By nightfall, the rain had become a downpour. The wind grew stronger too. It had been dark as dusk for some time, and now that night had truly come, there was no one in the fields or the woods.
One man was riding through the rain. Laban.
His old friend Andora had treated him well. When he casually linked his arm through hers and said that he visited often, she summoned a maid to testify to it and even produced the gold coins. “People in my line of work sell whatever they can, whenever they can.” The chief chamberlain looked contemptuous, but returned to the palace nonetheless.
Andora had been quick to understand as well. When Laban made to leave, she pressed a bundle into his arms. He opened it after riding a little way off and found several clean sets of women’s clothes and undergarments neatly folded inside. Even with money, such things would have been difficult for a man to buy for himself.
It was laughable. The friends from fine families whom his father had forced him to spend time with had rarely been any help. The poor friends with whom he had associated in secret had protected him many times, just as they had today. Perhaps it was because Laban kept straying from the path his father had laid out for him.
As he was doing now. Once he left Epherium, he did not know when he might return. But he felt no regret. It was a homeland without either father or mother. A net with nothing left in it but the pain of betrayal.
Though late, Laban had brought food. For Tina, who had gone hungry so long, he had bought soft bread, cheese, bananas, date tea, and salted goat’s milk in a skin. He could not light a fire and give her something hot, but they would have to endure until they reached safety.
As he pushed through the reeds and the watermill came into view, he lifted the clothes Andora had provided and smiled. They would suit Tina rather well.
But there was no one in the mill.
Stifling his impatience, Laban examined the surroundings. There was no sign of a struggle. Had Tina left of her own accord? Because she had not trusted him?
He went back inside and studied the floor more closely. There were traces of mud. The horses’ footprints outside had been muddy too. Looking down at his own shoes, he understood. Anyone who came through the reeds would have mud all over their footwear. From the quantity scattered about, several people had certainly entered. It was the same at both entrances, front and rear. But there was no blood. They had probably threatened her and made her walk out herself.
The thought of where she might have gone, whether she was still alive, seemed to close his throat. At the same time, anger at his own lateness filled him. If Tina and Gene were sacrificed like this, he did not think he could ever forgive himself.
The path trampled by several people soon became apparent. Laban checked the direction they had taken and spurred his horse onward. But in the meantime, the strengthening rain erased every trace. He rode all evening and achieved nothing but soaking himself through.
He was certain that those who had taken Tina were not local people who had happened upon her. It was not the sort of place they would visit, and that would not explain footprints surrounding her on every side. If they were Queen Sabina’s men, they would not have gone toward the royal city. If they had already killed mother and child and buried them somewhere, his efforts were useless.
Still, he could not rest. Until nearly midnight, he rode in vain over the vast, indifferent fields.
At last, when the rain eased, Laban stopped. As the merciless beating of the rain faded, his dizzy mind cleared. For the first time in a long while, he thought something worthy of being called a thought, and considered it carefully. Tina was very likely dead already. Finding her body would be impossible. But if, by some chance, she lived, where would she be?
Then a place came to mind. He did not know why he had failed to think of it before. He had believed Tina had been taken prisoner, but even so, it was somewhere he ought to have checked much earlier.
Once there was a destination, the way was not difficult. White rocks appeared. One, two, three… the eighth. Beneath two rocks resting strangely one over the other was a narrow gap. A person could barely crawl through it, bent double.
But Laban did not do that. Instead of lying face down, he lay on his back and slowly pushed his head inside. Once his upper body had passed through the cave mouth, he sat up and pulled the lower half of his body in. By the time he stood, drawing in his legs, he was inside the cave.
The reason this place was secret was that anyone who crawled into a narrow space in the usual way, on hands and knees, would find the opposite wall so close that it was impossible to raise the body. Only by lying on one’s back to enter could a person sit up and stand. Beyond that lay a much larger space.
Laban rose and listened for a moment. Then he found his flint and steel and lit a dry twig he had kept in an oilskin pouch. He raised it so that his face was clearly visible.
“Tina?”
A cough came from a corner.
As he approached, Tina appeared, seated against the cave wall with her legs stretched out. The instant he saw her face, a long breath of relief escaped him. He wanted to kneel and bow to the goddess who protected Tina. No, if he could, he would have offered her a cow.
