One Week Before
Calea sat at the desk in her lab, welding on a square of outer metal to the damaged shell of her arm. That afternoon, an attempt at compacting magic into one of her thimble-sized batteries had pressed against the limit of her ability. The resulting explosion tore into her arm and singed some of her clothes. She’d been wearing a mask, so she was unhurt except for the cosmetic damage to her upper arm.
She’d found the best way to weld was to use some sort of “lightning rod,” a piece of metal that focused the magic she pulled up from the Well. The thin rod of metal worked wonderfully in directing the fine manipulations of heat. The tighter the flow of magic, the trickier it was to direct accurately, even as its accuracy became essential.
Bron entered just as she finished. He was a few minutes early, which was just on time for him. He kept a squeaky clean record, never a tardy or sick day, never an indiscretion with wine or women after work. Calea had watched carefully for one for the last five years, with no luck.
It didn’t matter now. She’d gotten her way. It had taken persistence and not a little pressure, but it was done as of tonight.
“Thank you for coming, Bron,” she said formally. “This won’t take long.” She handed him a sheet of paper. “I no longer require your services. You’re officially dismissed.”
He started, a rare occurrence. Slowly, he took the sheet and read it over. “Straight from the Overseer.”
“I didn’t want there to be any confusion.”
“May I ask why?”
“Why now or why in general? I think you’re well aware of the second.”
“You think you don’t need me.”
“I know I don’t. A maid can do your work, and for significantly less pay.”
“This isn’t about the money.”
“Of course.” Calea waited. “You can leave now.”
She honestly didn’t know what Bron would do. Would he protest? Probably. Would it come to threats? Sometimes, she thought it might. She believed, though he had never given her indication, that he had a temper below the surface. He was self-righteous enough; would he act on it?
He did nothing for a long time, maybe half a minute. Then he handed back the paper. “I’m…sorry.” He headed for the door.
What did he mean he was sorry? He hadn’t said it in an accusatory manner. He had meant it. He wasn’t going to make this about him.
“What do you mean?” Calea demanded.
“Nothing. Just what I said.”
“What are you sorry for? For being a waste of flesh? For being unable to do the least to actually protect me? For having rocks for brains? You are a brute, single-minded, obsessed with your own ideas of what the world needs. Haven’t five years shown you? Did I take weeks to recover from that abduction attempt? No! You did. If you’re sorry for anything, be sorry you wasted my time.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You still haven’t. Tell me what you meant. I want to hear it. I demand it.”
Bron stood there, his eyes meeting hers darkly. “If I am no longer employed, I will take my leave.”
Calea shot to her feet. “Don’t you dare! You stubborn, horrible, wretched, hurtful man! Who do you think you are? I didn’t ask for you, and yet I’ve spent five years with you at my side, like a dog, a stupid dog that needed more kicks than I gave it. Be relieved you’re leaving me. Be glad. You’re free. Free from my grasping. Free from my complaining, my insults, my weakness. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re sorry I was so weak. You’re sorry you had to put up with me all these years. Tell me.”
She had come around the desk. She was in his face, eye-to-eye, forcing him back, but he refused to move. His face revealed nothing.
“I will tell you,” he said. A small emotion crossed his face. He had made a decision. “Sit, and I will tell you.”
Calea flung herself back into her chair. “Begin.”
“I am more than twenty years older than you. When you were a child, I was a young man. I was employed with the Academy as a maintenance man. It was my job to keep the areas under my supervision clean and in good repair. One of my responsibilities was the Greinham Observation Deck. For some weeks, I was extremely busy in upkeep. Things all go bad at the same time. Then, one day, I heard that the gate at the corner of the Observation Deck had come loose and a girl had fallen into the Well. She lived, but she had been irreversibly injured.”
Calea hardened herself. “And you felt guilty.”
A pause. “Yes.”
“And you thought protecting me would relieve this guilt?”
“Yes.”
“And did it?”
It seemed he was trying to find words. “You are a proud woman. You have accomplished incredible things. The injury did not stop you. You have done remarkably well for yourself.”
“And the guilt?”
“It is what it is.”
Calea stood again, tamping down the raw emotions. “I forgive you, of course. We may part on good terms. You could have been far worse to me than you were.”
Bron nodded. Her words had not exactly been kind, but they were the best she could manage without revealing her emotions. Bron had seen her rage, her sorrow, all her violent lashings, but she refused to let him see it again, at the end. “Good-bye, Bron. Perhaps our paths will cross occasionally.”
“Perhaps.”
After he left, she let the tears loose. A thin film of anger covered them, but mostly it was sorrow for what had been lost. She couldn’t blame him for her accident. She wanted to, but in the middle of the many, many nights, she had faced the loss of her limbs and discovered she had no one to blame. Not herself, not another, just blind chance. The gate had happened to be loose; she had happened to fall against it. Neither she nor Bron factored into it. If not Bron, then another. If not her, then another.
And that is why she cried. For the guilt. She felt it, too, just as he did. Guilt for her own loss. Guilt for the stupidity of the world. Guilt for the things that no one could change. She felt blindly, inexorably responsible for what had happened simply because she lived. Guilt for having existed and for continuing to exist in such a stupid, random world. She had almost forgotten the despair….
The night after the accident, she had been unable to sleep. She was afraid to close her eyes. Whenever she began to drift into sleep, she felt the tug of the magic, and woke with a jolt, a scream in her throat. She looked; she still remained. But if she slept, she would be eaten up. She would vanish like the coins and the ribbon. She would simply…cease.
And a girl who might simply vanish had no business investing in anything but herself.
Bron was the only person she had never been able to scare off, the only one who tried to do something extra for her, for no reason at all.
Well, he had a reason. Everyone had a reason. Maybe everyone’s reason was guilt.
But he was gone. Finally. She took a deep breath. With luck, she’d never see him again.
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