mentioned. They're too heavy for me. Suffocating."
"That bad?"
She pursed her lips and closed her eyes. "No. That good."
Argider frowned and watched her, but she said nothing more about her memories, only swallowed hard and blinked away tears.
"Are you comfortable?"
"Yes, very. I would have been polite as long as you kept me in the lighthouse, of course, but this is much better than that tiny kitchen table."
Esma laughed, a quiet, genuine sound that seemed too soft for her intimidating figure. Argider suddenly found himself wondering what other contradictions this woman held, what was hiding just beneath her muscular limbs and weathered skin, what she had long since hidden away when her world had dwindled to only herself.
"I'll be back to check on you throughout the day," she said, rising from the edge of the bed, "and to bring you your meals and pills. I'm sorry that your accommodations are so dreary at the moment, but I'll do my best to brighten things up here. Maybe...it might be time."
Her last words were uttered more to herself than to him, and she left without waiting for a reply. Argider looked out the window toward the farm fields of the mainland, and the flocks of birds that took to the late-morning sky. He couldn't see Calmeni from here, couldn't tell the state of the Westerell or its crew, couldn't see a way back to the only place he thought of as home. For the first time in nearly thirty years, he was truly sedentary, and he wasn't sure he liked the feeling. It was suffocating, like Esma said, the weight of memories he could no longer outrun.
Memories of himself.
Memories of the wreck.
Memories that were that bad.