Chương 53: Chapter 52: The Value of Life

Emerging from her reverie, she ran her fingers across the page and continued reading in silence. Beyond the major highlights, the book touched on transient diseases that had submerged certain cities and cornered others. Vultis had spread through barley and grain, a debilitating fever ravaging the town of the same name in the Great Duchy of Thyr. So it was with many others: Morgia, Crusta, Nixia, Ventra, Atros, Gingia.

All terrible diseases, described with the precision of one who had studied them in detail, who had seen their ravages and wished to leave a record for posterity. Until she reached one that interested her particularly. There, described with precision, was the blood cough. The same raspy, bloody cough she had seen in Lykos, in other people on the streets, in those anonymous faces coughing on corners while people passed them by, accustomed, indifferent.

The same symptoms: the wheezing in the chest, the fatigue, the fresh blood on the lips after a coughing fit. Right beside it, the author emphasized the treatment. In the clinics of the Flow, a specific medication was sold. The instructions were clear: it had to be boiled until reduced to a thick vapor that the patient inhaled deeply. A week of treatment was enough to heal anyone from a child to an adult.

Liliana went on to say that this disease, so easy to cure, was a way of controlling the numbers of the most miserable, for its cost was at least four times the value of a month's wages. Four times. Selena felt the blood turn to ice in her veins. Lykos, the boy who acted as a father to his little brother, had been sick for weeks. Months, perhaps. He couldn't pay for the treatment. No one could. And meanwhile, the disease advanced, consuming him slowly, drowning him in his own blood.

Her mind took her straight to the shack made of sticks belonging to both brothers, that refuge of branches and misery on the banks of the estuary. The first people who had helped her gather information, who had given her a place in this world when she had nothing. Rolus, with his toothless smile and inexhaustible energy. Lykos, with his heartbreaking dignity and his cough that would not cease. Her chest filled with urgency. A deep, visceral urgency that told her she could not sit idly by.

That she had money, that she could do something, that perhaps —just perhaps— there was still time. But what interrupted her was a knock on the desk. Selena looked up, startled. The woman standing before her was Kaela. She held a bowl of fruit in her hands, and a smile that lit up her harsh features was etched on her face. Kaela cleared her throat for a second until she looked directly in the eyes. Then she spoke: —Lunchtime. She moved the bowl slightly and set it on the desk with a ceremonious gesture.

—A unique delicacy of the season. They are banchis. Her smile widened and her eyes shone with the pride of one offering something valuable. —The harvest of the green and the red in the fields was not long ago. They couldn't be fresher. Enjoy. She turned around and left, her figure disappearing down the stone hallway as quickly as she had arrived. Selena was only able to watch her turn and walk, hearing the echo of her steps fading away, before looking back at the fruit.

They were red on the outside, with round-tipped spikes dotted with tiny black specks. They looked like small exotic jewels, treasures from a land she did not know. She took one carefully, feeling its texture rough but yielding under the pressure of her fingers. She took a bite. Inside, the pulp was green, juicy, and fresh. And the taste... the taste was of an extraordinary sweetness, with a freshness that filled her mouth and cleared her mind.

The only thing that could come to her mind was something that felt familiar, an echo of another world, of another life, until the headache —always lurking— let it go. It tastes like watermelon, she thought, and for an instant, just an instant, she felt transported to another place, to another time, to a life where fruits did not have spikes and were eaten on summer afternoons under a sun that was not that of Erabergh.

Only after finishing them with speed, she didn't realize —three, four, five fruits devoured in a matter of minutes— did she let out a small burp, so unexpected it surprised even her. She put a hand to her mouth, smiling to herself in the empty chamber. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Then she returned to the book.

The paragraph she had left halfway finished with a very strong image, a quote Liliana had wanted to sear into the minds of her readers:"Every cover-up, every form of control, every manipulation is the value of a life. Of a life that is bound to the land by the nobility, punished by the crown, and ultimately condemned to rest by the clergy." Selena sighed deeply. Resignation was all she felt.

Just that tired acceptance of one who has seen too much, who knows the world works this way and that changing it is a task for titans. She closed the book gently, caressing the worn cover, and returned it to the shelf. She searched among the brown spines for quite some time. She ran her fingers over dozens of titles, reading, discarding, starting over.

