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Volo practically danced up to Cogita's table, heedless of the whittling knife in her hand. She set it down, eyeing him as he attempted a pirouette and nearly knocked himself over with the weight of his pack. "Good morning, Mistress Cogita!"
She set her whittling down, too, and slowly eased the knife back into its leather sheath. "Good afternoon."
"It can't be afternoon," Volo said breezily, still making circles around the table. "I've only just woken up, you see."
Cogita cocked her head at him. The sun was coming down at only a slight angle, momentarily unobscured by clouds. Quite obviously afternoon. She sighed. Maybe he thought he was being playful, and therefore charming. "It's afternoon, Volo."
"Agree to disagree," he said, making another circuit of the table.
Cogita held up a hand to stop him. "Hold still and tell me why you've come to visit. I'm afraid I'm rather busy at the moment."
"Hold still?" Volo repeated. "Hold still?! How can I hold still? Cogita, it's wonderful! The most wonderful morning—"
"Afternoon."
—that Hisui has ever seen!"
"Sit down, Volo."
He ignored her, but settled for pacing in front of the table, gesturing wildly. "I've found another set of carvings. You remember the carvings I was telling you about? Or perhaps 'engravings' would be the better word— What is the difference between carving and engraving, when you get right down to it?" He paused, frowning, and Cogita took a breath to shepherd him closer to his point, but Volo sprang back into motion without any prompting: "Never mind it! I've found more glyphs, and that's what's really important. I am now one step closer to solving the great mystery of Hisui!"
"Just the one?" Cogita asked drily, regretting it when Volo launched off into another aimless ramble. She rested her head on her palm, her eyes roving wistfully over her whittling. What could have gotten Volo so keyed up? Another set of glyphs was nothing to write home about, and he was talking in circles.
What, then? A Pokémon attack, perhaps. But what Pokémon could induce mania like this? Or maybe he'd taking to smoking some of the herbs that grew in the mirelands. No, not likely. Discovering those would have required him to have actually attended to his guild duties.
Vola slammed his palm on the table, centimeters away from the blade Cogita's knife. "And so!"
A long silence stretched out. Volo said not a word.
Cogita looked at him.
Now that he was finally holding still, she could make out the beads of sweat on his face. Ominous. Maybe he really had gotten into some specialized plants. "And so?"
He cocked his head at her. "What?"
"You were saying?"
"I was?" He blinked, wetting his lips. "I was! Well, that was all nonsense, of course. Answers stem more questions, and all that." Unsteadily, Volo took a step back from the table, drawing in a deep breath as though to prepare for another onslaught about glyphs or mysteries or who knew what else. He was acting like a parody of himself.
Cogita raised a hand to stop him. "Volo. Did you come here for a reason? I've told you I have neither the time nor the desire to play conspirator to your plans."
"Merely to share a discovery with a friend!" He spread his arms out wide. "Mistress Cogita, I've found another set of carvings! No, engravings. Wait." He let out a shallow breath, then inhaled just as shallowly.
Now that Cogita was noticing, he had been breathing rather quickly this whole time. Briefly, she pressed her fingertips to her forehead. Better not to snap at him, especially if something was wrong. He meant no harm. "Yes, you mentioned that. Are you getting at something?"
"Well, I— That's odd." He shook his head a little, bracing his fingertips against the tabletop.
"What's odd?" Cogita asked sharply, straightening a little as he took on an alarmed expression, his cheeks going deathly pale. "Volo, what's wrong?"
"Are we having an earthquake?"
"What?"
"I—" He staggered, first away from the table and then into it, sending Cogita's tools sprawling across the iron.
She sprang to her feet, pulling out her chair as she went. "Volo. Sit."
A moment too late. He was already going down. Cogita could only watch as he tipped forward and hit the dirt.
Well. Small mercies he never did any work for the Ginkgo Guild. At least his pack would be light. The rest of him, not so much.
She circled around the table, prodding his arm with the toe of her shoe. "Volo?"
No response.
Cogita sighed.
—
Volo was burning up with fever. His little didactism had evidently been delirium's last gasp before dumping him (rather inconveniently) at Cogita's feet.
Getting him into her bed had involved rather a lot of pulling and jostling and dragging, and she'd gotten dirt all over the floor of her tent.
Volo appeared to only be wearing the one layer, and she didn't dare strip it off to investigate, so she'd dusted him off as best as she could and hauled him into her bed.
The whole process had gotten her rather flushed and warm, but even then, touching Volo had been like touching a Fire Stone. His fur collar lay limp around his neck, damp with sweat. Foolish boy. He should have gone to Jubilife as soon as he'd started feeling unwell.
Quietly lamenting the loss of her bed, Cogita set Volo's hat aside and worked her hands along the back of his head, loosening the cord he'd used to tie up his hair, then pulling blond locks down around his shoulders so he could lie more comfortably against the pillows. Her pillows. He did so seem to enjoy making problems for her.
"I can fix this," Volo rasped, cracking his eyes open.
"You will fix this," Cogita said. "Once you're better, you'll be sweeping up this whole tent, thank you very much."
