In the next two days, we made several disquieting discoveries about our newly christened Zephyr.
First, his recovery was preternaturally quick. Granny was astonished. She was an excellent healer—people from distant villages sought her for ailments their own couldn't cure—yet even she had to admit this rapid mending was too fast to be solely her doing.
Second, he was perpetually sad and lost. I saw it in the distant quality of his stares, fixed on the fields outside. He remained impeccably polite, trying his best not to be a burden, yet I doubted we had seen his true personality even once.
My feelings toward him remained static: he should not be here. I hadn't voiced this, unwilling to be the only inhospitable soul. Besides, everyone else had quickly warmed to him.
Eleanor, naturally, was leading the charge.
"Zephyr, since you feel so much better, how about I take you around the village?" she proposed over our porridge, leaping right into it.
Zephyr looked momentarily hesitant, then offered a polite nod. "That sounds wonderful. I'd also like to help with the work, if you'll permit me," he said, setting down his spoon. "I can see how much needs to be done each day. I may require instruction, but I will do my best."
Mother's face brightened at the promise of assistance. I, however, was immediately suspicious. He noticed the work? I never once caught him observing. I had been deliberately keeping my distance, wary that if we all acted welcoming, he might simply settle in and take advantage of us.
"That sounds excellent, Zephyr, thank you. You can start with us tomorrow," Mother said, gathering the empty plates. "For now, just go see what you can find in Emet Village. You might like it."
Wait. If Eleanor was taking him on a tour, didn't that mean her chores would fall to me?
"I don't intend to shoulder your workload as well, Eli," I countered, the name Eleanor clipped and deliberate. "The sacrifice is soon. Your job is too important to neglect." She knew the importance of gathering medicinal supplies; we were only two weeks away, and there was no telling how many fools would go to fight this year.
"Then perhaps you can show him around, Lylly," Granny suggested, reaching over to pat my hand. "Feeding the animals can be handled by your mother today."
Me showing him? I supposed it was marginally better than being stuck in the pig sty for the entire morning. I ignored Eli's furious glare. Why is she so childish about this?
"Fine, I'll do it. The village isn't so big. We'll be back in an hour, tops, and I can still help... Zephyr?" I stood up with more force than necessary and headed for the door. "I'll be waiting outside when you are ready."
I needed to leave. Eli's eyes weren't a pleasant sight, and I also felt a strange tension when Zephyr looked at me. Was it my imagination, or did he look even sadder after our exchange? Perhaps I saw only what I wanted to see.
It had been three days, and our neighbours were as nosy as ever. Groups of women would conveniently appear with baskets to talk nonsense with Mother just for a chance to glimpse the blue-haired boy—his uniqueness was providing the starving masses with a feast of gossip.
As I waited outside, Lucian approached me.
"Good morning, Lylly. How are you today?"
Ugh. So painfully transparent. Why didn't he simply make his intentions clear to Eli years ago? He clearly wanted my sister, and I suspected she liked him well enough. He was a fool, though; I'd seen him practising his sword lately. He intended to challenge Emet with the rest of the idiots.
"Good morning, Lucian. We're well enough, thank you. Eleanor should be in the fields soon, tending to her medicinal flora. I'm sure she'd appreciate your... vigilant company."
He looked like someone caught stealing a berry pie. "Oh... yes, I-I see. I will think about that after my training." He looked everywhere but my eyes, then changed the subject. "How is your guest?"
Before I could reply to the obvious attempt at reconnaissance, Mother emerged with a basin of clothes for washing. "His name is Zephyr for now, after my late husband. Hello, Lucian."
I saw Zephyr's pants on top of the pile, along with the old, worn shirt he'd been wearing.
"O-oh, morning, Mrs. Wold... I was just in the ri—" He stopped his rambling the moment Zephyr stepped outside.
Zephyr was wearing my father's old, homespun clothes. They fit him surprisingly well, which made me shoot an angry glance at Mother.
Zephyr smiled at us, and Lucian, still frozen mid-movement, extended his hand.
"I don't believe we've met. I'm Zephyr. It is a pleasure."
"Oh yes, right... I'm Lucian M-Mordin... nice to see you better."
Zephyr didn't comment, merely maintaining his polite smile. It was comical: Zephyr had done or said nothing remotely threatening, yet Lucian shook like a leaf. How is he supposed to face Emet if a polite stranger renders him speechless?
My sister and Granny soon joined us, all staring at the awkward tableau.
"Zephyr, are you ready to go?" I asked, cutting the tension.
He simply nodded to me and gave a deep, respectful bow to my family.
Showing him the village felt utterly pointless. What was he supposed to see? The blacksmith? The idiot brigade flailing their swords? It was such a beautiful day, too.
"...I suppose you find my presence here... obtrusive?"
His voice was so sudden it made me jump. Had my posture been that expressive?
"What situation?" I challenged, feigning ignorance.
"Me being here, of course. Having your father's name, wearing his clothes—the stranger who has so rudely invaded your quiet life?"
He wasn't wrong. Any other name would have sufficed until his memory returned. The last person who wore those clothes was my father. They should have been gifted away, as was tradition, but no one ever dared touch them. Now his name was taken, his clothes worn.
