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Haruka hasn't woken for two days, and the strange fever continues to rage through her like a bush fire. The town’s only healer came by yesterday with a poultice and grandmotherly assurances that children catch fevers all the time, that is the nature of those who care for them to be frightened by how fierce fevers can seem, that all will be well soon enough.
Kiryu faithfully applies the poultice every few hours, but Haruka does not wake and her skin does not cool. She sleeps, clearly beset by nightmares that he cannot wake her from and cannot soothe away with soft words.
He does not bother waiting for another day to pass. He decides, somewhere after midnight, that he is not willing to watch his daughter suffer if there is another option. He eases her into her coat and boots and bundles her into his arms. She is a bit taller and heavier than she was when she first arrived on his doorstep, but she is no burden. She never could be.
Rikiya is mercifully still awake when Kiryu emerges, and he nods without a moment of hesitation. Kiryu nods, too, grateful. The other children will be looked after.
He has never been to the solitary hut in the woods, and the raging storm does not make it easy to follow the route he has heard whispers of. He doesn't know anything about its mysterious inhabitants.
He knows there is always a price for their help, however, and he will be eager to pay whatever is asked of him. Anything to see Haruka open her eyes.
He finds his way eventually, even through the pouring rain and harsh wind whipping through the trees and the unfamiliar twists and turns of the hunting trails and pathways.
It is a humble structure made of wood and stone. There are a few glass windows through which he can just barely see faint firelight. There is a garden out front, carefully fenced off to protect from hungry forest animals, where herbs and a strange assortment of vegetables and flowers are growing, and a pond nearby. Kiryu does not give these details further thought. He walks to the door, shifting Haruka in his arms to free a hand so he can knock.
“Please,” he says, hoping that he can be heard through the thick wood panels of the door and over the sound of the storm. “Please, my daughter needs help.” He holds Haruka closer to his chest. He can feel her fever even through her clothes and his. He knocks again, harder.
The door finally opens, and of all people, Kiryu does not expect to see Goro Majima on the other side of the threshold. But Haruka shifts restlessly in his arms and cries out, and the urgency and terror rises again in his throat.
“Please, Majima-no-niisan, my daughter has a fever, she hasn't woken up in almost three days –”
“Get in.” Majima steps aside and holds the door so Kiryu can comply. “Set her down on a bed, and we’ll see what I can do for the little anklebiter.”
The front room of the modest house is half a healer’s clinic, half the living space of a mysterious warlock of the woods.
The left side is the living space with comfortable chairs and a small table next to the windows. Abandoned on the table is a ceramic mug, the tea inside still steaming, and a blanket lays in a heap in the chair Majima had left to answer the door. A bookshelf, stuffed to the brim with books of varying sizes, stands next to the window. A shelf under the window holds more potions, herbs, and several of what appear to be amulets or talismans. There’s a staff leaning against the wall that Kiryu recognizes immediately. Beyond the chairs, on the far wall, there are two doorways leading to other rooms. One is a small kitchen, and the other is a much larger room with several cauldrons of varying sizes, some small enough to be set up on tables and one set on the stone floor above a recess filled with firewood, and larger collections of herbs and other potion-making supplies scattered across the tables.
The clinic is on the right side, with three simple cots arranged next to the hearth where a fire crackles merrily, firewood stacked neatly nearby. Cabinets line the wall, and underneath them is a long table with a large collection of ready-made potions in glass bottles and vials, glimmering with magic, next to mundane supplies like linen bandages, herbal poultices, and tinctures. Bunches of dried herbs hang from the rafters above, ready to be chopped, grinded, and mixed into more preparations or brewed into teas for common ailments. The herbs infuse the air with a subtle, medicinal scent. It’s a tidy space, reassuringly well-stocked and ready to receive anyone in need.
Kiryu rests Haruka down one of the cots. He brushes her wet hair out of her face and aches and looks back at Majima.
“A week, you said?” Majima asks. “Did anything happen right before the fever developed? Even something like a scraped knee?”
“No,” he replies, “at least not that I can remember. The healer said it might –”
Majima snorts as he crouches down next to the cot, next to Kiryu. “That old bat don't know shit,” he says. “Let me try a few things.”
“Please,” Kiryu says.
“Nothing I’m about to do will hurt her whatsoever,” Majima says as he conjures golden specks of light in the palm of his hand.
He waits for Kiryu’s nod of permission and then dusts the specks over Haruka’s whole body. They glimmer briefly on her skin and sodden clothes before fading, seeming to disappear entirely. Once his hand is empty, Majima murmurs a few words in an arcane language, focusing intently on Haruka’s face, and small pinpricks of light begin to glow across her forehead, down the front of her neck, and along her arms and legs. But above her torso, light flashes brightly, and Majima hums thoughtfully, tilting his head as he draws glyphs over her head and torso, magical light trailing after his fingers to form the glyphs. The symbols thrum quietly. Kiryu can feel the power emanating from them. Nearly ten years have passed since the war between their liege-lords, since the last time Kiryu saw Majima, since Kiryu unearthed some magical power within himself to shatter the enchantment that had shackled Majima to Shimano – but Majima’s magic feels the same to Kiryu: quiet, soothing, almost reassuring.
