Chapter 27

                                    

                                          
Joakim struggled through the days that followed. His headache returned often, a living thing that bellowed at the slightest provocation. It didn't seem to matter what he was doing–reading a book, mixing porridge, relieving himself in the privy–the pain would hit him between the eyes and he'd be seeing stars for the next half hour. At least his nose didn't bleed again; not much comfort with a head that felt like it had an axe sticking out of it. 
"Enough," he snapped at Thomas, as the boy handed him yet another bestiary. "Sorry," he added, biting his lip to stop the curse threatening to come out. He barely remembered why he'd raised his voice.
"Is it your head?" Thomas asked. "You should see Gornest again."
"I have," Joakim lied. "It hasn't helped."
In truth he'd been avoiding it, the infirmary reminded him of the friggitt's face, ugly and alien. Several times over the last few days he'd heard the creature tittering; sometimes giggling in delight, sometimes offering help with some mysterious ailment. He hadn't seen it often, and even then it had been fleeting; a misshapen foot disappearing around a corner, an ear glimpsed over a bannister, but the sense of its eyes upon him made him nervous.
"Maybe it's the light in here," said Thomas. "If your master doesn't need you, we could go outside."
Thomas led him into the monastery's cobbled yard, a bright and sunlit space that didn't help Joakim's head. He opened his mouth to say so when Gornest went past, carrying what looked like honey. The courtyard might be bad, but the sickroom must be worse, and he had no desire to be caught in a lie.
"That's better," he said, faking a smile.
"I knew it would be," Thomas said, beaming. "Come on. I want to show you something." He set off across the stones, through the monastery's broad front gate and onto the road beyond.
Joakim tottered after him, not convinced he wanted to follow.
With surprising speed, Thomas led him down the hill, to where a small number of houses clustered together like children awaiting wisdom from the mountain. They were small, simple, made of little more than dirt, but they had the same air of peace as the monastery. One had the ashy smell and clanging sounds of a blacksmith, while smooth singing came from another. Thomas led him to neither. Instead, he limped confidently to a house at the far end of town, his smile growing with every step.
"Ma," he called, pausing at the threshold, before being almost thrown backwards as two tiny figures crashed into his legs. He staggered, his legs overtaken by a young girl and an even younger boy. 
"You're lucky Cooper was scared of your guest," said a woman, stepping forward into the doorway. She smiled. "It was all I could do to hold them back. Next time they'll hobble you halfway up the hill."
"I wasn't scared!" declared the little boy, clinging to Thomas's leg and staring up at Joakim defiantly. He had blond hair, pale skin and the bluest eyes Joakim had ever seen, staring out from under brows that a grown man would be proud of.
"Were too!" the girl said, releasing Thomas's limb and striding boldly over to Joakim. Like her mother, she had reddish-brown hair, and a nose like a button, but her eyes drew Joakim's notice. They were violet, the rich purple of a lord's robe.
"I'm Lyssa," she said. "I'm four."
"Aye," Thomas said, smiling, "but she's bold enough for forty."
"Your sister, I take it," Joakim said, feeling his lips twitch. She reminded him of Merigold. His sister too had been bold and brave. Six years. It had been six years since he'd laid eyes on her. 
For the first time in long years he thought of her face. Of Jerod's, of the twins, Mial and Lucas, barely walking but still giggling at the narrow kitten Harken had procured for them. His brothers. His sister.