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[Oleander Soleran]

25. Spring 518

Oleander woke with a start. What had happened? Another blast of ice? He could feel cold sweat breaking out all over his back, he could do without more of these unnatural phenomena, the first time had been frightening enough, and the reason for the ice that had destroyed half the neighbourhood remained in the dark. A quick look to the window told him that this was not the case. So what had woken him? Hortense? His sister liked to play tricks on him, and if he’d overslept, she was certain to-

There was a blunt thump on the door that left it rattling in its hinges. Oleander thought he heard a hiss and a couple swearwords. So that was what had woken him. He jumped out of his bed and signalled for a surprised-looking Hortense to stay back. He didn’t bother with extra clothes, he was in his breeches but his wardrobe didn’t provide anything more sturdy than linen, so it hardly made a difference if whoever was damaging the door was looking for a fight. At least he would have the element of surprise.

Who tried to break into a well-populated inn early in the morning, anyways? Why not try later, when nobody would be at home? It wasn’t too hard to figure out who lived where and when people left the house, you just had to watch the building. Perhaps it was a drunk person trying to break into a random room? Maybe Tarsin hadn’t been up yet to keep unwelcome visitors from climbing the stairs. Oleander didn’t particularly like that theory, drunk people tended to be dangerous and develop unpredictable bursts of strength.

He grabbed one of their daggers from the table and cautiously approached the door. There was another rattle, and he thought he could hear something clank to the ground. As always, the key was still in its lock from the inside – both of the twins tended to misplace it, so they just liked to keep it in plain sight. Oleander turned it, carefully, and immediately got pushed forward as the door opened to the outside and someone pulled right at that moment. He wobbled forward and almost tripped over the intruder – a lanky youth with striking red hair, presumably a couple years younger than himself. He didn’t look particularly drunk, but you never knew.

“Well, good morning”, Oleander said, stepping back, suddenly relatively uncomfortable with the fact that he was still in his underwear. He lowered the dagger that he’d been holding up in a ridiculous attempt to look dangerous. “Who are you, and why are you trying to break into our room?”

[Rusty]

All of a sudden a young and nearly naked man opened the door to his room. Was he hallucinating? No, the youngling in front of him, mere inches away, seemed pretty real. This was neither a strange and very lucid dream induced by the harrowing and excruciating experience of traveling from Sunberth to Ravok by feet nor did he take any drugs - not that he would be into that kind of expensive nonsense anyways.

The guy stared at him with a quite aloof expression, his own confusion mirrored in the face of the stranger. “Well, at least the door ain’t broken, eh? But…Why for shyke’s sake are you standing in my room, mate? Put that stupid dagger of yours down before you hurt yourself! … Am I interrupting something?” His eyes wandered to the pretty blonde girl standing in the room. Obviously, he woke both of them.

Slowly it began to dawn on Rusty that maybe he’s the root of the problem. He felt the color rising up to the tips of his ears, coloring his face and his neck a particularly vibrant red of shame.
“Oh, shyke! This isn’t my room, isn’t it?”

[Oleander Soleran]

Oleander

The stranger started babbling, and Oleander instantly felt relieved. Not drunk, then, just utterly confused. Was he interrupting something? “Yeah, you’re interrupting my sleep”, he snapped, putting the dagger aside. He wasn’t a particularly fast thinker early in the morning, and the implications of what the stranger had assumed would not dawn on him until much later. He was about to shut the door in the boy’s face and crawl back into bed, but Hortense intervened.

“My apologies for my brother’s...”, here she took a moment to search for the right word, “lack of hospitality.” She replaced her brother at the door, waving for him to find some clothes he could wear for the day. Oleander had an idea where this was going. “He’s not much of a morning person, but I’m sure he’ll be glad to help you find your room.” She flashed the stranger her brightest smile, then grinned lopsidedly at Oleander. He knew what that meant: He had to get up early and organize breakfast while his sister got to sleep in. Undoubtedly, there’d be a cloud of perfume in the room when he returned. Hortense loved the smell of artificial roses, and she knew that he hated it, so she only sprayed it when he was gone, but the scent always lingered. “Why don’t you…?”, he tried, but Hortense just shook her head. “I need my beauty rest. Not like you have much to lose.”

He sighed and rummaged through a pile of clothes, then addressed the flame-haired boy once again: “At least wait outside while I find some pants.”

Five chimes later, a fully-dressed and slightly less grumpy Oleander stepped outside, dagger now sheathed at his side, bag slung over his shoulder. He closed the door extra carefully behind him, then watched the boy expectantly. “Okay, let’s start over. I’m Oleander and you already met my sister, Hortense. I assume we’ll be neighbours, so we might as well try to get along. Where exactly did Tarsin tell you your room was?” Why did Hortense always make him go out of his way and socialize?

