The Right to Do Nothing

"If Hisnil ever hears of this, he'll say you should have just starved."

"And who is this terrifying Hisnil?"

"A mage I know. He isn't terrifying. He's loud."

Ilesin took a swallow, then held the bottle out to Artila.

"You drink too."

"I'm all right."

"You won't be for long. You'll be ravenously hungry before you know it. I've seen plenty of that sort. They refuse out of politeness, and then the hunger hits and there's a scene."

Artila took the bottle, drank, and grimaced. Sweet, bitter, and foul all at once. It did not taste like something given out of concern. It tasted like revenge.

"Ugh. Where did you meet people like that?"

"The labyrinth campaign."

It had been the same in last year's war to take the labyrinth. Men froze with terror and could not eat a mouthful, only shook—and then, soon enough, they were in an uproar because they were hungry. The ones who blustered that they were not afraid in the least died first. Those who had been honestly frightened died running, or simply died, or you turned and found them already dead. They had gone in expecting that if they were only lucky enough to survive, they would come out rich. But the only ground where luck of that kind could carry you ended at the labyrinth's threshold. Anyone fortunate enough to live through a labyrinth was someone who could have lived through it without fortune at all.

"Let's go. Which way?"

Artila stoppered the bottle and slung the bag onto her back.

"That way, for now."

Leaning on each other, they got clear of the place in a span of time that felt almost absurdly short. Artila's gift for finding safe ground was exact. Its measure, though, was only whether a thing would cost a life, so when a monster appeared that could simply be dealt with, she sensed nothing, and Ilesin had to step in.

They cut down what could be cut down and avoided what had to be avoided, and within two hours they had won their way out of the forest. The moment they cleared the trees, relief tore a shout from Ilesin.

"I smell corpses," Artila said.

"And this only counts as a smell?"

The plain beyond the forest was thick with a stench foul enough to buckle the nose. People were gathering bodies at the edge of the trees. Among them, a thin man in a loose tunic and a huge man in a tight shirt caught sight of the pair.

Ilesin lifted a hand.

"Hello."

"Captain!"

The big man bellowed. Those who had been staring blankly at Ilesin suddenly broke into wails and came running.

"Captain!"

"Captain Ilesin!"

"You're alive!"

"He's alive!"

"Thank the gods!"

"Aaaaah!"

The crowd that surged around them wept and shouted itself into a frenzy. When the crying had eased a little, Ilesin took Artila by the shoulder, drew her forward, and spoke.

"Introductions. This is Hisnil, mage of my castle. He isn't usually like this. And this is Nazares, captain of the guard. He is always like this, so don't be startled next time."

"Ah. Hello."

He pointed at the man who had collapsed and was sobbing outright.

"This is Bomar, captain of the scouts. He's usually very composed, so forget what you're seeing. Hey. Get up. That's a bit much for a first impression."

Bomar rose, still crying.

"I'm sorry."

"They're all captains," Artila said. "What kind of captain are you? Everyone calls you captain. Are you a commander?"

Ilesin pointed at the fortress.

"I'm the lord of that. Pobern Castle."

Lord of Pobern Castle. Master of a hold that large ought to have been a formidable station, and Artila found her own lukewarm reaction strange.

"That is high rank, isn't it?"

Ilesin let out a short laugh.

"You've only ever served people higher than that, so it doesn't move you. Well. I haven't been a lord long enough for it to feel real to me either. Come on. Let's get over there. I have a promise to keep with you."

"A promise?"

"A place to stay. And, before anything else, something to eat."

The moment they went in, people poured out and flung themselves down before Ilesin, weeping.

"My lord!"

"You're alive!"

So many pressed in that it was nearly dark before they could finally enter the keep. Ilesin raised both arms to stop the servants and knights about to throw themselves at his feet.

"I'm starving. See that we eat first."

"Forgive us!"

The servants hurried Ilesin and Artila to a dining room beside the kitchen. A generous spread was laid the length of the table. Hisnil warmed the stew, and Nazares carved the meat. Another servant brought flatbread. Artila took a piece, soaked it deep in the stew Hisnil had heated, and tried it. It was so good that she began to devour it at once. Kind Nazares sliced meat for her and laid it on the bread.

"Did anything happen while I was gone?" Ilesin asked, once meat and bread had roughly taken the edge off his hunger.

Nazares cut her a few more slices of ham before he answered.

"Nothing. The monsters in the forest are gone now, too. That's why we were gathering the bodies to burn today. As soon as we finished, we meant to form parties and go looking for you."

For all that he was built like a giant, rough-hewn as a boulder, Nazares's voice and manner were remarkably gentle.

"And how did this come about, with her?" Hisnil asked.

Ilesin pushed the roast pork Hisnil was reaching for over in front of Artila.

"Well..."

