The Beauty
56 Spring 218 - evening, after Vanja’s confession
Vanja
Vanja stands at the stern of the ship for some time, after the others have left the long banquet table and gone their separate ways. Holding onto the edge of the rail, she looks down. The water is dark, but shot through with the reds and gold reflected from the sky. Nothing like the small, clear springs near her home.
Vanja thought she knew what a river was, but she never imagined something so large. So deep and dark and constantly shifting. Keeping her always on the edge of falling. Unsteady and sick.
Vanja can feel the small meal of potato mash churning in her stomach, and she braces herself with her good arm before vomiting over the side of the ship.
The sour taste lingers in her mouth, and Vanja twists her hand in the air, pulling green light into her palm and letting it settle until the light has turned into water. She drinks the water, and runs her wet hand through her hair, tucking the loose ends of her braids into her cap. She wants mint. Sweet pine or spiceroot. Willowbark, too, for the constant, lingering pain, not only in her arm, where the rebreak is healing well enough, but the joints in her legs where too long tucked against her stomach has left them weak and stiff.
Vanja knows the infirmary is empty. Athelia told her that the former medic had sided with Imago, and taken the supplies with them. That was something that could be fixed, though, Vanja tells herself. They were due to make port the next day, and maybe Vanja could restock the place. Show her worth as a physician. Prove to the crew, at least, that she wasn’t just some weak, broken girl who’d betrayed her friends.
Vanja knocks on the door to the captain’s cabin.
Athelia
Athelia is sitting at the heavy oak desk of the captain’s chambers. This space was slowly becoming her own, originally the private rooms of a very different kind of man. There’s a garish indulgence in the decorations, and an unnecessary luxury desired by the kind of man who rewarded himself often. Spread out over the desk are papers too numerous to count and a few stacked books. Center of them all is what has her attention.
The book is a heavy leather bound sheaf of papers, older yellowed sections mismatched as more paper was sewn in out of necessity. Those pages are full of lines of numbers with her careful notes in the margins.
She is wearing a look of concentration and worry. Her numbers are coming up just shy of what she expects. The former captain was too indulgent, too happy to risk all their livelihood and lives. And she is angry with him all over again, that he forced their hands in this matter and that she has to discover a solution to keep them all afloat.
There’s a soft but unfamiliar knock at her door. Athelia is called back to her other duties as captain. From under the desk, she slips on her shoes once more and goes to the door
She’s surprised to see the young healer, but then considers her visitor for a moment. Athelia opens her door wider.
“Why don’t you come in,” she says with a gentle smile.
Vanja
Vanja steps into the room, blinking hard as the door closes and her eye adjusts to the dimmer light. She stands with her hand at her side at first, before thinking better of it, and pressing her palm flat against the wall behind her.
“I wanted to talk with you, about the infirmary,” she says, finally. “I’m grateful for what you’ve shared already,” she gestures with her good hand, indicating her sailcloth sling, her borrowed clothes, “But we need…” she hesitates and rephrases, “The ship needs some basic things. Gauze and plaster. Cotton or linen cloths, too, something finely woven that will stand up to boiling. Clear alcohol, to fight infection, and lemon or vinegar to sanitize. Lye soap, too if we can find it, not woodash, and catgut, though fishing line could do, for that—”
Vanja catches herself, and stops speaking. This was Athelia’s ship, and it was only through her allowance that Vanja could even remain on board.
“I’m sorry, I was only thinking about it. I don’t mean to say what you should do with your ship, or your funds.”
Vanja brushes her hair from her face. Unconsciously. Automatically. Almost as quickly, she readjusts, and pulls the brim of her cap lower down. She looks up at Athelia, studying the captain’s face for any sign of anger.
“I know you won’t be able to trust me, like you do with your crew, but I can be useful. And discreet,” Vanja says. Her voice is quiet in the small space of the cabin. She swallows, fighting the rising panic in her chest and the bile in her throat. “You’ve seen my magic, by now, I think, but I can save a life without it too - your man, Avarian can vouch for that. I’m a good physician.”
Athelia
Athelia watches the self conscious movements of her guest with sympathy, not guest, crew. A lot of new crew, and she touches her chin thoughtfully. She walks back to her desk, but gestures towards a solid wooden chair for Vanja.
“I agree with you about the infirmary,” she admits. “I’ve been remiss tasking our new crew with work beyond what it takes to keep the ship moving forward. It’s hard to go from a full crew, to half that, and then more again but with …. limited experience”
Athelia’s elbows rest on the desk, her hands over the book before her, “Supplies are important. Can you prioritize a list of what is most needed? We already have a long list once we get to port, but one of my men can see about some of the things you’ve mentioned.”
She tilts her head slightly, remembering, “Avarian can vouch for your skills as a healer?”
Vanja
Vanja takes the seat offered to her and nods to Athelia, “I can narrow the list, some, yes. The most important things are soap and clean linens. That and a…not a knife.” Vanja shakes her head, and says a few words in low Jorungun. “A scalpel or lancet. Something with a fine, sharp point. And a saw.”
Vanja glances around the room, at the stacks of books and ledgers. In this space, she could almost pretend she was in a building, but as she watches, one of the lamps shifts slightly, gently, and her stomach turns again.
“Maybe something for nausea, too. And painkillers,” she adds. “Something besides alcohol, for those that need it.”
She smiles wanly at Athelia. “And as to my skills, I don’t know that Avarian would remember it, actually. But he is alive. And he seems fit enough, too.”
