Saturday's Storyteller: "She woke up thinking, 'I'm still here...'"

by Belinda Roddie

She woke up thinking, "I'm still here. I'm still here in this God forsaken cottage, in this God forsaken village, in the middle of God forsaken nowhere. I don't know why I am still alive, or moving forward. I don't know what the point of this entire expedition is anymore."

And truth be told, she couldn't blame herself for those thoughts. With Mistress Kor gone and home being farther and farther away, everything the team had accomplished - or more significantly, hadn't accomplished - was becoming more and more vivid. They had avoided nasty confrontations with the Mischiefs, destroyed haphazardly constructed barracks, escaped being eaten by swamp monsters, climbed a mountain that had almost cost Barkelee's life, sailed a ship that had also almost cost Barkelee's life, fought off brutes that had cost Quinoni vision in her left eye, and been declared Chosen Ones by the Creeback people, just before Mistress Kor had been snatched away. By whom, Arvey wasn't sure. Now all that drove the three going was the faint hope that their mentor, whether captured by the men in blue or the savages, was still alive and waiting to be found.

The villagers had been kind to let the three youth stay, though they themselves had commented on how haggard they looked. Arvey, despite gaining muscle, still appeared somewhat emaciated, her hair now egregiously long and sloppily tied back to reveal scars and scratches from her past scuffles. Barkelee, greasy and stubbly, had been offered a razor from the first man who greeted him, as well as a bath. And Quinoni, who always wore her eyepatch, looked as if she had survived a long, dreary war. She was toned, battered, and sharp-angled all over. She had always been built like a brick, but now, more than ever, she seemed more of a brigadier general than a travel and adventure scientist. As far as the two women were both concerned, their education, for all it was, was little more than a joke.

Pulling herself slowly from the scratchy covers, Arvey brushed her hair, got dressed in civilian clothes, and headed downstairs, waiting to see the quaint little family who had taken her in at their kitchen table. She planned to smell something appetizing - a breakfast stew, or a bowl of hot porridge, or anything to sweeten her palate or put salt on her tongue. She was more than surprised, of course, when she saw Quinoni sitting at the table instead, alone. She was dressed in her own, now torn brown jacket, her hair tousled but still cropped against her ears. She of course smoked a cigar, the smoke encircling her like an old, friendly cloak. Her available eye was focused on the decorative fruit bowl in the center of the table. Fruit that not even Arvey recognized from anywhere she had traveled before.

"Qui?"

"Hey, Arv," Quinoni mumbled, her remaining working eye seeming to water. "I'm glad you're awake."

"How did you know - "

"Barkman and I were at the inn. We didn't know someone else had taken you into their place." Quinoni chuckled. "Just as well. Sivalians are tough, but they're hospitable. You have an aura of 'Love me' all around you. Everyone who sees you wants to take care of you. Feed you. Make you comfortable."

Arvey didn't know how to respond to that. For the first time, Quinoni didn't just seem temperamental or frustrated. She actually seemed upset. Arvey didn't know how to diffuse the tension. She propped herself against the old stove, which still felt warm despite the cold morning air.

"So how did you..."

"Family's out working in the fields. I told them I was a friend." Quinoni took a very, very long drag on her stogie, the smoke catching on the end of her eyepatch. A fresh scar, zipping across the left side of her jaw, stood out very prominently in the sparse light. "And, if you're wondering where Bark is, he's fine. Doesn't look so much like a grizzly bear anymore. Went out to grab some breakfast."

She stood up and walked to the fireplace, which was cold and lifeless. From its mouth, she grabbed a gray coal. She rolled it in her hand for a moment or two, observing the crispy fragment of burnt ash lingering on her fingers, smudging her skin. Then she tossed it, almost aggressively, right at Arvey. Arvey caught it, more dexterously than she imagined.

Quinoni laughed. "Funny, isn't it," she murmured. "When you gave so much credit to Mistress Kor, I don't think you realized how much you were learning from me." Then, she walked slowly back to the table and sat down laboriously. All of a sudden, she seemed very tired. "I'd like to go home, if that's okay."

Arvey stared. She had never seen her colleague look so defeated. Quinoni had always been a beacon of resilience on the team. Sure, she had had her fair share of complaints, but with her new pirate look and her puffing at cigars like Arvey's deceased mother used to do, she always appeared capable of withstanding anything. Now, Arvey was realizing, this whole expedition had drained Quinoni dry. And for what? A little cartography activity? Documentation? Archives? It didn't mean much anymore. For all they knew, Mistress Kor was dead. They had no leads on where she might be. What was the point of slogging any farther?

For all of that thinking, Arvey said something else entirely. Something more terse. "I don't even know how we can get home now," she said.

Quinoni sat upright, cigar lowered from her mouth. She cocked her head and gazed at Arvey with an obvious shade of skepticism.

"I mean," Arvey continued, without really thinking, "I don't really have a home to go to now, anyway. Both my parents are dead. Adlai works in a city thousands of miles away from Zeneda. He wouldn't want me remotely near his residence."