She wanted to find something about noble houses, about the crown, about those lineages that ruled the kingdom and whose shadows stretched to the most miserable corners. But she did not find it. The history books spoke of plagues, wars, epidemics, of everything except those who were truly in charge. The hours passed inexorably. The light from the tallow lamps began to change, becoming yellower, more tired, as if they too felt the weight of the day.

It was only then, when she was about to give up, that she returned to the desk and saw a book in the corner. It wasn't on the shelf. It was there, alone, as if waiting for her. On its spine, the title read:"The Lineage that Built the Kingdom." The author was Jariel, Chief Royal Scribe. Selena finally smiled. A small smile of satisfaction, of that joy only seekers feel when they find what they have been pursuing.

Just as she decided to open it, when her fingers were already caressing the cover, a voice interrupted her. —Selena. Corren arrived through the passage, his figure silhouetted against the gloom. He came with papers under his arm as if it had been a tremendously fruitful day, his expression relaxed, almost satisfied. The smiling man said in a calm voice: —You have lost yourself so deeply in books that you have forgotten the time.

A complicity was reflected on his face, almost as if it were an everyday problem for him, a shared weakness among lovers of knowledge. —It is nearing sunset. Surely your friend, Kaela— he paused, as if confirming the name —if my memory does not fail me, will be happy for you to remind her. Selena could only sigh. The frustration of having to leave the book just when she had found it struggled with the need to keep her word, the pact, the friendship. Then she said: —Corren, I only wanted to read this book.

I searched for it a lot, but it turns out you had it on the desk. Resigned, she left the book on the wood, caressing the spine one last time. Then she walked toward the passage, and as she passed his side, she said: —Save it for me for tomorrow. I'll see you then. The man nodded knowingly, his smile still present, and Selena walked away. Upon reaching the main chamber, she found Kaela with Elian.

The girl was spelling, her voice concentrated as she pronounced the letters one by one while the acolyte pointed to the strokes in the dust on the floor. It was a scene of touching intimacy: the tanner, she had lived on the margins, finally accessing the world of words. Selena reached where they were. Only once there did she clear her throat, a soft sound she did not want to startle them with. Both looked at her immediately. —Kaela, we must return— she said, and her voice sounded more serene than she felt.

—Corren said sunset was beginning. The tanner smiled, that wide and genuine smile Selena had learned to love. —We're off then— the teenager replied, and turning to Elian, added: —See you. After Elian paid them, both left at a symmetric pace, their bodies moving in unison as they moved away from the torches, the cave, and that underground world that was becoming their refuge. They surfaced when the sun was already a massive, reddish sphere about to hide behind the trees.

Only then did they begin to talk on the way back. The conversation was light, weightless: Kaela told of her progress with letters, the words she had already recognized, saying with longing that one day she would be able to decipher the market signs. Selena listened, nodded, smiled at the right moments, letting the current of normalcy pull her along. Promptly, without expecting it, they reached the gate of the Sacred Rest.

Anya received them with her tired smile and habitual warmth, making way for them with a broad gesture. Then, the routine continued. The signing with Elara, who this time only looked at them with her usual coldness and dismissed them with a gesture. The communal dining hall, with its steaming tea and the usual conversations.

Nyssa with her prices, Lyra with her mark and her silence, Pira with her distant gaze, and the new one, Celga, with her crooked fingers and her broken voice that still found no place in this world. The community time flowed as always, amid gossip and laughter and small daily tragedies. Then the prayer, the words of gratitude to Aelthra that Selena repeated with her lips while her mind wandered to other territories. Finally, the communal dormitory, the straw pallet, the rough blanket.

Selena did not overthink this time. Exhaustion, accumulated during hours of reading, emotions, fear, relief, and hope, overcame her before the others. She finally closed her eyes, feeling sleep calm her gently, dragging her toward that darkness where there were no questions or answers, only the longed-for rest after a day that had been too demanding. As she drifted unconsciously, one last thought crossed her mind, light like a feather: Tomorrow I will return. Tomorrow I will read. Tomorrow I will find more answers.

But also, deeper, more urgent: Lykos. The blood cough. The treatment. I must do something. Sleep enveloped her before she could formulate how.