I still couldn't fathom Granny's rationale. Did she want him to stay forever? Or just until the winter festival? The pieces slotted into place with sickening clarity. Granny wasn't healing a guest; she was weaving a tether. A handsome, capable man, tied to us by name and debt—a perfect dowry for Eleanor come the winter festival.
I decided there was no point in lying. He already knew. "It's true. I think my grandmother and the rest have either lost their minds or are trying to be kind for... Ehlite only knows what reason. You shouldn't be here."
I nearly blurted out my suspicion about Eli.
I expected him to look angry or sad. Instead, he laughed—a warm, genuine laugh. Did my words amuse him?
"I apologize; please don't be angry," he said, raising his hands just as I had when we first met. "I didn't mean to make fun of you... it's just refreshing to hear someone speak their mind."
Some of my "annoyance," as he called it, began to vanish with the sound of his laughter. It was nice to glimpse his mind for a change. He wasn't finished.
"...I want you to know that I plan to leave once I am stronger, whether I remember who I am or not. I wish to familiarize myself with the land, perhaps earn a sword or two with some honest work. I never intended to abuse your family's kindness." He smiled and picked up a pebble, examining it closely.
It was funny how a few simple words could make you feel utterly foolish about a certainty you held moments before. He seemed earnest. He planned to go? I had wanted that, so why did I now feel the urge to tell him otherwise?
He walked in front of me, smiling. "Let us go. Show me what Emet Village has to offer."
There were things I wanted to say—that he didn't need to leave, that I was sorry for being so blatantly against his presence—but I only nodded and walked ahead.
We moved along the main road, past houses similar to our own. I explained the basics: Emet had no single leader, but a council that voted on issues and oversaw the annual tribute to both the monster and the feudal lord. My grandmother was on that council, and they resided in the large building at the town center. The building was also where previous generations had hidden when Emet descended the mountain; the last time was so long ago I could barely remember it.
We soon reached the center, and people quickly began converging to greet the newcomer. Zephyr politely shook hands or bowed, watching everyone with an air of composure I envied. It was hard enough to act calmly with new people in general; how hard must it be to accept that kind of attention when you aren't even sure who you are?
I was late to notice Alexander Jartok, the town's chief idiot. He led those who wished to test themselves against Emet each year, and having survived the last three with minor injuries, he commanded useless admiration from the youth—and created more food for Emet in the years to come. I didn't hate him; he was merely the leader of a group I wished to avoid.
He pushed people aside and stood directly in front of Zephyr. Zephyr looked surprised, not just by Alexander's considerable size, but by the great sword he carried—the fool had even named it Hilda.
"So you're the blue-haired ghost the women are whispering about?" Alexander snarled, leaning uncomfortably close before shouting. "Too pretty for a proper soldier, if you ask me! Tell me, boy: what name should I carve on your tombstone?"
The damned idiot. Of course, he knew who Zephyr was. He simply wanted a dangerous brawl against someone new. I had to stop this before Zephyr got hurt.
"I wish to know that myself one day," Zephyr replied, offering his hand while maintaining that polite smile. "In the meantime, please call me Zephyr."
Alexander refused to return the gesture. Instead, he swung his great sword, Hilda, high into the sky and brought it down with the clear intent to cleave him in half.
The crowd scattered. It happened too fast—he was going to die!
The great sword, Hilda, whistled downward in a crude arc. It happened too fast to track: a casual sidestep, a precise strike with the heel to Alexander's hilt-hand, and then, a smooth, blindingly fast kick to Alexander's jaw that sent him sprawling across the dirt road like a felled oak.
"Alexander, what are you doing!? You seriously would have killed him?" I screamed, horrified.
Alexander was too stunned and winded to answer immediately. I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"I am sorry, friend," Zephyr said, turning back to the felled man. "I don't know where that came from... you did surprise me, though, with the..." He mimicked the swing-down. "...you know, trying to kill me."
He offered his hand to the man who had just tried to end his life. Well, 'almost' might be a stretch. His movements didn't seem to come from a recently injured person; they showed control and a great deal of practice. I looked at his handsome profile, a new wave of confusion hitting me. Who the hell are you?
Alexander looked at the extended hand, then took it. Zephyr pulled him up and even helped him brush the dirt from his tunic.
"Hah... hahahah! Maybe I was wrong," Alexander roared with sudden, rough laughter. "Forgive me; I acted rashly." This time, Alexander was the one to extend his hand. "The name is Alexander Jartok, but please, call me Alex."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Alex. By the way, I don't believe you were wrong," Zephyr said, shaking his hand enthusiastically. "I may not remember much of who I was, but I'm almost certain it wasn't a soldier."
"Hey, I can recognize talent, you know? I'm training those who seek honour and the respect of their peers."
"As in... you train soldiers?"
"Far from it. It's for the yearly sacrifice to Emet. Do you want to see them?" He pointed behind him, towards the edge of the forest. "We are about to start training."
Zephyr simply nodded and walked off with him, completely forgetting I existed. Is he seriously getting along with the main idiot? Unbelievable.
What was I supposed to do but follow them and see where this absurd day led?