"I have a home," said Quinoni. "Barkman has a home. I have a good set of parents and an irritating younger brother to harass and a bed to call my own. I have a useless degree waiting for me when we get back. I know it is very, very easy to distance yourself from homesickness, but that doesn't mean it's easy for me."

"Yes," said Arvey, colder than she expected. "It's easy to distance myself when everyone I love either hates me or is dead."

The silence was thicker than ever before after that. Quinoni put out her stogie in the fruit bowl. She stood up from the table again, both palms flat against the wood, her shoulders shaking somewhat. She kept her gaze away from Arvey as she spoke, but her words shot daggers at her anyway.

"Not everyone you love," she growled, "hates you or is dead. I know that Barkelee would die for you. He told me that himself. And I know Miss Kor, if she were here, would slap you silly. Given how much you pine for her, I'm sure you'd appreciate that."

Arvey stiffened. "How did you know - "

"You are not subtle, O'Nithian!" spat Quinoni, whirling on her. Her eye was blazing. Not only had she used Barkelee's real name instead of 'Barkman,' but she was also calling Arvey by her surname - something she only did when she was trying to be formal or was angry. "I've known your feelings for Kor for years. I'm not an idiot! I'm more intuitive than anyone on this team, despite the priorities of my training. I read your body language around her. I've read your movements around Barkelee, too. I don't know what or who it is you want. Hell, maybe you're just lonely. But maybe you should stop feeling so sorry for yourself and do something about it!"

Although Arvey was more than taken aback by Quinoni's shouting, she was never exactly one to back down from a confrontation. More and more, she was beginning to connect to the Sivalian demeanor that her mother had tried to drill into her. She had evaded her for most of her life - trying to be calm, demure, suburban Zenedan - but now she had relied on her mother's roots more than anything for survival. Now, she took a vicious step toward Quinoni, who actually moved backward in response. It was an impressive sight, to see a scrawny global explorer stand up to an adventure scientist.

"What," she asked, sharply, "exactly, is the 'something' you want me to do? Yes, I had feelings for Mistress Kor. Can you blame me? She was my mentor. I trusted her more than anyone else, sometimes even more than my own mother. To have her gone kills me. Barkelee? I know how much he cares about me. In fact, I know how much he might love me. It's easy, isn't it, to fall in love when things get rough? But you, Qui - you've never seemed to show me much of anything. All I've seemed to get from you is the 'good old teammate' vibe. The usefulness factor. So, tell me, is there something I've missed?"

No sooner had those accusatory words hissed loudly from her lips that Arvey wondered if she already knew what she had missed. She thought back to when they had been locked up in that poor excuse for a jail, and how Quinoni had broken them out with a few blasts from Arvey's pistol. She thought about how, as she had been struggling to keep a grip on Barkelee's hand on the mountain, Quinoni's hands had never loosened from Arvey's shoulders, making sure she didn't tumble down with him. And, despite all the smiles and nods she had received from Mistress Kor, Arvey now realized how much Quinoni had literally and figuratively kept an eye on her. She had read it simply as Quinoni's nature as a protector, as a defender. Now it seemed much more complex than that.

Her head beginning to spin, Arvey sat down suddenly on a lone stool. Quinoni was in front of her in a flash. She lifted her up and held her, tightly, by her forearms. Her breath smelled of that sweet, sweet tobacco. An aroma, Arvey realized, that she enjoyed more than the bitter fumes of brandy and whiskey emanating from Kor's sneering mouth.

"Look," Quinoni whispered. "I've known you for three years now. We've both been the so-called proteges of Miss Kor. Handpicked, chosen, to go on this batshit crazy journey doing God knows what. I know it is so easy for someone like Barkelee to say how much he'd do for you. But make no mistake, Arvey O'Nithian - if he says he'll die ten deaths for you, I swear, I'd die twice as many."

"Quinoni," Arvey managed to croak, unintentionally trembling.

She was staring at her colleague, her classmate, her teammate, her friend. Her cigar-puffing, brawny, blade-wielding, gun-toting, boot-stomping, fist-swinging friend, all eyepatch and scruffy hair and lopsided mouth, now twisted up in an expression that Arvey almost couldn't comprehend. She felt her own, skinny fingers reach up to touch the scar that moved so closely to Quinoni's upper lip. It was more pink than brown in this little cottage. Arvey did not have time to inspect the mark much more after that, because in the next moment the two of them were kissing.

Arvey had little time to react to the warmth of Quinoni's mouth on hers until Quinoni had pulled away. The once stoic and disgruntled fighter that Arvey had known had melted into something entirely different. No amount of battle wounds, missing eyes, or scars could change the genuine gentleness radiating from Quinoni's face. And, just like that, she was walking out the door, her hands stuffed deep into the pockets of her breeches, desperately seeking another thing to smoke as she hurried outside.

Arvey stood there, frozen, without really knowing for how long. Outside, the fog had begun to dispel, and the sun was beginning to heat up the windows. Nearby, a bird began to chirp.

This week's prompt was provided by Emily Ludlow.