He explained it without softening a thing. Only his tone was calm. The tale itself was grotesque, with neither shape nor any proper beginning, turn, or end. A woman he had never seen appeared out of nowhere, poured an astonishing quantity of medicine into him, and saved Ilesin when he was all but dead. She could sense danger as well, and so they had come safely out of a forest seething with monsters. And of the woman who had done all this, the only things left intact were her appearance and a healthy appetite.

"No memory...?" Hisnil scratched his chin. "Then there are two possibilities. Either she lost it in an accident, or it's partial brainwashing."

Artila swallowed a hunk of ham in one go.

"What's that?"

"A demon can't turn every human it uses into a complete idiot. Wasteful, especially when the human has a skill. So it makes them a suitable kind of fool. Until an order comes, these people are only a little odd. On the whole they seem fine. Then the command drops, and they don't stop until the work is finished. I've met a few. All of them knife-fighters. Even with an arm cut off, they kept trying to fight."

"Wouldn't that only be possible if I were someone with an ability? As you can see, I don't have anything except sensing danger."

Hisnil shook his head.

"That's already extraordinary. An innate gift is an extremely rare ability. We went through everything you were carrying. Nothing but a strange scrap of cloth and the medicine. And that medicine is outrageously expensive. Someone walking around with that much of it couldn't have been ordinary."

"I might have stolen it. If I were the sort of person you mean, I'd have necessities, and a few weapons, besides the medicine. There isn't any of that. Only the medicine. So I don't think it was mine to begin with."

"I think you were in an accident," Ilesin said.

"An accident?"

"You were struck by mind-magic and ran. Just before you met me. That's the only timing that fits. You were losing your memory on the way to me, and by the time we met, it was gone."

Hisnil nodded.

"The arithmetic does line up. Then why was Miss Artila in the forest at all?"

If she had come as reinforcements for Pobern Castle, there ought to have been others with her. If she were an ordinary person, she would have to be from this region, and she was not. No amount of turning it over produced a story that fit, so Ilesin raised both hands and called a halt.

"Enough for now. Let's stop thinking. Until there's solid proof, it's all guesswork."

He looked at Artila.

"For the time being, I'll think only of keeping what I promised you. I owe you a great debt. It's only right that you stay here."

He spoke to the maid who had come in with dried fruit.

"You. Tell Pamila I want to see her."

"Yes, my lord."

A little later an older woman entered. Nazares and Hisnil, who had been lounging even in front of their lord, sat up straight at once.

She introduced herself in a gentle voice.

"I'm Pamila. Castellan of the castle. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I'm Artila."

"I heard you are our lord's benefactor."

"I'm not anyone so grand. A partner in the work? Think of me as that much. We helped each other out of the forest."

"How modest. Even so, benefactor is the right word. On behalf of everyone in the castle, thank you again. Now then. Let me have a look at you."

Pamila examined Artila's hands and skin.

"Your body is clean. The wounds are all recent. They aren't from a whip or a beating. I'd judge them the result of your own carelessness. And your fingers have no callus. You haven't lived by sewing, or by cooking."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you may be someone of high station. For all we know, you might be a person of quality."

"A person of quality..."

Artila frowned. A scene rose, faint and thin. A farmhouse ringed by a wooden fence. In the yard, a pen held pigs and chickens.

"I... remember a little."

"What sort of memory?"

"Only a very little, but... yes. I think I raised pigs."

"...Pigs?"

"And chickens!" Artila said, bright with delight. "I think I was a farmer!"

Pamila looked at Ilesin, Hisnil, and Nazares with an expression that said she rather doubted it. All three were denying it, each in the manner of his own character: Ilesin flatly, Hisnil with indifferent distaste, Nazares with far too much feeling.

"That's right. I was a farmer."

It came clearer then. A village of gathered farmhouses, and a hill planted with olives.

"I want to tend the livestock."

At this wholly unexpected declaration, Pamila asked, flustered, "Wh—why?"

"I can't just sit idle. I'm a farmer who knows animals. If you give me that work, I can earn my keep. Please put me to work."

Pamila answered at once.

"No."

"...Wh—why not?"

"Pigs are precious food. Even if you were an excellent farmer, we cannot entrust them to you yet."

"Then may I look after the chicks and the hens?"

"That, too, no. Hens matter. Chicks matter. Eggs matter."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Eat, and do nothing." Pamila took Artila's hand. "You saved our lord's life. You have earned the right to eat and do nothing. I'll have the girls who work here look after you properly, so rest easy."

"But I'm not a guest."

"That is for us to decide. Pleasant places to do nothing: Mage Hisnil's study, and Spiritualist Zeldia's herb garden. Few people come and go there, which is agreeable. Rest quietly in one of those."

"...Those sound more important than a pigpen."

Pamila smiled kindly. Roughly translated, the smile meant whatever you do in there will not be my responsibility. Artila glanced at Ilesin.

"Do I have to?"

"Listen to Pamila."

And so, from the next day, Artila ate and did nothing. Her standing was that of the lord's benefactor, and a pitiable patient who had lost her memory. Pamila and the maids under her tended her the way one tends a stray kitten brought home.