One heavy boot lands solidly on the waterlogged landing pad, and is joined shortly after by another. The winds are fierce this evening and driving rains whip into the face of the traveller. They had told him that the trek was almost suicidal whilst the storm was still raging but he had little choice in the matter. All the signs were there just as she had warned him, and this time he had been smart enough not to trust in his own judgement.
The pilot had been extremely well paid, of course, and was very happy to power down and sit the storm out for the evening. They shouted across to each other, the traveller trying to make himself heard whilst driving winds tried to force themselves into his eyes and mouth. How on earth had they managed to survive this trip? Was it a sign? Did he still believe in such things? The traveller points repeatedly in the direction of a building on a hill not far away and the pilot says something and then nods, giving a thumbs up. With that, the traveller pulls away from the transport and fades away from the crafts lights and into the stormy night.
A storm-screen is pulled aside and a rushing noise can be heard. The inner door is opened shortly afterwards and pupil Anton Hawkwood brings himself into Airi’s house. He closes all the doors behind him, takes off his shoes and places them neatly on a small rack. He bows and waits patiently. Airi is working on a tiny white orchid. She keeps him standing there for a while as she gets to a place where she is satisfied to stop. She sits back and admires her handiwork carefully, taking in each line and assessing each colour and shade in context. It is imperfect, but she enjoys the sensation nonetheless. Airi peers across to the boy over the top of a set of small round glasses.
“So Anton…fighting again then?”
The side of the boy’s face is ruddy and scratched and his hands are marked and cut. He doesn’t raise his head, just nods whilst it is still lowered.
“The same boys again?” she asks.
He just nods again. She can tell that he is still full of rage and yet the fact he has come here demonstrates a sense of shame as well. “He’s doing okay” she contents herself and nods in thought.
“Pass me that small knife will you Anton?” He raises his head and walks over to a small rack of tools on one side of the room. He knows the knife she is needing; he feels he knows her well. He is mistaken.
He passes her the knife and leans in to look over the plant, readying himself to assist in whatever careful work they are about to undertake. Airi takes the blade to the orchid but twists it in her fingers, forcing it outwards and moves her hand towards Anton so that it is pointing towards the boy’s face. His reflexes force him to flinch and instinctively lean back but she has grabbed his arm and pulled him back towards the knife. It is close now, so close to his eye and it is all he can think of to get away. But for reasons he cannot fathom his glance momentarily looks up into Airi’s face and he can see that she is smiling warmly. So he stops, relaxes; the blade sitting just before him. He trusts her. He doesn’t know why, but he does. She nods, pleased by what she sees.
“You know Anton, if only you had been born to a good Li Halan family. Such a shame…” she shakes her head but smiles at him and lifts up his face. He laughs briefly, the moment is broken. Another lesson provided but one he must think hard on to understand. Always with her the lessons came draped in confusion, but he remembered more from her than he did from any of his actual tutors.
The screen is moved back and the inner door opens. The Marquis De Havilland bends over slightly and steps into the small room. He shuts out the storm behind him and takes off his sodden boots. He removes the waterproof cloak and rolls a pack off from his back, and unfastens his swords and shotgun. It smells just as he remembered it in here, the earthy compost and fragrant flowers around the workbench fill the air. He hasn’t been back for years now and feels a twinge of guilt about that. The Marquis doesn’t hear anything but waits patiently nonetheless. Time passes and he’s beginning to feel a little concerned now.
“Airi…? Are you here?”
The door suddenly opens behind him and a short heavily cloaked figure steps into the room. Airi stamps down on the ground and removes her weatherall and coat. She coughs and moves over to a warm glowing stove in the corner of the room. She removes the lid with a short metal rod and throws more fuel in, placing the top down carefully and rubbing her hands together.
“I’m feeling the cold more than I used to; never thought that would happen.”
The Marquis looks over at the old lady. “Never thought you’d feel the cold?”
“Never thought I’d ever live long enough to grow old”, she answers. Airi sits down in a chair near to the fire and rubs water droplets from her face with a small towel.
“There’s a hell of a storm out there Airi, why were you out there anyway?”
Airi looks over at her old pupil and nods to the doorway. On the floor is a small pot of near clear blue flowers. The Marquis lets out a breath and stoops to pick them up.
