Chương 21: Helplessness

He had expected Sari's disappearance to cause outrage. A daughter running from an arranged marriage was bound to. What he had not expected was how quickly the village would turn her choice into a stain on everyone connected to her. For the first few days after the festival, no one seemed able to believe she had left willingly. Terry went to the village before dawn and came back after dark, boots muddy, face closed, pipe unlit between his fingers. Wod disappeared for hours at a time.

Once he returned with burrs on his trousers and blood on one knuckle, then said nothing when Mari asked where he had been. Mari questioned everyone she could reach: girls who had danced near Sari, women who had seen the musicians' wagons, and even a cousin of someone's cousin who claimed his neighbor had spoken to one of the drivers. Arien heard most of it from the corner, pretending to play with Alia's wooden animals while adults forgot how much a quiet child could understand. Nothing helped.

One woman had seen a blonde girl near the painted cart. Another swore the girl had been laughing. Someone else insisted she had been crying. By the end of the first week, people had stopped asking whether Sari was safe. At the well, women called her foolish and ungrateful. Men muttered that she had shamed Terry and made a mockery of Uther. Whenever Mari approached, the conversations abruptly changed.

Arien hated how quickly they reduced Sari from a missing and possibly frightened girl to someone stupid, selfish, and shameless, as though insulting her loudly enough would make her easier to stop missing. Sari had spent more time with him than anyone else. She had taught him words, names, roads, little rules of the village no one else thought to explain. More importantly, she had spoken to him as if there were someone behind his eyes worth speaking to. She had been his first friend in this world.

And now people talked about her as if she had been a cracked pot someone should have thrown away earlier. Two weeks after the festival, Nessi came. Arien heard her before he saw her. Her voice cut through the yard sharp enough to make the chickens scatter.

"I want to hear it from you, Mari. From your own mouth." Mari stood by the well with a bucket in both hands. She had been drawing water. She stopped with the rope still taut.

"Nessi, not here."

"Where, then? In the village? In front of everyone? Because everyone is already speaking of it." Arien sat near the doorway with Alia, pretending to untangle a piece of cord. He did not move. Nessi strode into the yard wearing a brown dress and the expression of a woman who had armed herself before leaving home. Mari set the bucket down very carefully.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want to know what you plan to do about the insult your daughter has given my son." Mari flinched. Arien saw it. Nessi saw it too.

"My daughter is missing," Mari said.

"Your daughter ran." Mari's hands tightened on the rope.

"We don't know that."

"She left with musicians before sunrise, carrying a bundle. What else would you call it?" Alia leaned closer to Arien. He kept his face still. From inside the house, something scraped. Terry, probably. Or Wod. Neither came out. Nessi took another step forward.

"Do you know what they said at the well this morning? That there must be something wrong with Uther. That a girl would rather sleep under a wagon than enter his house. My son is being laughed at because your daughter could not keep her head straight for one season." Mari's face went pale.

"She is fourteen."

"Old enough to shame two families."

"She was frightened."

"She was promised ten morgs and a husband who would not beat her, drink her dowry, or leave her hungry. Many girls would thank Mal for less."

"Then find one of them for Uther." The yard went silent. Mari stood rigid, her hands white around the rope. Nessi's mouth tightened.

"So that is how it is." The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"No," Mari said.

"That is not how it is. I am sorry for Uther. I am sorry people are cruel. But do not stand in my yard and speak as if Sari's disappearance is only an inconvenience to your son."

"Disappearance." Nessi spat the word.

"You still say it like she was taken by wolves." Mari did not answer. For a moment, something almost like pity crossed Nessi's face. Then it vanished.

"You should go to Father Varix," she said.

"Publicly. Ask forgiveness for the shame brought on both families. Make it clear she acted alone." Mari's face closed.

"You want me to denounce my daughter in front of the village."

"I want you to protect the daughters you still have." Alia's fingers dug into Arien's sleeve. Mari looked past Nessi toward the doorway, toward Alia, then toward Lisa, who stood half-hidden inside the house with her arms wrapped around herself. Arien understood exactly why Nessi had chosen those words. Nessi lowered her voice.