Realizing Athelia doesn’t seem to know what she is talking about, Vanja continues, choosing her words carefully. “When we were trying to leave the city, we lost track of some of our people. All of us ended up split, running down alleys and things. I saw Avarian and some others, some of your crew, I think, in an argument with the old captain. With Imago. I left for a moment, to find Roux, and when we came back, there were a half dozen bodies in the alley, and Avarian had been hurt badly - a blade had caught him, low,” Vanja presses her hand against her own stomach, “I examined him, as best I could. The blade missed his liver, and his bowel, but it was a deep wound, and he was bleeding a lot, and quickly. I treated him with clotgrass, and stinging nettle, and stopped the bleeding. I packed the wound with gauze to try to wick away any infection, and I would have stitched him properly, or healed the wound the rest of the way with riverlight, but we were interrupted by soldiers.”
Vanja makes a gesture with an open hand, and a fine mist of green light seeps from her sling. Vanja twists her good hand, her useful hand, and spools the light around it, pulling a ribbon of green and gold from her left side to her right, demonstrating what she means by riverlight.
Vanja speaks more quickly now, though, trying to get through the rest of the story. In the telling of it, she seems like a coward. She could have joined Avarian when she’d first seen him arguing with Imago. Fought alongside him instead of running for help.
“I’m sure the rest you can get from him, or from some of the others. I was glad to see him, though, when I came aboard. Glad he lived.”
Athelia
Athelia listens closely to Vanja’s retelling. Avarian had been brief, leaving out the grisly details. She supposed because he considered the loss of their crew mates a more serious matter than his nearly dying. Unconsciously she touched her own stomach, where she knew he’d been wounded.
“I suppose we all underestimated Captain Weygarde,” Athelia is frowning down at her hands.
She is quiet for a moment, then clears her throat, “I’m glad you were there, you have my deepest thanks.”
“Truly I’m thankful to all of you,” Athelia smiles sincerely. Then strums her fingers against the desk, considering. “I suppose I’d like to find some peace on the ship. We still have a long way to go together. I can put people to work, distract them, but it’s more than that. There’s a storm that follows your people.”
“The thing about a crew, is it’s kind of like a family,” she starts. “And in a perfect world, we’d all get along. My crew, these men, they trust me and my judgement. And while I know that every one of you is exceptionally capable in a fight or… with this thing you’re pursuing. It’s a different life, living and working side by side for months on end. Very quickly your trouble becomes all of our trouble.”
Athelia sighs, she reminded herself that Avarian and the others would be dead without them. She would happily have them aboard and get them to wherever they needed based on that alone. But after their plan for the swans, her nature rebels against the impulse to kill first and torture for questions later. But then, looking at the girl before her, locked in the box on her ship this entire time. Athelia struggles to find a reason for mercy now.
“I suppose you can only know the people you are with, when there is a true crisis. I just,” she grasps for diplomatic words, “I struggle to understand their black and white outlook.”
Vanja
Vanja lets out a small, dry laugh, “You’re asking me? I’m not…” She shakes her head, “I don’t know that I’m a good judge. I misread people, sometimes. Too quick to trust.”
Vanja hesitates a moment further, spinning the riverlight in her hand, and then pressing her fingers into the break in her collarbone, the imperfect alignment clearly visible beneath the skin. The green light spreads from Vanja’s hand and along the break, the sharp edge of the bone illuminates briefly before the light fades. There’s no change to the injury, and Vanja takes a sharp breath in response to her own touch.
“Some of the others see things more clearly - you saw a bit of that, at dinner. They have a goal in mind, and they’ll do a lot to see it through.
“But I have a hard time understanding it.”
Vanja takes a breath, and looks away from Athelia as she talks, reluctant to read the captain’s reaction before she explains further. “When I was learning medicine, from my mother, she taught me that the most important thing is what you can do now. There’s no use worrying about how a man might grip an axe with only one hand in a year’s time if infected blood is already spreading up the rest of the arm. And when there’s a person in front of you, and there’s blood, or fever, or rot, and they’re calling for their mother or praying to their god… it’s a hard thing to judge them, then.
“And the Swans…yes, some are cruel.” At this, Vanja’s eye narrows, “The ones who were on this ship - them and their inquisitor - they knew I was there. It’s impossible that they didn’t.” Her voice starts to rise, and high spots of color spread across her cheeks, “The one who was captive, he said he’d thought there was a beast in the box, some monster from the North. And then he looked at me - a person who he’d kept captive, for weeks - and said it was true.
“So that man. That one man…I was happy to see him hurt. To know he’s dead.
“But not every Swan is like that. Ethan and Roux and Bax left their hometown because the army was coming through and conscripting people. So not every person in that uniform is even a Swan by choice.” Vanja swallows, hard, her throat raw after weeks of disuse. “Some Swans are good, kind people, who are doing a job. I know a man who—” Vanja’s voice catches, for just an instant, and she rephrases, “I knew a man who…he thought he was doing the right thing. Because he was fighting against bandits and witches and protecting a city.
“It’s hard, for me, to see that, and then look at what we’re doing, what we’ve done and see any line at all. To see any outlook but gray.”
Vanja shrugs, and her shoulder screams at the movement, the joint moving correctly but painfully. “The others will say I’m foolish though, and that’s if they speak kindly.
“I trust them, though,” she says, softly, “not one of them would betray the others, like I did.”
Athelia
Athelia nods along, considering Vanja’s words and Vanja’s present predicament.
“The ship does need a healer, so you are welcome to the post,” she says after a bit. “As for betrayal … “
She looks into Vanja’s face, taking in damage, just a shadow now of all that she endured, her bearing weighted with guilt. This trial seems to have broken the girl, perhaps she could find a new balance with a bit of purpose. Athelia cannot find it in her heart to turn away someone who needs a safe refuge, such a thing is rare these days.
“Let’s see how you might heal that which was broken.”
Episode navigation
Back to: