11 - in which I am outed

An eight-day after Surya and I sent our letters to my mother and shadow-father, I got a pigeon-message, saying they were both coming, by wing. That was the same day as my third session with Surya. As I closed the door behind myself, he said, “You’ll be sad to hear this, but it couldn’t be helped. I know who you are.”

I didn’t understand, no doubt because I didn’t want to. What does he mean, he’s always known exactly who I am, I can hide nothing from him, what in…? I guess confusion showed on my face.

“Semanakraseye.”

I froze, feeling my cheeks go red and sudden tears behind my eyes. Well, why not? What feeling of mine had I ever hidden from him? And yet the tears stayed behind my eyes, locked there by my knowing he knew my name. I took a long casual breath and said, “Call me Chevenga. You know me well enough.”

“You can never take off the armour of your name, except here with me, can you? Have you ever had that before, in your life?” I signed charcoal, unable to speak. “Once you’ve got all the weapons off, just sit down and let it out.” Chevenga or not, I hadn’t lost the habit of obeying him. Blinded with tears, I had to grope for the hooks to hang my swords. Once I’d sat down, he put his arms around me, and I wept on his shoulder.

“You’ve lost nothing, I’ll make sure of that,” he said. “You know how it is, how first impressions stick, and define a person no matter what else we learn. To me, you are still the man who came in through my door, whose aura I saw full of death, and who wanted so dearly to live. Do you think your aura has changed? I knew the size of your burden before; now I understand its nature, and that will be help, not hindrance. I think it was best that I didn’t know before I got you to relinquish your will to me, though; I don’t know that I’d have had the nerve. That makes me think I was blinding myself to it, actually; I knew in the deeper me that it was best I didn’t know, so the deeper me kept me from it. I’ve had things like that happen before. Don’t worry. Everything is going as it should.”

“In a sense my will has always been relinquished to you,” I said, as he handed me one of his goodly stock of kerchiefs. “Semana kra.” We shared a little laugh. “How did you find out?”

“I received a visit from the Captain of the Darya Semanakraseyeni, Krero Saranyera.”

I cringed inside, imagining. He spared me further imagining, if not further cringing, by telling me the full story. Later that same day I got Krero’s version of it, too.

†

Surya had guessed that I was high enough in the ranks that he’d probably know my name if he heard it. He’d thought no further than that. A day after the second session, as he was working with his healing-room door slightly open (he'd leave it that way if the client wasn't yelling, so as to hear taps), a very authoritative knock came on his door. At first he ignored it, thinking that the visitor, having read on his sign that he was a healer, would realize he was working. They usually did. Krero knocked again.

“I must work as uninterrupted with this patient as I will with you, if you’d be so good as to come in and wait!” Surya called pleasantly on the third knock, in Enchian.

“I’m here on business of national import!” Krero barked unpleasantly, in Yeoli.

“My patient is Arkan, thus in effect Yeoli, thus, semana kra, so business of national import can wait, kere,” Surya answered in Yeoli. “You are welcome; please, come in!”

With four of his escort, Krero did, and sat fuming for half a bead.

The poor patient scurried out through the gauntlet of full-geared Yeolis, Surya offered them all ezethra, and Krero introduced himself and began grilling him. “Where are you from? Who are your parents? Where did you get your healer training? Are you war-trained? Why did you move to Arko? Did you ever live in Arko before?” And so on.

Having nothing to hide, Surya answered it all willingly and thoroughly. When Krero ran out of questions, he asked, “May I know why I have been asked these things, especially in person by someone as highly placed as you?”

Krero stared at him. “You don't know, when you have who you have as a patient?”

The healer, Krero would tell me later, looked baffled. “Who I have as a patient? What do you mean?”

Long delays never improved Krero’s mood. “Surya,” he snapped, “I’ve tried to be patient. All through waiting, I tried, and I am still trying now, and I don’t know how long I will be able to succeed. You pose as professional enough to have some knowledge of your patients; would that be enough to know their names?” (“Are you sure you should be trusting this fellow?” Krero asked me as he told me the story. “I know sometimes healers’ heads are in the clouds, but this is ridiculous.”)

“Well, come to think of it,” said Surya, “there is one whose name I don’t know. It didn’t matter to me for the healing, and I guess it doesn’t matter to him either because he hasn’t told me, so it’s never come up. I’ve always had the impression he has some sort of high position, actually; maybe he’s why you’re here? Medium height, black hair, a nasty cut-scar down his right cheek and a square of brand-lines on his left, wears two very fancy Arkan-looking gold bracelets chained to rings on both hands, which he won’t take off even when I make him strip...”

One or two of the escort snickered, but Krero was in no mood. “How could you not know his name? How could you not know his face?”

“I drew him in and onto the table before he had a chance to introduce himself, and then we were too deep in the session… I’ve never thought about whether he looked familiar.” Now he did, searching back through his memory, just as it was occurring to Krero that I might have purposely gone incognito and forgot to tell him. Like every warrior who’d fought for me, Surya had seen me speak, albeit from a distance.

“Blessed All-spirit,” Krero told me in his account. “Nothing in my life has ever prepared me for a healer even knowing words like that. Of course he’d been in the army, that’d be how.” Surya apparently blushed right down to his hands, as well. I’ll rue as long as I live, however long that is, that I didn’t get to see it. The escort all burst out laughing.

“He’s Chevenga,” Surya spluttered. “That explains …a lot.” But he said no more, mindful of confidentiality; and telling Krero he now understood entirely why he’d been questioned, and for the sake of the nation, two nations, he was appreciative of his diligence, he sent them on their way.

†

“So I must pay you back this,” he said, handing me the seven silver chains I’d paid him last time. “We may be in Arko, but I am Yeoli and have not left our ways behind. I do not charge the semanakraseye.” He was polite enough not to ask how I’d had them. I took them, and stifled my happiness that I’d also slipped him the five gold in the hope he would not see it in my aura. He said nothing and we went on.