Rabben hated his name, but he repeated it anyway. Rabben. He didn’t have a last name, or he forgot it so long ago he can’t remember ever having known it. He was just Rabben, cruel as that was. He probably deserved it, given everything he had done. Everything that he planned to do again. After all, it was that or someone else would do it instead. So, he did it.
Sometimes people would come talk to him during work, but not very often. He was so far away from the main grounds of the manor. People rarely ever walked this far out. If anyone ever did, it was Lesrian. He envied Lesrian’s last name, but could not remember it. Maybe he was never told. That would have made sense, Lesrian hardly ever spoke. He claimed that was his curse. It hurt to speak. That wouldn’t make much sense. The curses were always important to the person. Lesrian didn’t like to speak to begin with, he wouldn’t be cursed with silence.
He stood up on creaky bones. It had been so long. He was the oldest, aside from the master of the grounds. Others came and went, but not Rabben. That felt like part of his curse, even if it was only an unofficial part. The one who hated it here the most was forced to stay the longest. At least it all blended together. The daily rituals helped. They made it feel easier to navigate even when he felt like he couldn’t anymore. Rituals like lunch.
He had the same thing he did everyday. A sandwich made with some meat that he had long forgotten the name of and a goat cheese spread. It was a convenient meal. Didn’t make his hands too dirty, didn’t make him too thirsty. It let him keep an eye on the stream during the break. He had tried to bring more complicated foods before but quickly gave up. Trying to use utensils while also keeping watch was too hard. Sometimes something would float down while he was eating, and he needed to stay ready. It was not one of those days. Nothing floated down that day, or the next, or the next. Eventually, someone did.
A girl, from the looks of it. She was small, smaller than most who washed up here. It would be a shame if she were a child, but she may just be short. Her golden hair was braided and she wore a thick white dress. She must be one of those people. All of them were sent by the same man. He must have been something like a cleric, but woefully informed on how to actually help anyone. Maybe one day he would float down too. Rabben would like to give him a proper thrash for all he had done to the people he sent.
He walked across the water to grab the girl. His boon, water walking. It seemed silly after having worked next to the steam for so long. He used to be afraid enough of water that he thought asking for the ability to walk on it was a fair trade for his curse. He hefts the girl into his shoulder. Mercy, she must have only been 70 pounds soaking wet. It’s tragic that she washed up here before dying. Nevermind that thought. Thinking made the work harder, he needed to stick to the rituals.
As dangerously small as she was, the water would kill her first. She needed to dry off and warm up. He bounced in place to make sure he had a good grip on her before walking over solid ground. Better to fall into the water again than to fall into the dirt. She was still slippery, but light enough that he was sure he could catch her if she did fall. His home was close, but she was the worst he had ever rescued. She was too far gone. Stronger people had died for less.
The path to his house, which was a generous word to use, was straight and flat. After years of him walking across it every day it had given up on any sign of life. Just packed soil and stones left. Someone had called it a ‘desire path’ once, which he thought was very ironic. There was nothing desired about it. It was just a place to get from one bad place to a worse place. The time in between was nicer, but he rushed anyway. The girl on his shoulder did not have time for him to wallow in his self pity.
She stirred at the sound of his creaking door. That was the first good sign he had seen from her. Step by step he did what he could. Light the fireplace, dry her clothes, and give her a blanket. He didn’t have anything else he could do to warm her up. It was up to nature. If she did live, she would need food. Chances are she had drunk enough water on the way down, but someone doesn’t get that thin on a full stomach. Last time he had given this kind of person a sandwich they spit it up. It would have to be the soup he keeps frozen.
He didn’t like the soup, so he didn’t eat it. It was helpful for people like this. He grabbed it from the aging icebox in the corner of the shack and threw the entire brick of soup in a pot. It would need to be brought back to a boil before he could serve it safely. Until then, he just had to wait. Waiting would involve thinking, so he checked the girl for wounds instead.
She really was small. He could easily wrap a hand around her forearm. Every bone that her dress didn’t cover was visible. Her cheeks started to flush in the heat; another good sign. As gently as he could at his age, he pulled apart her lips to check her teeth. Seems she must have been lucky before, all of them were still there. Her nails weren’t too bad either, considering she was malnourished. She did look young. At a glance, maybe her early twenties. Most people who washed down the river were at least 30. She let out a small groan at his inspection. He stepped away to tend to the soup. She needed all of the energy she had left to heal, not to complain at him.
* * *
That girl was a fighter. Almost every night for the past few weeks Rabben had woken up to her spitting out everything he had fed her. For the first week, it only looked like she was getting worse. Then she started to get better. At first he thought it was a final burst of energy as she passed. He had seen plenty of people start to heal just before passing. She just kept getting better every day after that. He had to keep taking trips to the manor to get more soup and food from the kitchen. She ate so much for her size and kept almost none of it down.
She must have been trying to get as much energy as possible, and using all of it too. She had survived so many things that should have killed her. Her fever easily reached over 100 degrees at one point. Her throat had all but completely sealed from swelling another. Yet here she was, alive somehow. She would live. He was sure of that. It would not be easy, and she would suffer for it, but he was sure that she would live.
* * *
“My name is Luna. Luna Tic.” He couldn’t believe his ears. She had lived. She hadn’t only lived, but she had woken up. Nearly two months and she had woken up. Even more, she still remembered. It was incredible, he had never seen anything like it.
“Good morning, Luna. You have been asleep for a long time.” His voice cracked as he spoke. It had been too long since he had held a conversation. He would need to start speaking to himself again before he lost his voice entirely. “Do you remember how you got here?”
“Some of it.” Somehow her voice was worse than his, but her words sounded stronger. “I was with a strange traveling wizard. He said that he had a cure for me. I remember him locking me away and forcing me to do weird rituals, but I don’t remember getting away.”
“I am sorry that you were tricked by him. I promise that we are not related, but we get a lot of his victims. He is deluded. All of them have the same story as you. He promises them a cure or a solution, and in exchange makes them into offerings to his rituals.” He forced her to take a glass of water. The newly woken hardly ever drink without prompting. “What did he promise to cure?”
“Chronic pain.” She drank, and swallowed. That was good, she could still control her muscles. He remained silent. She would speak more, they always did. “It’s not a big deal... Just an old wound.”
“If it is a wound, we may be able to help. Continue resting, tomorrow we will take a trip to the manor. Act well and the Master will make you a Guest.”
“Am I not already? Why are you taking care of me?”
“No, you are just a visitor. Being a Guest comes with rules, but it comes with the benefit of His favor. If you are lucky, and strong, you will be cured and sent home.” He did not say the rest. No one was ever lucky, and no one had been strong enough. Maybe, if it were her, she would be. Maybe if he helped, she would not need to be.
