Chương 38: Chapter 37: The Grace of the Everyday

The embrace broke softly and gracefully, like a bubble rising until it punctures the water's surface. Kaela's arms pulled away slowly, leaving a pocket of air between them. Then the tanner looked at her, dark eyes searching her face with that intensity Selena knew all too well. She sighed, and at last, words of concern emerged, fragile, the kind of voice anyone would use when speaking to someone they feared they'd lost. —You found the answers you were looking for. Selena's eyes were eloquent.

Their usual green seemed darker, as if the shadows of the cavern had settled in them never to leave. She shook her head, a slow, frustrated motion, heavy with the irritation simmering inside her. —Yes— she said, the word sounding strange, ill-fitting. —You could say I found them. She took a deep breath, feeling the air carry away a tiny fraction of the weight crushing her chest. —There were answers. But they only lead to more questions. Questions I'm not even capable of clarifying.

As they turned to leave that place of shadows and murmurs, the acolyte's voice reached them one last time. It drifted from the depths of the cave, clear and serene, an echo clinging to the rock walls with the tenacity of a vine: —Thought flourishes within; that is why we seek to meditate on the ideas that shape life. Neither of them paid the words any mind. They passed through their ears hollowly, sound without meaning, air without weight.

They walked together, shoulder to shoulder, moving away from the voices, the crackling torches, and that forbidden philosophy which, to Selena, was now nothing more than an annoying echo amidst the storm of her thoughts. When they finally stepped outside, the sun was beginning to slant across the sky, marking the early afternoon with its golden, oblique light. Selena blinked, momentarily blinded by the brightness after the cave's gloom.

And then her mind clicked, like a delayed echo of what she had just lived through: Kaela didn't grab my arm; she wasn't afraid of the insects. So, it was always because of them. The thought hit her with the force of a revelation. It was the heresy that had paralyzed Kaela. It was the fear of the pyres, the terror of eternal damnation, and it was also for her. It was the fear of losing her, that she might wander too deep into that darkness and never return.

That was why she had held her back; why she had embraced her; why had she waited with her hands over her ears, unable to listen but unable to abandon her. The world kept turning, indifferent to her desperate need for answers. Selena knew it the moment she looked toward the horizon, where the distant silhouette of Terracanto was etched. The town awaited them with its dirt streets and its everyday life, which didn't stop for the existential crises of a woman without a past.

On the road back, following the riverbank, silence was their third companion. Neither Selena nor Kaela spoke. The footsteps on the earth, the birdsong, the rustle of leaves swayed by the breeze, it all composed a shared melody, a tacit language that required no words. They walked like that, in a bubble of complicit silence, for what could have been minutes or hours. Finally, Selena spoke. —Kaela— she said, her voice finally cutting through the quiet. —Do you know anything about House Scargoth?

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Kaela tilted her head to the side, her eyes flicking up and to the right in that universal gesture of someone searching their mental archives. Then she shook her head, a slow and sincere motion. —I'm sorry— she said. —Aside from the Baron of this land, I don't recall the name of that noble house. Perhaps you could ask the church Father. I'm sure a member of the clergy would know something about them.

Selena finally smiled. It was a small, tired smile, but a genuine one. A silent thank you for the thread, Kaela was offering her, for the possibility opening up in the middle of everything. —Maybe I will— she said, her tone breezy, almost light, as if she weren't carrying the weight of a world inside her. It was a thread. Something to hold onto in the middle of the storm. Selena knew it, and her heart reflected it with a firmer, stronger beat.

A brief answer from Theron, a few words about the Scargoths, that would be enough. A nimora darted from one of the trees surrounding the stream. Its greenish scales caught the sun for a moment —a flash of emerald in the air— as it glided with the grace typical of those creatures. Its membranous wings unfurled, catching the breeze, but its calculation failed, and it ended up half-submerged in the water, splashing indignantly. Both of them laughed.

The laughter burst out spontaneously, a release that broke the accumulated tension. The animal, far from being offended or fleeing, climbed onto a large rock and stayed there, motionless, scales dripping, as if patiently waiting for the sun to do its job and dry it off. The conversation then drifted into similar anecdotes from Kaela's life.

The tanner, freed from the weight of the cave, recalled encounters with nimoras at the market, times they had snuck into the tanneries looking for fish scraps, or the occasion one had a mouse in its mouth and lost it when it got distracted. Selena replied only with questions and smiles, letting the current of normalcy sweep her away. Their moods, fueled by Kaela's stories and Selena's timely retorts, shortened the travel time as if by magic.

They didn't notice when the shadows began to lengthen or when the sun's last rays painted the sky orange and purple, until suddenly, almost without transition, they were standing before the gates of Sacred Rest. Anya greeted them with her usual smile, that blend of exhaustion and warmth that was her hallmark. She opened the door with a wide gesture, and as soon as she closed it, both heard the shared giggles between Anya and Kael.

There was no need to look; they knew what was happening: the stone guardian and the sister of charity, back at their dance of glances and stolen smiles. They continued on to Elara. But contrary to what had become habit, the woman of steel —the one of inflexible protocols— only asked for her signature this time. Selena traced her name in perfect Spanish, returned the pen, and Elara dismissed her with her characteristic gesture. No questions, no tea, no tests.

It was as if, after everything, Selena had stopped being a mystery and had become something predictable, something known, something that no longer required scrutiny. Then, the dining hall. Steaming tea and brown bread, which that night tasted like heaven.

Conversation with the girls flowed like a gentle river: market prices from Nyssa, who repeated her litany with a distant gaze; Pira's confession about a handsome boy she'd seen at the market, which caused an unexpected blush from Anya and subsequent laughter from everyone; Kaela's anecdote about the nimora, which Selena listened to as if for the first time, laughing at all the same moments as the others. Selena was smiling. And in that smile was something she hadn't felt before.

Something simple, every day, terribly common. It was the grace of the ordinary, the balm of routine, the medicine of feeling —for a moment— like part of something. The storm of the day —the revelations, the names, the conspiracies, the intermediaries of intermediaries— remained parked in some corner of her mind, waiting its turn. But for now, just for now, she let the normalcy wrap around her. Anya ended the community time with a sharp clap.

Then came the procession to the chapel, the evening prayer, the words of gratitude to Aelthra that Selena repeated with her lips while her mind rested, finally empty. And finally, the communal dormitory. Selena lay down on her straw pallet. The coarse blanket covered her, and her eyes fixed on the dark ceiling, on the wooden beams barely visible in the gloom. The breathing of all the women was the only sound, a rhythmic, steady chorus that filled the room with life.

Occasionally, the sporadic chirping of nocturnal insects filtered through the cracks in the windows, a sharp and distant counterpoint.