Penitent
Chapter 80: Faces

While the immediate threat was handled, they were still in enemy territory, so while Bayle interrogated the villagers for any additional information they may have gleaned, Marcus climbed onto a nearby roof to keep watch with Ollie. Michael healed the villagers of rope burns, concussions, and claw marks before healing himself and the others for some minor injuries they’d sustained in their short conflict with the creatures beyond the rift. He stayed close to Bayle, who he wanted to make sure wasn’t too rough with the villagers, but aside from being direct and a bit curt, he was overall very diplomatic with them, and he didn’t even bother with the woman still sobbing as she clutched her husbands charred arm to her chest.

Michael felt awkward about trying to comfort her, but was near making the attempt before some of the other women in the group started talking to her and even carrying her daughter for her. He felt some relief at that, she’d certainly take more comfort from those she knew than from a Penitent from a foreign army, though he would’ve felt obligated to try.

Bayle spoke to the last of them and stood quietly with his eyes closed and the notebook he’d just been scribbling in furiously closed in his hands. He looked over at the villagers.

“We have taken Castle Reinback, known to you as Castle Justine. I can ask that you are treated respectfully by the people there, but I don’t know what the result of that would be. I’d recommend taking to the woods with the others that have done so. In all likelihood other Tusinian soldiers will be here in less than a week to retake it anyway. Your lives are yours. Good luck.”

With that he turned from them and made a kind gesture for everyone to fall in behind him as they made their way back toward the horses.

“Sir?” asked Davi as they walked.

“Yes, Penitent Davi?”

“Is the castle really going to be retaken so quickly?”

“Yes. Our targeted attacks on mercenary payments and smaller mercenary companies headed to the front could only slow their momentum for so long. This was all for some breathing room, and the good optics back home of taking back castle Reinback. If we’re truly lucky, we can hold it until winter and use it as a bargaining chip for a lengthened truce to let us regroup.” Bayle paused for a few moments, lost in his own thoughts. “The new problem is this rift. This one led to a world with horned men that eat us, but there are stories that they’re all different, and all I know is rumor and speculation as they are mostly the problem of Old Hume and those that border it. We’re lucky we were close enough and that we were able to confirm that they can be closed by diviners.”

Bayle had gone quite a distance from Davi’s initial question, but they all stayed still and listened as he spoke. He was clearly working out all of the new information they’d received in his own head and working it out by speaking it out loud. Michael had certainly done the same thing many times himself.

Bayle quieted as they reached the horses and they all slowly led them out of the forested area and got back into their saddles. Michael winced, not eager to ride again, but he gritted his teeth and got back on, murmuring a thank you to his horse and giving her a firm pat on the shoulder in gratitude for her agreeable nature. As he adjusted to riding on the way back to the castle, he thought back to what he’d done in the rift. The wrongness of it, and the rightness of it.

He’d been unnaturally terrified of the rift, but saving the people just inside of it, and sealing it had filled him with a feeling he’d only felt on the edges of in his old life, Righteousness. He’d been doing as he was told, taking his lumps, and fighting for Stent because he’d felt he’d had to. He’d even felt like he’d been able to do some good within the system. He’d healed wounded men, helped prevent a prolonged siege that would’ve left many dead, kept civilians safe where he could. All that was just minimizing suffering though. Sealing the rift was purely a net good, rather than reducing a negative. He hadn’t considered the kind of good he could do outside of Stent. One rift had nearly wiped out half a village, and Old Hume was apparently full of them.

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He also wondered about those tongues of flame he'd seen on his blade, but trying to focus he couldn't seem to recreate them. He'd felt strong in the rift, even beyond the activation of many of his deeds, but he wasn't sure if it was just a feeling, or a truth.

