Keeping the Fire: The Ninth Hour

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In Fortress Edgar they kept the old Westin measure of time that divided the day into nine long hours starting at dawn. They had just called the Ninth hour which meant that it was either very late or very early, depending on one's mood. As Polena sat beside Coralm she preferred to think it early. He had stirred in the sixth hour and awoken in the eighth of that day, though his fever had not quite left him. Only now, in he ninth, did he seem strong enough to speak, but only just. It was as if that effort strained him. His first words had been:

“Where is the pen? Bring me the pen.” But when Polena brought him one along with paper, he pushed them away. So she waited, brought him water and ale when he asked for both of them. Then sat with him a long quiet time as he stared blankly at the fire. They were in the healing ward of the castle called the Hinbothu, or “pure house” by its doctors many of whom still praised the Westin herbs even as they sewed with Flinish needles and taught with Dunish medicine. They treated Coralm with a smoking poultice of wax and Weimadji flowers and bade him drink a musky smelling tea of comfrey which he turned away after one bitter gulp. Then the healers left them again. And the call of the Ninth hour came, and at last he spoke again.

“Did it go well?” It took Polena a moment to understand what he meant.

“Comae, you can hardly care about how the council went.”

“It is why I am here.”

“Don't worry yourself on something so trivial, you have so many other things to do beyond my stupid poet.”

“I meant it is why I am in the house of healing. Your stupid poet.” His smile was so pained, that Polena could not hold back tears.

“I am glad to hear your voice Coralm.”

“I am glad to hear anything Polena. So were they successful? Did they stop the council, the ones who fired that bolt.”

“Yes, but the king has yet to rule so the damage is not permanent yet. They have delayed us, not stopped us.” Coralm stared at her a while. His mouth hung open a little and Polena thought to herself that if it were closed he would have that falcon's cast to his face that always made him look so intimidating and wise. Now he looked only distant and lost.

“Well that is a shame. I am a mess. You will have to take care of it from here.”

“I am trying.”

“Good.” He said, as if that was all that needed to be said. Polena did not want to lose a chance to speak with him and pressed closer to the Knight Luminary.

“Coralm, who did this to you? Do you have any hint? You warned me the night before it happened you must have known something was afoot.”

“The Weatherclock did this. But I had warnings, warnings only. I had plans. I...” he seemed to be becoming delirious, “Polena it is not important who's killed me. It is important what you do now.”

“You are not dead, nor will you die. The worst is over.”

“You need to move forward Polena. You need to end this matter with Fiedjan. We must have no more troops near the Dehali, no one to threaten the Fortress.”

“Comae no one threatens the Fortress. Its walls hold as they have a thousand years.”

He leaned closer as if trying to impart volume his voice could not.

“Polena, this has happened to save you. You must not waste time and you must not be a fool about it. If the People say the Fortress is threatened then it is under threat. You who take words as your lover, you more than anyone should know this. Threat is in the mind, not the eyes. Fear is from the soul and the soul's breath is words.”

“Comae, please, you need speak no further.” Polena pleaded.

“Luminary!” Coralm urged.

“Knight Luminary!” Polena interupted, “Peace! Take comfort. Take rest. I can listen and I have heard. I will not let war come to the Fortress, war of words or war of arms. Rest. Trust your Comae to carry you.”

He breathed fast, his eyes stared on past her, as if seeing something she could not. He squeezed her hand.

“You will go home to her Polena.”

“I will. And you will too Coralm.”

It was not that he fell asleep at once, nor was he entirely silent, but slowly, gently, he receded back into the bed. To her he seemed to be breathing stronger than he had in days. Polena drank ale they brought her and sat by his side but when she too drifted off to sleep she could not say. In waking she knew first warmth from two sides, that of the sunlight on her face and from her Comae's hand beneath her own.

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