(It occurs to Kiryu – and this is a thought he cannot examine too closely at the moment – that, when Haruka sings and her nascent power peeks out through her voice, it feels the same way.)
Majima repeats the process a few times, focusing on Haruka’s head and torso, and then sighs. “This ain't an ordinary fever and it won't resolve on its own; you were right to bring her, Kiryu-chan. As luck would have it, I've seen this sorta thing before, and it’s a simple enough fix.” He dismisses the glyphs and twinkling lights with a flick of his fingers and stands up.
“How long will it take?” Kiryu asks.
“Couple of hours to brew, a few more to work. Should be awake and running you ragged by noon.” Majima slaps Kiryu on the back as he walks over to the cabinets. He glances over his shoulder at Haruka and then opens one and pulls out a folded bundle of cloth, which he tosses to Kiryu, who manages to catch it before it smacks him in the face.
It’s a plain homespun dress, close enough to Haruka’s size.
“Ya might as well get her out of those wet clothes while I get everything brewing. I'll be in the back, holler if you need anything.” Majima snags a vial filled with viscous red liquid and then walks into his potion-making room, closing the door behind him.
Kiryu gets Haruka into the dry dress and sets her wet things to dry, draping them over the cot closest to the fire. He takes the liberty of rooting through a few cabinets to find a spare towel for Haruka’s hair, which he dries with a gentle efficiency developed over the last few years of caring for nine young children. With nothing better to do, anxious to feel like he’s doing something for his sick child, Kiryu combs her hair carefully with his fingers and tries not to despair.
As an afterthought, he peels his coat off and sets it to dry next to Haruka’s things.
Then, as he has done for much of the past week, he sits at Haruka’s side and waits. At least this time he is waiting on a cure. He’s here, he managed to find someone who can help, and of all people, it’s Majima, easily the most competent mage Kiryu has ever met.
Of all people, Majima is the mysterious mage who lives in the woods outside the sleepy little village where Kiryu runs his orphanage. Suddenly, the conflicting stories he’s heard from people who have made the short journey into the forest make complete sense. Some report meeting a witch, and others say they sought help from a warlock, and there is general agreement that a brother and sister share the small cottage, but it’s just Majima.
Kiryu isn’t able to smile, not while Haruka remains asleep, but warmth blooms briefly in his chest as he thinks about Majima being equally free to be Goro when he wants and Goromi as she pleases. There was a time when Kiryu was on a very short list of people who had been honored to meet Goromi; he is glad that time seems to be in the past.
The warmth fades because the fever continues to rage inside of Haruka, who mumbles and shifts, beginning to sweat now that they are out of the rain. He sits next to the cot and murmurs to her, trying to keep his frown out of his voice, hoping that somehow his voice or his presence will comfort her. It hasn’t seemed to work so far, but what else can he do?
He doesn’t know how much time passes as he sits and holds Haruka’s hand and wipes the sweat from her brow and temples, as he listens to Majima moving in the next room, the quiet noises of a mage at work. But time does pass, and eventually, Majima emerges from his workroom, bringing with him a strong herbal, astringent scent and a bottle of gleaming green liquid.
“Niisan,” Kiryu says.
“Kiryu-chan,” Majima replies, traces of a familiar trill in the undertones of his voice. “Sit her up, yeah? She needs to drink as much of this as possible.”
Kiryu sits on the cot and lifts Haruka into his lap, leaning her against his chest. Majima gently tilts her head back at an angle and patiently begins to tip the potion into her mouth, careful not to overwhelm her reflexive swallowing so she doesn’t choke.
Once the bottle is empty, Majima sets it aside and conjures more of the golden dust-like magic and dusts it across Haruka’s face, a few gleaming motes landing on Kiryu too and humming briefly before dissipating. Majima watches the golden specks shimmer and then nods. “You can lay her down again, if ya want,” Majima says, dismissing his minor spellwork. “Potion’s doing its work now. She just needs rest now.”
Kiryu stands and eases Haruka back down onto the cot. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but she does seem a little more at peace than before. He looks at Majima, who is looking at him, too, and Kiryu bows deeply. “Thank you, niisan.”
“None of that,” Majima grumbles with a dismissive hand wave. “‘s just what I do. I don’t need yer thanks.”
“I could never repay you in full for this, but I would like to try.”
“Helping a sick kid is free of charge, Kiryu-chan. An’ I still owe you one anyway.”
Kiryu’s stomach turns, just as it did on that night almost ten years ago when Majima said the same thing. “I’ll tell you as many times as I have to: no, you don’t.”
