"Then if you will not eat, at least you should drink."
She still has strength enough to scowl at me. She knows very well that it is not water I am offering her, but wine with strengthening herbs mixed into it. I have heard all too often poor Romi trying to coax or scold her mother into drinking the very same potion, and seldom with success.
They understand each other very well, those two.
"Water," she says clearly. The word she actually uses is 'Wor-ta', but I know what she wants, and also that there is no use whatsoever in arguing. Silently I fill a horn cup from the waterbag set by, and Romi helps me to lift her so that she can drink easily. Though indeed it is little effort, for almost imperceptibly over the past half-year the flesh has slipped quietly away from her bones, leaving her so slender that it almost seems that a careless touch would break her.
Swallowing is an effort for her. She drinks three mouthfuls to please me and another to stop Romi from glaring at her. After that we lay her back down on the furs and make her comfortable again.
She is not in any pain; Romi is her mother's daughter, and having learned from her for a little over twenty years has more than enough skills for that. She is simply tired, and every day she sleeps a little more. Soon – very soon now – she will go to sleep for the last time, and run light-footed and joyous across the Bridge into Malcolm's arms at last, young again forever in the Eternal Grazing Lands.
I have borrowed her for twenty-five years. It is almost time for me to hand her back, ungrudging.
We have always dealt honestly with one another. As soon as she knew what ailed her, she told me herself, as one who had a right to know. So we could look the thing in the face and deal with it, and so we have done, bearing what must be borne.
I have kept the faith. I think he will not hold me forsworn, when we meet again.
Romi places a hoarded fir-cone carefully on the fire, and its aromatic sweetness drifts out into the tent. Jessa's eyes open, and she smiles; the smell has always reminded her of him. Romi smiles valiantly back. She never knew Malcolm of course, but she has him by heart, and she too knows that it is almost time.
The dawn air this morning smelled of the storm coming, though it was a beautiful day. I carried Jessa out to see it, and the gods even sent a skylark, spiralling up into the bright morning air. She smiled so marvellously to hear it that I was glad Romi was still sleeping; there are some joys that are too close to grief to be borne by the young, and soon she will be able to let fall the tears that she has kept back all this time.
Jessa too is one of the People. She knew exactly why I had carried her outside. She smiled again, one she keeps only for me, and touched my face gently.
We have gone about the day as though it was just another day, though in Romi's comings and goings I have heard the break in step before she enters that tells me she is scanning the horizon. Jessa has accepted her loss, but Romi has not. If Malih returns too late – as it seems now that he will – there will be a reckoning between those two. Murmurings I have heard break off on my return suggest that Jessa knows this also, and has tried to avert it. That she knows her efforts wasted does not even touch the love she bears her daughter. Truly, if women bore Tribe Marks, Romi's would be the Bear; she is slow to rouse, but terrifying in defence of those she loves, and she has never forgiven Malih for leaving, even with the promise of return. Often I see Briai's great strength in her, as well as her mother's great wisdom. If the Great Mother is kind, she will bear strong sons for the tribe when her time comes...
Only in one respect was the day different from those that had preceded it. With the sun past its zenith, and the storm clouds starting to gather in the west, I collected a pot of bol juice from the kiwa-we and painted the Wolf Mark on the tent flap. I did not fully know why I did this; surely he would know where she was waiting for him, and needed no summons. As a welcome, maybe.
Doubtless those who saw it understood. The People make no parade about dying; it is accepted, though Romi and I feel the village's sympathy and sorrow. Those came who needed to, and Romi dealt with their little ills. They spoke to me, and to Jessa, and when she was awake she answered them and when she was not they nodded and left.
It is time for the evening meal. Tyanna brings this for us from the kiwa-we. She brings three bowls, though it is the last time she will need to, and one will be left untouched; Jessa has not eaten meat for days.
There is no stew in Jessa's bowl, however, only a handful of tiny sweet red irch berries. These are hard to find, growing as the plant does in crevices where birds have difficulty in seeing the buds, which they like to eat, though the bright berries peep out temptingly when they are ripe. At a guess, the children have been out seeking them all afternoon. Much labour has gone into finding the seventeen that sit proudly on the polished wood.
Too many lost battles have taught Romi that her mother will not eat before her children are satisfied. The maid picks up her own bowl with a look of mingled resignation and determination; once it is empty, every last one of those berries will be eaten, or she will know the reason.
The stew is hot, and probably tastes good. I set down my own bowl when I have finished, and prepare to be the voice of moderation in the battle of wills to follow.
Romi has hardly set her hand to the bowl of berries, however, when we hear Efat's voice outside. This in itself would cause no surprise, but the soft thud of hooves so close to the tent is unusual. The riding horses are already picketed and hooded for the night to come, so this must be some visitor.
Unless...
Jessa is suddenly completely wide awake, like a little owl staring from its burrow. Her fingers clench in the furs, and I set my hand gently on them, praying to the God that she will not be disappointed.