He didn't seem to have heard, eyes distant and darting. "It's not fair; nothing's fair. We all learn— we all learn it in time." His words caught in his throat. He coughed, writhing in her sheets.
Cogita exhaled slowly through her nose. She was being rather a poor nurse. Reluctantly, she fetched one of her handkerchiefs and wet it, then spread it gently over Volo's eyes. "Relax. You don't need to fix anything." Yet
"But I can! I can! Across all time, across all space— It's waiting for me."
Wonderful. He was raving. Was he always like this when he got sick? She'd never seen him with so much as the sniffles, and he'd been coming to her camp for an awfully long time. "What's waiting for you, child?"
He shifted, making tangles in the pale tresses pinned under his shoulders. "My destiny. My design. I've chosen it."
"Volo, Volo." She patted him absentmindedly. Perhaps she still had some magnolia bark, but making a decoction would require tending a fire for several hours, and who knew what mischief Volo could get up to in that time. "I thought your head was always in the past, hm?"
"The past is my future."
"I'm sure it is, child."
Hours passed, and Volo raved through all of them, coughing and panting, and sometimes even shouting with alarming volume, given the hoarseness of his voice. Cogita never did make a fire, not even to cook. She dared not leave him.
The one time she stepped out to put her knife away, she came to find him scratching at his chest, drawing deep red lines under his fur collar. She'd had no choice but to strip him then, and cover him with cool cloths to soothe his feverish skin. His cheeks and the area under his collar bone had gone livid, and sweat gleamed all over him.
As evening gave way to night and Volo showed no signs of calming, Cogita sank to the floor by the bedside and put her head in her hands. This was no mere annoyance.
But Volo was young and he was stubborn. One night of fever was not enough to take him from this plane.
Although...
She shot a wary glance upward, listening to the thrash of his body against the mattress. His breathing had changed, too. It hitched now, and he gasped wetly— crying. He was crying.
Cogita got painfully to her feet and took his hands. "Volo, Volo."
Despite the cloth covering his eyes, he never once flinched away from her touch. He took her hands, tears streaming down his temples. "There's no one left," he said, his palms burning against Cogita's. "I'm all alone."
She pressed the bottom of her chin to his burning forehead. "I'm right here, child."
But Volo would not be soothed. He thrashed and cried, and squeezed her hands so tight his nails made bloody crescents in her delicate skin. "No one's left. No one's left."
It had been a long time since Cogita had sung for anyone other than herself, let alone in the language of her people. The Celestica language was all but lost, and she'd kept it to herself lest Volo and his ilk pester her endlessly. But he was so far in feverish clutches that he'd never remember, so she sang. Deep and slow, a lullaby for frightened children.
It seemed to resonate.
Volo's sobbing gave way to deeper, more even breaths, and his tensed muscles all unclenched, leaving him limp against the pillows.
Cogita sank to her knees, keeping hold of his hands, and sang and sang and sang.
—
Shifting. A few clanks, a quiet cough. Frigid air.
Cogita opened her eyes. The wall of her tent greeted her, sideways, and her neck ached.
Ah. She hauled herself up slowly, shivering. She'd fallen asleep on the floor.
Another shift. She turned her attention to it, straightening at the sight of Volo with one boot on, obviously trying to put on the other without sitting or topping over. The flush of fever had faded from his cheeks, leaving him deathly pale, his hair tumbling in wild tangles over his shoulders. "A-ah!" he said hoarsely. "Mistress Cogita."
"Just Cogita, thank you," she said primly. Since he still looked so drawn and ill, she got to her feet without waiting for him to offer her a hand. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Um." Volo turned pink, dropping his gaze to the boot in his hand. "I'm afraid I rather imposed on you."
"Sit down." Cogita motioned him to the bed.
He went with a limping gait, his boot laces trailing on the ground. "I thought it would be best if I... Well, if I didn't trouble you further. The things I must have said!" He looked at her anxiously, his fingers working one of the knots in his bangs.
"Nothing," Cogita said coolly. Perhaps he was afraid he'd made some silly, lovesick confession. "Nothing coherent, anyway. It was all just nonsense."
Volo paused with his other boot halfway on, cautious optimism lighting up his gray eyes. "Really?"
"You have my word."
Volo heaved a great sigh, all the nervous tension leaving him in a cascade that left him slumped and shaky and tugging ineffectually at his boot. "Well! I'm certainly glad to hear it."
"Where are you going?" Cogita asked, watching him struggle with a detached apprehension. She might have to ask him to stay. His fever might have broken, but that didn't make him well.
"Oh." Volo threw his head back and sighed. "Off to the village to throw myself on Ginter's mercy, or the Medical Corps if I can swing it." He laughed nervously. "Maybe I'll faint again somewhere conspicuous."
Thank goodness! Cogita knelt at his feet to help him get his boot tied. "Are you sure you feel up for it?"
He was quiet for a long moment, his breaths coming shallower than they should have been. "Yes," he said at last. "You must understand, I didn't mean to trouble you, Mistress Cogita."
She tugged his laces tight and straightened again, beaming in relief. She might even have kissed him on the forehead if his hat hadn't been in the way. "Safe travels, Volo."