The Alabaster Staff - Edward Bolme [104]
Kehrsyn raised her head to the sky, wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands, and turned back around to face Demok.
"I don't believe it," she said. "After all this time, he didn't kill my father." She sniffled and ran the heel of her hand across her eyes again. "I love my father!" she sobbed, her voice crescendoing as she struggled to maintain control. "What am I supposed to do now?"
She buried her face in her hands and began weeping openly. Full-force grief wracked her body, waves of anguish pounding against her throat. Demok hemmed for a moment, then awkwardly reached out to hold her. She ended up resting her head against his breast, but he wasn't sure she was aware of it.
He held her to the best of his ability, his jaw set in a grim line as he stared out at the city, a cold, gray world beset by warfare and hunger with little room for a hopeful, compassionate juggler. He could only see it as an allegory for her entire life.
The tide of her grief eventually receded, leaving her spent and quiet, her arms still pulled close and her head leaning on his breastbone.
"Kehrsyn," he said.
"Yes," she answered, her voice like a little girl.
"Your father is still your father."
"No, he's not," she said.
"He's done more to raise you and guide your steps than Ekur ever did. Even after his death, he was your mother's helper and your companion. He's far more your parent than the one who sired you."
"But-" began Kehrsyn.
"Nothing Ekur can do can change that," interrupted Demok. "Don't you give it away. Hold onto it. Protect it. Your father makes you who you are."
A long pause.
"All right," said Kehrsyn.
Demok took a deep breath. While these personal talks were curiously rewarding, they still made him nervous, scared. He preferred to deal with threats that could be stabbed through the heart or beheaded. It was so much easier, so much clearer.
"And you can thank the gods that you look like your mother," he said, looking to end the moment before he foundered somewhere beyond his understanding.
Kehrsyn snorted.
"Yeah," she said, pulling away from him to sit by the fire once more.
The day was a quiet one. Kehrsyn kept her own council, while Demok cleaned out the corpses downstairs and disposed of them. Periodically he'd stoke the fire, and usually he found Kehrsyn sitting in a chair by the hearth, staring out the open shutters at the continuous drizzle.
Later that evening, Kehrsyn and Demok sat at the table, quietly eating the supper he had prepared. Kehrsyn set down her knife and fork and leaned her cheek on one fist.
She looked over at her companion with vulnerable eyes and asked, "Am I a bad person, Demok?"
He blinked twice, then replied, "Why do you ask?"
"I'm a thief. I steal things. It's against the law, and it's wrong. I'm sure my father wouldn't have liked it, either. I just take things from people. Sort of like my actual father."
Demok took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling.
"You just want me to talk," he said.
Kehrsyn giggled in spite of her serious mood.
Demok crossed one arm across his chest to support the elbow of the other. He ran his thumb across his lip between sentences as he spoke, a professorial tone to his voice.
"Every creature does what is required to survive. You grew up hungry. You stole food. When you could eat without stealing, you stopped. I see no fault."
"Yeah, but I promised myself that I would never steal again," confessed Kehrsyn. "Then, when that sorceress pushed me, I fell right back into it."
"You were cornered. Theft or death. You did what was required to survive."
Kehrsyn sat back in her chair, folding her arms. The chair creaked with age, making a sound of wood snapping.
"But we're supposed to know better," she said. "We're supposed to have values and ideals."
"You do," replied Demok. "You never steal for gain. You steal for survival. Given the chance to make amends, you did."
"But it's still