“Cholarynn; I can’t believe you still pick this? It’ll kill you foraging for this in a storm. Where did you find it?”
The old lady seems pleased with herself. “Found it up near Reverential falls. And you can’t really find it unless it is wet weather, you know that.”
The Marquis steps into the room and walks over to a small sewing stool in the corner of the room. He flips the lid of the stool and takes out two small clay cups and a small flat pot. He tips a liquid into both cups and passes one to Airi before sitting down.
“You remembered then?” she asks, taking a sip and relaxing back into her chair.
“I still dream of it”, he answers, “You can’t get plum brandy like it anywhere else.”
They sit in silence for a few moments whilst the stove flashes out streaks of red and yellow light. It is Airi who starts talking first.
“So, you’re a Phoenix Knight now I hear. How are you finding that?” She keeps her gaze at the stove but he knows she is watching him intently, looking for any signs.
“I’m doing as well as can be expected” he answers, deliberately guarded and an obvious parry of the deceptively keen first strike.
“I hear that you have a travelling companion? Where is he?” The Marquis tries not to flinch but his mind is whirring trying to figure out if she has heard anything and if so, how. It had been far too soon for anyone to have heard rumours of Tonbei’s death, but every moment he sat here she was soaking up small moments of his life as though she inhaled it. The Marquis had assumed in early life that Airi was a psychic or that she employed theurgic rituals or some other un-godly power in order to read people so clearly. But she had over the long years revealed the small means of the ability, and it was solely down to an exceptional technique. Quite how she had gleaned that ability was never touched upon and he felt that, and most of her history, would go to the grave with her. She was very much like Tonbei in that regards perhaps, something of a mystery. Did he seem to gravitate to those sorts of personalities he wondered?
“He’s not here Airi. He didn’t make the journey with me”, he answered curtly.
‘She’d know from that response’, he cursed himself. ‘I’m out of practice, not putting up much of a fight against the old lady on this occasion. Maybe I’m just a bit better now than I thought though?’
De Havilland thought to move things on a bit but he had just let a lonely woman into his life again and she was obviously not as used to having company as she once was. She wanted to spar.
“So how did it happen then?” she asks, and turns to him sipping her brandy.
The Marquis knocks back the contents of his cup and knows the game is up on this one line but he can be better prepared for any others.
“He attacked someone I was monitoring. He failed, and was killed.” The Marquis looks into the bottom of his cup as though he were searching for tea leaves to read, but all he can see is the glazed thumb print of the sculptor who made the cup.
“Ah, I see” she answers, her voice trailing off slightly. He hated it when she said that. She was judging him incompetent no doubt, much like he had done so himself. He really hated that.
“I know I’ve been stupid here. I know it’s all my fault. I take complete responsibility….” He jumps in, ready to dampen down any sparks as early as possible.
Airi turns round and looks him in the eye. “How little you still know yourself Anton. In some things you are learn’ed I’m sure, but when it comes to your own thoughts and feelings about yourself, even now you fall short of the mark. Why did you come here?”
The question is an easy one to answer. “Because I wanted to see you and seek your advice...” he answers
“Mnya, mnya, mnya…” says Airi looking wildly about the room and pulling a comical face. “You are still the silly little boy sometimes Anton. You came here to seek my council? Really? On what matter precisely?” She asks, her piercing eyes boring into him.
The Marquis tries to find some words but is unable to find the verses.
“You didn’t come here to seek my advice Anton, you already have everything you need to determine your own destiny. You come to me now like you did when your father died, to expect me to punish you and make you feel bad because you have guilt.”
She looks at him, her breath heavy and laboured as the weight of emotion pours from her. It was hard for her to say that, he could tell. He sat back into his chair taking in the words, his mind partially blanked by the shock of it. He couldn’t get his thoughts together.
“You have to forgive yourself Anton, it was not your fault that he died; Not your father or this so-called friend. You are not always responsible. You may feel accountable, but you are NOT responsible. Not for this or the war either….”
They spent much of the night talking together in that way. Airi took care to spend time with her young pupil in his moment of careful vulnerability. She knew when he left the next day that she would have made him an infinitely better pupil than when he had left the school all those years ago. If only he had been born to a good Li Halan family…
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