Majima’s mouth twists unhappily.
“Please,” Kiryu says. “I don’t know what I would do if – if you weren’t able to help her. Ask something of me for my sake, if not for your own, please.”
Majima looks at him, expression inscrutable until he comes to a decision. He nods. “Fine. Have it your way. Once your little girl is back to her ol’ self, and that shouldn’t take more than a few days, come back here and fight me.”
Kiryu did not expect that, and he immediately feels foolish for that oversight. “Fight you?”
“Jus’ like old times, yeah? Rumor has it you’re taking care of a bunch of rugrats, I figure you haven’t been training, and I ain’t gonna let that slide, Kiryu-chan. Come fight me, that’s my price.”
Kiryu nods immediately. “I’ll be here.”
“Bring your sword, if ya like, or don’t, it don’t matter to me.”
“Understood.”
“You look like shit,” Majima observes, abruptly changing the topic.
“Thank you,” Kiryu deadpans.
Majima hee-hee-hee’s, and for some inexplicable reason, the sound is unreasonably comforting. “I’ve got some tea, it’ll do ya some good, it’s a Majima special. Come sit, or don’t, up to you, I’ll bring you a mug.”
Kiryu looks at Haruka as Majima goes into the kitchen to fetch the tea, and seeing her sleep peacefully for the first time in a week is enough to let him give himself permission to leave her side briefly. He sits in one of the chairs on the other side of the room. Majima returns with the promised tea and picks up his own abandoned cup, and they drink in silence. For Kiryu, it’s a comfortable silence.
Somehow, the hours pass, the storm fades, and the sun rises. Majima busies himself in his work room but keeps the door cracked open. And finally, finally, Kiryu hears a soft and confused, “Uncle Kaz?” and immediately rushes to Haruka’s side.
“Haruka,” he murmurs, smiling, almost delirious with relief, unable to stop the sting of tears in his eyes. “You’re awake.”
Bleary-eyed, Haruka blinks at him and tries to sit up a little to survey her surroundings. She’s not quite able to manage it on her own, so Kiryu sits down so she can lean back against him. “Where are we?”
“My friend Majima lives here. Your fever was bad, and you weren’t waking up, so I brought you here so he could help you.”
“I feel a lot better,” she admits with a big yawn, tipping her head back against his shoulder and looking up at him.
“I’m very glad,” he says, wrapping his arms around her.
“The little lady awakens!” Majima crows, albeit at a moderate volume, as he comes into the front room. “How are you feeling, squirt?”
Haruka giggles, and even though it’s a very tired and weakened version of her laugh, it’s still the best sound in the world to Kiryu.
“Sleepy,” she replies. “Kind of sore. Hungry,” she adds emphatically, and Kiryu hears her stomach grumble.
“Makes sense to me. Does anything hurt?” Majima approaches Kiryu and Haruka and very gently touches her forehead to gauge her temperature.
“No,” Haruka says, shaking her head.
“Well, that’s real good. Do you mind if I do a little magic just to check how your insides are doing? It won’t hurt, it might be a little ticklish, it’ll mostly just be some floating lights.”
“That’s okay,” Haruka replies and sits still while Majima does a quick, brief version of the rituals he did throughout the night and seems satisfied by what he finds.
“You’ll be right as rain in no time,” Majima pronounces, and relief floods through Kiryu’s body. “Might be sleepy for the rest of the today, you’ll need to take it easy for a couple’a days, but you’ll be fine. I ain’t worried about you.”
Haruka smiles. “Thank you for making me better, Majima-san!”
Majima smiles back, and it’s a soft thing that Kiryu has never seen before. “Any time, kiddo. Now! Let’s do something about that hunger before you head home, huh?”
Majima fetches some simple foods from the kitchen – a hearty broth that Haruka sips eagerly and a few small loaves of bread – and keeps an eye on Haruka as she and Kiryu chat, talking about what Haruka wants to do once she’s better, what she’s looking forward to when they get home, small mundane things. Once she’s full, it’s a matter of a few minutes before Haruka falls asleep in Kiryu’s lap, but this time, it’s a calm, natural sleep. Her soft breaths against his neck are slow and even, and there’s no feverish tension in her limbs. She’s just asleep.
“She’s a cute kid,” Majima says as he brings Kiryu’s now-dry coat to him, Haruka’s dry things bundled safely in a bag that he offers to Kiryu, who accepts it. “Glad she’s feeling better.”
Kiryu smiles, nodding. “She’s the best.” His eyes turn serious. “Thank you, niisan.”
“You owe me a fight,” Majima says, his eye twinkling.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Kiryu shifts his hold on Haruka and stands, one arm steady against her back and the other holding her knees. She sighs and softly snores, and he can’t help but smile again at Majima as he opens the door for Kiryu.
“I’ll see you in a few days,” Kiryu promises.
Majima cackles. “Looking forward to it, Kiryu-chan.”