She nodded. “She’s about my daughter’s size.” She pointed to the blindfold. “What’s wrong with her eyes? I don’t allow guests with the pox to stay here. I don’t care how much money you have.”
A cloud passed over the sun, throwing the portion of the yard where Mark supported the girl into shadow. Mistress Anan looked up and made the ancient sign against evil. Pellin stifled his instinct to speak against her superstition and forced himself to don a comforting smile. “She has a condition that affects her vision. I assure you, the girl is not carrying any malady into your inn.”
The woman’s face darkened to match the shadow in the courtyard. “An innkeeper hears everything, Master Pellin. I’ve heard tell of people who come back from the forest. They can’t abide the light, and when the sun goes down they kill.”
Pellin nodded. “An interesting tale indeed, but I assure you, the girl is no danger.”
“Do you have an attendant who can assist her with her bath?” Mark asked.
She looked at him, her expression curious. “Why don’t you do it?”
Pellin interrupted before Mark could respond. “The girl is somewhat modest.”
The innkeeper shook her head. “Northerners. Aye. Take the room at the far end of the inn on the first floor. I’ll send my eldest, Nosura, along.”
Mark guided Cerena to the inn, the girl stumbling with every step as Pellin and Allta followed. For a wonder, she didn’t cry out or fall as they passed through the taproom with its noisy patrons. They entered a room with five large beds and a large copper-lined bath that could accommodate three or four people. Pellin breathed a sigh of relief, nodding toward a privacy screen that could be used to shield the bathers. “Mistress Anan seems acquainted with the customs of the north.”
Allta moved to answer a knock at the door a moment later, and a girl of fifteen or sixteen entered. “I’m Nosura. Mother said you needed assistance.”
Pellin nodded. “Yes. This is Mark”—he pointed—“and his sister, Cerena.”
Nosura wrinkled her nose. “She’s soiled her clothes.”
“Yes,” Mark said, his voice even.
“Not to worry,” Nosura said. “I have a cousin. She had an accident and we helped care for her. Let’s get her undressed and bathed.”
Mark guided Cerena toward the bath with Nosura following. All went well until Mark attempted to disengage himself from Cerena’s grasp. Cerena clung to him as she made desperate noises like the whine of an animal.
“Shh, it will be alright,” Mark said, crooning to her over and over again.
But no amount of reassurance could calm her. After half an hour of trying to persuade Cerena to release Mark, Nosura shook her head. “I’m sorry, Master Pellin, but I have other duties in the inn.”
He waved her away. “Thank you for your efforts, Nosura. We will handle Cerena’s bathing.”
After the door closed behind her, Pellin turned back to Mark to see his apprentice, stiff-postured and dour, in Cerena’s grip. “I suppose you’ll say we need to kill her.”
Pellin shook his head. “By no means. You’ve made more progress with Cerena than anyone ever made restoring a dwimor.” He sighed. “However, we must find a solution for her current state. If she cannot adopt the rudiments of her morning regimen, crossing the strait to the southern continent will be difficult.”
Allta nodded his agreement. “Sailors are not known for their patience.”
Mark nodded, guiding Cerena toward the step leading up to the bath. “Alright. I will get her cleaned.”
“Well and good,” Pellin said. “But how will you keep her from soiling herself?” As soon as he asked, he regretted the question, seeing Mark bow beneath its weight. “Never mind, lad. One thing at a time.”
Mark managed to get his boots off along with his cloak, but any attempts he made to disrobe for the bath sent Cerena into a panic, her mouth open in a rictus of horror. “Why is she doing that?” Mark asked.
Pellin opened the door to Cerena’s memories, sifted through them before shutting them away again. “The priest who took her against her will possessed a particular appetite. He always had her bathe first.”
Mark loosed a stream of heartfelt curses that Pellin thought impressive, given that their intended target had been dead for almost seven hundred years.
“I hope neither of you are in a hurry,” Mark said after he’d run out of imprecations. “Her baths are going to include me in my clothes.”
“You’ve done this before,” Pellin said.
Mark nodded. “Yes, Eldest. The urchins didn’t have access to baths, but we made generous use of the Rinwash in the poor quarter. There were quite a few of the younger ones who were in similar shape to Cerena. She’s not the first girl I’ve had to bathe.” He took a few steps into the bath. The progressive touch of the water agitated the girl, but each time Mark would speak in her ear until she calmed. Hints of past lives intruded on Pellin, images of similar, poignant moments, moments of sacrifice. “Perhaps I can help,” Pellin said, leaning over the water as he removed his gloves.
The proximity of his voice sent Cerena deeper into Mark’s embrace until his apprentice could hardly move. “How, Eldest?” Mark asked.
“I’m going to look into her mind and see how much is there. Perhaps she has enough accumulated memories of you to allow me to excise those responsible for her fear of bathing.”
Heedless of the water, he reached out to touch Cerena’s arm. She jerked at the unfamiliar contact, but not so much as to break the delve. Pellin rushed into her mind and stood as before in a cavern without sides or roof. Only the sensation of insubstantial ground below his imaginary feet provided any spatial orientation.
Strands comprising her river of memories flowed past him in colors that spanned everything from gold to black, testaments to the nature of those remembrances. That there should be any memories comprised of gold astounded him, and he bent to touch one.
His awareness dropped away