"People remember these things, Mari. When Lisa is old enough. When Alia is old enough. Mothers talk. Fathers listen. You know they do." Mari's lips parted, but no sound came. Terry appeared in the doorway at last, his unlit pipe in one hand.

"That is enough." Nessi looked at him.

"No, Terry. It is not. You let your wife promise a match, then let your daughter spit on it, and now my son pays the price." Wod stepped out behind Terry.

"Say one more word about Sari." Nessi laughed once, without humor.

"There. That temper. Perhaps we should all be grateful she left before joining our families." Wod moved, but Terry's arm shot out and stopped him.

"Inside," Terry said.

"Father—""Inside." Wod stood there for one heartbeat too long. Then he turned and disappeared into the house. Nessi adjusted her shawl.

"I came because we are kin, Mari. Because this can still be handled properly." Mari looked at her for a long time, she picked up the bucket.

"Leave." Nessi's eyes widened.

"Mari—""Leave my yard." Nessi looked from Mari to Terry, then to the children watching from the doorway. Her gaze stopped on Alia and Lisa for just long enough to make both girls shrink. Then she turned and walked back to the road. No one spoke until she was gone. Mari carried the bucket inside with both hands, water sloshing over the rim and darkening the dirt behind her. That evening, Sari's name was not mentioned. The next morning, it was not mentioned either.

After that, not saying it became its own kind of work. The family still ate, cleaned, fed the animals, repaired tools, carried water, argued over chores, and prepared for the first frosts. Days kept passing whether anyone wanted them to or not. Wod stopped defending Sari after the argument with Nessi. Or perhaps he only stopped doing it where anyone could hear. When Arien finally asked why no one was still looking, Wod looked at him, all the usual warmth gone from his face.

"Look where?" Arien had no answer.

"The road is gone. The musicians are gone. She chose."

"She could come back." Wod's jaw tightened.

"Maybe it's better if she doesn't. The village will never forget what she did." For one ugly moment, Arien wanted to blast him with magic. Mana stirred beneath his skin before he realized he had reached for it. He knew Wod was hurting too. He had seen enough of that over the past weeks. Right then, he didn't care. Arien forced his hands still.

"I hate you," he whispered. Wod looked at him for a moment. Then his face twisted.

"Good." He left before Arien could answer. That night, while the others slept, Arien sat by the hearth and stared into the coals. He was not really trying to practice. The anger simply would not leave him. It sat behind his ribs, hot and restless, feeding on every whispered insult, every careful silence, every time Sari's name was avoided as if she had died and deserved it. The flames shifted. He felt something answer.

With water, understanding had come as he watched the pond, drawn into its movement until something about its nature simply clicked into place. Fire reached him differently. He did not need to search for the connection. It was already there. The thing in the hearth did not ask to be understood. It needed neither purpose nor permission. It simply burned. It wanted only one thing. To consume. New skill available to assign: Fire Aspect (Uncommon): Fire purifies. Fire strengthens. Fire consumes.

When assigned, increases understanding, control, and efficiency in the use of fire magic. Arien stared at the words until they blurred. Even that did not improve his mood. Sari was still gone. He had magic, a System, and memories of another world, yet none of them could help him now. He could make fire tremble, but he could not make the road give her back. Terry, who in previous winters usually spent his evenings at the tavern, stayed home more often after that.

At first, Arien thought it was because of shame, then anger. Eventually, he realized it was something worse: hope. His father hardly sat down anymore, and every sound from the road drew his attention. Once, when a cart rattled past the house, Terry was at the window before Arien even understood what he had heard. Another time, boots scraped outside the door, and he stood so fast his chair struck the wall.

"Sari?" It was only Wod, coming back empty-handed. Terry sat down again without a word. No news came. The first frost silvered the fields. Sari did not return. Arien practiced with fire in stolen moments, shaping tiny flames until his head ached and his mana ran dry. The early Skill levels came quickly, giving him more control with every few days of practice. He learned to make a flame bend, to make it shrink, and to make it burn blue for the length of a breath. None of it helped.

Until then, some part of him had believed magic was the opposite of helplessness. That enough magic, enough levels, enough answers would eventually make him safe. But Sari was gone, and the road had not cared how much fire he could hold in his hands.