[Rusty]

“She’s your sister?!” Rusty asked surprised. How could such a pretty girl be his sister? The stranger wasn’t ugly in any manner, he was quite a handsome young man not unlike himself of course, but the girl… She was simply stunning.

“Well, it must be my lucky day, I’m sure of it”, he flashed a bright smile, “My dear Oleander, allow me to introduce myself: I’m Rusty – at your service”, he attempted something similar to a bow, pushing his patched cloak aside in a way he imagined only noble cavaliers would do. Or famous more-or-less-soon-to-be pirates in his case, so he had to get used to it.

“First of all – let me apologize. I offer you my most sincere apologies. I really thought that this is my room and that the lock must be broken or something. Never did I expect to be surprised by a guy in his panties”, Rusty chuckled, “or an astonishingly alluring and most magnificent lady. She’s really your sister, mate? One of your parents must be really something, I’m sure of that. However, this beautiful creature forced you to help me in my dire hour of desperation, didn’t she? Very thoughtful of her. Tarsin told me I’m going to live somewhere across the “herb boy” – whoever that’s supposed to be – and that’s all he told me before stomping off. Grumpy bugger! He gave me this key”, he held up a simple key,” and that’s all. How am I supposed to find it? It’s simply impossible! I tried almost every door and the key didn’t fit. I thought that your door is the right one but obviously I was mistaken.” he shrugged and sighed.

“Well, any ideas? I really don’t want to freeze to death on the streets of Ravok. The merchants told me about gruesome ice storms plaguing the city and I would rather have a place to hide in the worst-case scenario if you know what I’m talking about. And I would kill for breakfast!”

[Oleander Soleran]

Oleander

“Rusty, eh? Fitting name.” Oleander wasn’t sure whether he should feel annoyed or amused by the redhead. Was he hitting on Hortense? Seriously? Oleander decided not to deepen that subject, his sister could ward the kid off herself. She liked to push all awkward situations onto him, time to leave some of the awkwardness to her for a change.

The door problem was an easy fix. “Herb boy” was a new one, but it more than likely referred to him. He snorted at the nickname that Tarsin had deigned to call him. Obviously he’d waved around a notebook full of illustrations one time too many in the main room downstairs. It could have been worse.
He pointed to the door opposite of his own, shrugging, but not explaining himself to Rusty. If they were to spend time together in the future, his obsession with botanics would come up sooner or later, no need to scare the youth off prematurely. His mission completed, he turned to go about his daily business and strolled down the corridor towards the stairs. Almost as an afterthought, he turned and called to Rusty: “Actually, you can come along and have breakfast with us if there’s nothing else on your schedule. Odds and Ends is right across the canal and there’s a nice little bakery close-by. I’m sure Hortense would be absolutely delighted to have you.” Mainly, he wanted to see her squirm.

Whether Rusty decided to come along or not, Oleander would take the stairs and head outside. The bridge over the canal had been shattered under the impact of the ice blast, but makeshift repairs had been completed hastily, as many visitors needed to access Tarsin’s and the shop across from it for housing and various purchases. A gentle morning sun shone in his face, almost hiding the fact that there had been a dangerous outbreak of winter only days ago, but it wasn’t strong enough to melt the sheen of ice that still covered the waters. It was like Morwen was trying to make up for the seasons she’d missed, but overcompensating.

Morwen. He’d heard the name cursed so many times that the thought of it ran shivers down his spine. Morwen was the reason Syliras had been closed. Morwen was the reason they hadn’t gone home, the reason the caravan had continued for so long. Morwen was the reason the kriital had attacked them, killed Karyk’s family, left them all scarred. Morwen. He despised her.

Oleander was woken from the darkness of his memory by a crack and a screech. Worried voices carried over the canal. Someone had broken through the ice!

All thoughts of breakfast forgotten, Oleander sped back over the bridge and along the edge of the canal. There was a second bridge on the other side of Tarsin’s which connected to the Owl’s Den, that’s where the scream had come from. He turned the corner on his heel, carefully balancing so he wouldn’t topple into the canal himself. Two horrified children were standing at the edge, holding hands, mouths and eyes wide open. There was a hole where the treacherous ice had given way, and in it were struggling arms and the occasional nose, gasping for breath, but the kid was sliding under, numbed by the cold. What to do? If Oleander stepped on the ice, it was sue to break under him, as well, weakened as it was.