The words slipped out of their own accord.
“Anir, thank you. I thought I would never see you again.”
Tina did not answer. Something felt wrong, and Laban brought the light closer. She sagged where she sat, and one look at her face told him that her condition was grave. She was forcing herself to stay upright and nurse, but her eyes were glazed as though she might faint at any moment.
Then he realized that Tina’s arm was covered in blood.
The cave suddenly seemed to contract around him.
“What happened?”
Hurrying to her, he put a hand into something sticky. It was blood pooled on the floor. She had bound the wound with the baby’s swaddling cloth, but with only one hand, she had apparently been unable to tie it tightly enough. He did not know how long she had been like this or how much blood she had lost.
“How did this happen? Tina, are you all right? Stay with me!”
Tina looked at him with an expression that might not even have recognized him. Touching her forehead, he found cold sweat. Her jaw trembled. She seemed to be in shock.
Laban first took the baby from her arms and laid him down. Then he retied the cloth tightly and raised her arm. When the bleeding still did not stop, he pressed a point above the wound. At last, he felt the flow cease.
Supporting her back, he slowly lowered her to the floor. He wished for something to spread beneath her against the cold, but his cloak was useless, soaked with rain. Tina’s clothes were damp as well. Then he remembered the bundle of clothes Andora had given him. They had been tied inside his cloak, against his body, and fortunately the innermost layers were dry.
Using his dagger, he cut away Tina’s clothing, trying to disturb the wound as little as possible. Then he covered her with the dry garments. There was no other way to warm her.
Only when he had finally caught his breath and sat down did Tina stretch out her hand and murmur,
“My baby…”
Gene, who had been lying nearby, rolled over and burrowed toward his mother. Tina put one arm around him. Laban wondered whether the baby’s warmth might help. Then a better thought came to him.
“This may be uncomfortable, but bear with it.”
He took off his wet outer clothes and wrapped his arms around Tina and Gene. It worked. Little by little, warmth returned to Tina’s cold body. Holding them like this, he felt as though the three of them had become a family on a journey. Gene lay between them, wriggling. The sensation was peaceful beyond words.
After a while, Tina smoothed back her hair. A woman caring about her appearance was a sign that she had survived.
“Tina, do you feel clearer now?”
She did not answer, but a smile touched her lips. Laban smiled back.
“I want to know what happened, but tell me later. You need rest now. Sleep for a good while. You’ll feel better when you wake.”
When Tina nodded, Laban passed his hand over her eyes to close them. Then he added,
“I’m sorry I was late.”
A long time later, Tina murmured,
“The dagger helped…”
Laban did not answer. When she fell asleep, he went out of the cave and brought back several pieces of wood. After shaving off the wet bark with his dagger, he transferred the flame from the dry twig and made a small fire. He spread the clothes around it to dry, then lay beside Tina and Gene again. Holding Gene and soothing him so that he would not crawl into the fire, his thoughts drifted to the past.
Laban had once had a wife and a young son. His wife was a carpenter’s daughter, and their son was a year old. He had met her while lingering outside a workshop, hoping to learn woodwork. She had begun by teaching him how to shave wood.
As he was finishing his first attempt at a chair, Laban asked her to live with him. She was happy. Her parents had died early, and there was no one from whom to ask permission. The workshop where she lived had been left by her father to his apprentice. Though she was talented, the man made her do nothing but hard labor and refused to teach her enough to establish herself as a master. He feared that if his teacher’s daughter became independent, she would take the workshop’s reputation with her.
Before marrying her, Laban visited him as a formality. The man brightened at once and urged him to take her. His expectation that Laban would remove a source of worry had been correct.
During their married life, his wife made only things for the house, tables and chairs. Laban’s own creaking chair stood among them. Before long, a cradle quietly joined them. It was the last piece his wife made. Once the baby was born, there was no time even to pick up a carving knife.
That had been eight years ago.
Now neither his wife nor his son was beside Laban. There were only Tina and Gene. The fire flickered. When Gene searched for milk, Tina soon woke and nursed him without rising. She was a woman who would protect her son whatever happened.
Looking down at her, Laban made a promise to himself.
He would protect these two. Never again would he allow them to fall into danger.
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