…

They all waited in the small servants quarters of the castle for Bayle to speak with the under-general and write a number of letters. Michael had been so distracted and in his own head that he’d nearly forgotten to heal the irritation that everyone else had been feeling from the horse riding that they were still all very unused to. He felt like he was recovering a bit more slowly from the portal sealing, and from what he could tell, everyone else was even more exhausted. After the last few days it wasn’t really a surprise that they were as tired as they were. He went to the small bed he’d been sleeping on and took a few moments to remove his armor before landing heavily on it. He noticed that Davi had actually laid down in his armor and fallen asleep, and the others were similarly drifting in and out of wakefulness or at least staring dazed up at the ceiling. Major recovery was once again proving its value for him. Still he was tired enough that he decided to wait until he woke up to check on any changes to his status.

As he drifted off to sleep he found his thoughts going to his old life. To his wife and children. He wondered what they would think of all that he’d done. Sara would understand, he was sure of that. Vick would ask for endless explanations about magic and everything else he’d encountered in the new world, and Laura would be more worried about how he was feeling than how what he’d done made her feel. Gabe would… he smiled for a moment, Gabe would ask where he could grab a sword to help. He tried to picture him wearing the same armor he was wearing, then he tried to picture everyone else as they would be there. He found himself struggling to remember the finer details of all of their faces. He’d thought of them daily since he’d gotten there, but for some reason he couldn’t bring the details to the forefront of his mind.

He sat up quickly clutching at his chest as he forced himself to focus harder. He stopped trying to picture all of them at once, and forced himself to think of them one at a time. Focusing his every thought on making the images in his mind as clear and focused as possible. The idea that he could forget what they looked like, what they smelled like, what they sounded like filled him with an anxiety even more intense than what he’d felt at the edge of the rift. Luckily, after he’d managed to recreate them in his mind as perfectly as possible the anxiety began to fade and he started to relax. There was sweat on his face, and he rubbed it away with both hands as he took deep breaths. He couldn’t lose the memory of them, the idea of that happening tore at him.

He reached into his pack and found a few charcoal pencils, and a stack of paper he’d been asked to carry by Bayle. He grabbed his shield and laid the paper across the least dented portion of it as he started to draw. He’d had no talent as an artist in his old life. As far as artistic endeavor's he could sing very well and had good pitch, but that wasn’t something that could really help him in his new life. Still, he found his hand was much steadier and more able to replicate the image of Sara in his mind as he tried to sketch out lines in the shape of her face. He got most of the way done, and stopped suddenly. It wasn’t right. It was closer than he ever would’ve managed in his old life, but it wasn’t quite there. He clenched his jaw and moved the first piece of paper to the side, and grabbed another piece of paper. He’d need to try again.

…

The others woke the next morning to see Michael furiously scribbling on a piece of paper on his shield with a pile of crumpled papers by the bed and dark circles under his eyes. Crick stepped out to use the bathroom while the others tried to size up what he was doing.

“Did you not get any sleep last night, mate?” asked Ollie.

Michael shook his head without looking up. “No, I must’ve lost track of time.”

“What’re you working on?”

“Trying to draw my wife. My kids. Don’t want to forget their faces.”

Marcus and Ollie exchanged glances. Davi went over to Michael’s Bed and grabbed one of the sketches, taking a look at it.

“Bonita,” he said with a smile as he held one of the sketches of his wife. “What was wrong with it?”

Michael looked up at it and shook his head. “Her eyes, they’re a bit sharper in the corners. I couldn’t… I couldn’t get it right.”

Davi sat down next to him on the bed and grabbed one of the few remaining pieces of paper and one of the nub like charcoal pieces from next to Michael. His usually frown was gone and he wore an oddly soft expression.

“You take a little break. I’ll help.”

Michael raised an eyebrow atop a tired eye.

“Just let me give it a shot. I used to draw a lot in my spare time. A lot of beautiful women to draw in Rio, a lot of them very happy to have someone sketch them... dressed or otherwise.”

Michael sighed and handed him the longer pencil he’d been working with. “Okay.”

Davi put down the stubby pencil and grabbed the one Michael had handed him. He looked at the others. “You guys, go grab us some breakfast. I want to give this my full attention.”