[Rusty]

After a moment of confusion Rusty simply tried his key on the door Oleander pointed to. He couldn’t resist smacking his palm against his forehead. How could anyone be that stupid? Weren’t there any laws against such a degree of painful stupidity? Not that he cared about laws either way, but... At least his new acquaintance didn’t seem to be too disturbed by the fact that Rusty was deeply impressed by the beauty of his sister. “Hortense…Hor-ten-se... hm…” Rusty tried out the sound of the name on his tongue. It would be a nice name for a ship, should he ever come to own one, he thought. But didn’t curly say something about breakfast? And about hot Hortense being delighted? He was positively sure that it was his lucky day, indeed.

“Oleander, wait!” the ginger youth called, catching a glimpse of him leaving. Hastily he followed the other man who was already out of the corridor. What an ignorant fella. He just leaves me here! I have about a thousand things I have to ask him about the city and he just… Goes? He obviously isn’t much of a social persona, Rusty thought while he hurried outside.
Suddenly, a ghastly scream sent a cold shiver down his spine. Someone broke through the ice of the frozen canal, right under the bridge! For a short moment Rusty wondered what kind of power could’ve broken the bridge but then his eyes met the glance of a horrified little girl, holding another kid by its hand. Never had he seen such terror and despair on another human’s face. And he grew up in a brothel, for shyke's sake! He saw a third kid sliding slowly under the ice, just pale fingertips sticking out from the deadly cold water and he knew that once completely under the ice its chances of survival would be reduced to nearly zero.

What should I do? What should I do? His heart thumped violently against his chest, adrenaline rushing through his veins like glowing iron and for one moment he even forgot about the friggin’ cold.
He saw Oleander balancing at the edge of the canal, standing completely still. What should I do? What should I do?
All of a sudden, it hit him like a shock. If he didn’t do anything in the next few moments, this kid would die. It would simply cease existing, its life extinguished by the cold, merciless grip of the icy water.

Rusty wasn’t a hero. He was a bastard, a liar, a good-for-nothing. His own mother didn’t want him. He hadn’t any friends and – if he was honest with himself – his chances of ever being something different that the trash he was nowadays were very, very low. But right now, in this new city, with a bag full of money and his heart full of hope, Rusty felt for once that he could be someone. Not a famous, brave vigilante in a distant future. Right know. He only had to act.
As if the grim dead himself tried to catch him he sprinted towards Oleander and threw his bag at his feet, speedily undoing the haltering of his cloak.
“Look after this bag as if your friggin’ life depends on it!”, he shouted at Oleander. In this bag was everything he owned. All the money he stole in hope of a better future, all his personal belongings. If he lost it the only thing left to do would be stealing a rope and knotting a good, tight noose.
Rusty dropped his cloak and the cold air found its way under his red linen shirt in the glimpse of a moment. “And I might need that”, he added not quite so gruffy while he fingered Oleander’s dagger from his belt with the deft, swift hands of a competent pickpocket. He swung one of his lanky legs over the bridge’s railing, followed by the other one and crouched down wobbling dangerously. He carefully let himself hanging down from the bridge and with a loud thud his feet met the ice.

Silence.
As his feet touched the thin ice Rusty heard a series of cracks caused by the impact, but after a moment there was nothing but absolute silence except the erratic drumming of his heart in his ears.
Slowly, he took his first step. Cracking echoed from the walls of the canal. Another step. The ice creaked like an old door but seemed to hold his weight. He took another step but then – without a warning – the glassy surface of the ice betrayed him and he slipped, cracking trough the thin ice.

Sharply painful coldness engulfed him, filled his nose and he felt as if all warmth and life were crushed out of him. Panic shot through him like a falling star illuminating a nightly sky, igniting his will to survive. He remembered why he took Oleanders dagger. Battling with the icy water he unsheathed the dagger and rammed it into some ice he could reach, holding on to it as if his dear life depended on it.
With an enormous effort he pulled himself out of the icy water and laid panting, shuddering and soaking on the ice.
Shyke! The kid! Too afraid to stand up again, he instead started crawling towards the hole in the ice in which the kid disappeared, the cold forgotten in the rush of the moment.
He didn’t know how much time passed but eventually he reached the crack in the ice, but the child was nowhere to seen.
“No, no… It can’t be”, he murmured, trying to make out the shape of the kid somewhere in the depths of the water. “No… NO! Gods, if you exist, please, help me! I beg you!”, frantically he started fishing with his hands in the icy pool, hoping to catch a hand, or maybe a leg. Or at least the hem of a cloak…

”YES!”, a piece of fabric touched his hand and he gripped it tightly, ramming the dagger with his other hand in the ice, hoping to use it again as something to hold on to. And then he pulled. And pulled. And then he pulled some more. He saw a rough woolen cloak appear, and then wet streaks of blondish hair. With the last effort he could muster, he pulled the little girl out of the water and pushed her away, her cold, pale body sliding over the ice away from the crack. From the corner of his eye he saw the other children rush towards the girl, but he didn’t have the energy to care. Suddenly, he felt incredibly tired, as if all his power left his body. If he could only close his eyes, just for a second…

.

