Perhaps life is just that . . . a dream and a fear.
~Joseph Conrad
Freesoul leads me toward a small inn, and once inside, to a corner table where few will notice us. He sits down, calm and at ease, and I nervously huddle up in my chair, arms wrapped around myself. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want the pity in his eyes. I want to be left alone. But I do want food, and he’s paying. So, I talk.
I tell him almost everything, relating the story tonelessly around mouthfuls of eggs and sausage. He listens, and, sure enough, the pity rises back to his eyes. When I finish, he sits silently for a long moment, idly tapping his spoon on his empty soup bowl. The server comes for the money, and Freesoul pays him, then rises to leave.
I stare in shock. “Where are you going?” I ask incredulously. “Our little talk isn’t finished yet.”
He turns to look at me, his expression unfathomable, but his blue eyes still pitying. “For me,” he shrugs, “it is.”
How dare you? “So you’re leaving,” I say. I glance down, a hurt feeling rising within me. Bastard. “Just like everyone else.”
I glance up in time to see him flinch. “I have no choice,” he replies. “And I had better leave if I wish to catch the trading caravan heading out of Beryl.” He sounds like he’s lying. “I have a few friends I have to see.”
“I see.” I shift in my seat, then harden my expression. “Fine. Go ahead. I don’t need you.” Or anyone else.
“Nor I you,” comes his simple reply.
That hurts. I don’t know why, but it does. “Just watch your back,” I say softly, before I can stop myself. “You may end up with a knife in it.”
“Not yours,” he answers evenly. “Remember, you want to be as far away from me as you can.”
A brief silence ensues. “Don’t leave,” I say, barely keeping a pleading tone from my voice. “Not yet. You still owe me.” I told you everything, boy, now you have to do the same. It’s not fair.
He reaches into a pocket and pulls out a small pouch. After a moment, he tosses it to me and turns away. I catch it and loosen the strings, upending it over my hand. A pendant carved of beautiful jade tumbles out into my cupped hand. I can’t suppress a gasp of shock. “Where did you get this?” I ask him.
“I always have a few around for rainy days,” he answers, dodging the question, and chuckles wryly. “It’s yours now.”
I stiffen. “Take it back,” I snap. “I’m not a charity case.”
He turns to face me again, and takes my hands in his, then gently closes them over the stone. “Then consider it a gift from a friend.” I draw in breath to reply as he pulls one hand away to take out another pouch, filled with coins. “These should help you get as far as Shorus, or wherever it is that you are going.”
“You must listen too well,” I answer, my tone cold with a stubborn pride. I don’t want his money.
He ignored me. “Fare well, Rois,” he says, then turns and walks outside. Oh, believe me, Freesoul, this is not over yet.