Lar counts to three

Lar kneeled beside the boy and nudged him with the back of his hand. His head rocked limply, but his body still held the spring and warmth of life.

“How long were you down there for, pip?” Lar asked him awkwardly. “How did you get down there anyway? We just found those tunnels today.”

The boy did not answer.

Lar would have to do something now. If only his muddled head could remember what!

The church-​man had said there were two important things: the water and the words.

Water! Lar whined in frustration. Why hadn’t he told someone to get water? Where could he get water in a hurry? Somehow he did not think spitting on the boy’s head would be sufficient.

Then he remembered—the pipe!

He stood—too suddenly—and grasped the edge of the table to keep from going down.

While he waited for his head to clear he asked himself how to get the water from there to here… and in the end he simply pulled the whole pipe down onto the floor beside the boy.

His hands felt swollen and numb, like gloves stuffed into gloves, but the lack of feeling did not extend to protecting him from burns when he thoughtlessly pried off the bowl with his fingertips.

“Shit!”

The bowl bounced and rolled towards the wall, scattering a trail of ash. Lar sucked his fingers and fought down the urge to hurl the pipe after it: his head was just clear enough to remind him that he needed the water.

“Curse your God the father!” he snarled to relieve his fury, and then he cringed as he remembered he would need Him too. “Sorry…”

He splashed some of the water into his cupped hand and far more onto the floor. He lifted his hand over the boy’s head, and then…

The words.

There was one he remembered quite clearly.

“In the name of the Father… No—wait! Your name, first,” he whispered.

He waited stupidly for a reply from the boy, losing precious seconds.

“Vin!” he gasped. “I baptize you—wait!”

His hand was already nearly dry. He gritted his teeth and growled. Clearly he would never be a church-​elf.

“Why am I doing this?” he asked himself. Then he remembered: Dre.

He splashed his hand with water again and held it dripping over the boy’s face.

“If you are not already baptized, Vin,” he said, quite proud of himself for having remembered that part, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the…”

He squeezed his eyes shut, as if it could help him squeeze the third name out of the stringy pulp the smoke had made of his mind. He thought back desperately to that conversation with the church-​man… how they had struggled with that last concept in their different languages. The church-​man had said he could say the word in English—but he did not remember the English word! Why had he not tried harder to understand then?

“…and of the Other Thing,” he sobbed.

He watched helplessly as the last drops trickled down his long fingers and clung to the tips. He had also forgotten to count how many drops had splashed onto the boy’s face. Surely there had been at least three…

There remained four fingers, four drops. Lar tucked his first finger into his palm and shook the three drops off the others to be certain.

“Amen,” he concluded as Aelfden always did.

He was standing and steady on his feet by the time Llen returned.

“You tell Rrana?” Lar asked.

“I told Lasria. I ran into her first.”

“I thought I told you to tell Rrana?” he barked.

“Right… I—”

Lar spun around and stepped up to stand so close to the elf that his wispy red hair blew back when Lar growled at him. “When I tell you to tell Rrana, I mean tell Rrana—not Lasria, not Lasina, not your mother, not anyone else. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Lar.”

“Fine.” Lar walked past him to the door, making sure to bump Llen’s shoulder as he passed while being careful to walk steadily enough that it would not appear to be an accident.

“What about this boy?” Llen asked.

“What do I care?” Lar muttered. “You know I don’t like kids.”