[Oleander Soleran]

Oleander

Oleander stood starstruck, unable to move. Time seemed to slow in the scene under the bridge, and he could see every movement wide and clear. It could only have been ticks until Rusty was beside him, then on the ice, but he hardly registered the words the younger boy uttered as he left his pack with him. His focus was on the details, the strand of blond her plastered to the girl’s cheek with salty tears. The younger kid had to be her brother, he had the very same wrinkles around the nose and the same pointy chin. The little girl in the water, those eyes – was she their sister? It seemed likely.

What would he do if he lost Hortense? The idea was unthinkable. Rusty was approaching the crack in the ice with cautious steps, then he slipped. Oleander’s heart skipped wildly in his chest. What was he to do? He hadn’t saved the children, instead he had frozen uselessly. And now he was watching as another, younger, braver man put his life and all there was to him on the line for those stranger children. Another bell passed – or was it a chime? A tick? Rusty had gone under, and Oleander still could not move, as much as he tried, his muscles would not budge. Then Rusty broke the surface again, reached around, babbled to himself, clearly cooling down way too quickly in the icy water. He started wriggling, fishing around in the water, his rambling growing louder, screaming, begging…

Then the frantic flailing ended, and he pulled, pulled…

...pulled Oleander out of his trance. The herbalist rushed to the very shore, reaching out across the water as far as he could. Rusty had left his coat at the shore, but he got a grab at the boy’s red shirt, already wet and stained from his slide on the ice. The fabric tore in his grip, but Oleander didn’t care. He hardly had any leverage without stepping out on the ice himself, but if Rusty’s brave rescue manoeuvre had taught him anything, it was that it would be foolish of him to trust the ice to carry him. He tightened his grip, not shying from the coldness of Rusty’s clothes. The boy went limper in his hands even as they stilled the kid out of lake. Once the little girl was fully out, both dropped on the ice.

Oleander signalled for the remaining children to move their sister from the ice. When they didn’t react at first, still wide-eyed and staring, he downright shouted at them. “Do you want her to break in again? Move, get her off the ice! I’ll see to her.” They surged forward, awakened form their spell as he had been before, and Oleander heaved Rusty back to the shore with him. It was unbelievable how cold the water was under that icy sheen, while the spring sun was so gentle. He immediately ripped the already torn top from the boys torso and wrapped him into his own, warm coat. Then, he slapped him heartily across the cheek. “Don’t leave, Rusty! Stay awake, you did it, you dumb hero. We’ll get you back to warmth soon, breakfast is on me. Just hold on a little while longer.”

Of course it would have been better to take Rusty straight back to Tarsin’s Boarding House to warm him back up, and treat him to tea and send him home with a bit of a special blend to take with him that would help him through the cold he was sure to catch from today’s adventure. But Oleander needed to move on the the child immediately. The little one must have swallowed lots of water and was not out of danger.

The child was limp and cold, with blue lips and blue limps, the eyes were closed. Her siblings were talking to her, shaking her, tabbing her, the little brother was crying. He pushed them all out of his way now, nevermind their reactions. Every tick was precious. He shook her, pulled her up with him, slammed his palm into her chest, not lightly, but with force. She could not have been older than four, and she reminded him too strongly of Karyk’s nephews in their dauntless oblivion. He’d done enough standing around. If this girl died now, after he had stood by, after Rusty had risked his own life, it would be his fault alone.

“Stay. With. Me.”, he uttered through gritted teeth, heart almost bursting through his chest, adrenaline flooding his system. “Come on. Wake up. Cough.” There was some week movement, a shattered breath, immediately stifled by a wet choke. “Cough. COUGH!” Another slam on her back, then he put her to the ground. “If Kihala is merciful, please take another breath!” A tear found its way from his eye down his cheek as his arms grew limp. Kihala? Or Dira? Or… Rhysol? “You’re in the gods’ hands. May they be merciful.” Another wave went through the body, a spluttering cough, then the girl vomited. Oleander felt nauseous, but now was not the time to back out, but to rush in. He turned her to her side so she wouldn’t choke on her own vomit. “Get it all out.” Another breath, another cough, another gush of stomach contents, then blue, puffy eyes fluttering open. The child was already developing a fever, but she was out of immediate danger.

“Get your parents”, he uttered to the other two children, who nodded dumbfoundedly, “and do it now.”

In the meantime, he checked on Rusty again. If the boy looked better, he would feel relieved and return his attention to the girl until her father arrived to take her back to the NMSS, otherwise, he would try his best to keep him awake and accompany both of them back to the healing facility.