Story 14. A moment of weakness.
Nearly a year and a half passed since that day. An episode with his first half-successful flight seemed insignificant for Gryvon now. Ashka behaved naturally, caustically and sometimes impossibly, not mentioning that story. However, she had had spoken to the Council, apparently, because the Regents didn't restrict the flights for a young Apprentice anymore.
The Spellbinder was always nearby, standing next to the pilot's seat and often making caustic comments about Gryvon who could tear off the control levers, pulling with such strength. However, sometimes the Apprentice didn't make any evident mistakes, so the woman kept silent or smiled wryly, watching him piloting. Remembering his first poor experience, Gryvon tried to be more careful. If he felt his powerstones are to deplete, he would take several new with him. Anyway, there were no more situations like that one, Ashka didn't have to do a powerstones changing stunt.
"You make progress, Apprentice", - she said sometimes, going to the hatch. These moments Gryvon caught himself smiling stupidly. Such a phrase said by the Spellbinder was equal to early becoming a Regent. Gryvon smiled, understanding he shouldn't expect too much from her, he should appreciate something he already has. Ashka will always be Ashka, a mysterious and unknowable ginger hurricane that , he thought, had no idea about sentimental affection and other silly things.
Just once he had some doubts about it. That time he understood he had been absolutely wrong, that the Spellbinder isn't a mechanism. It was a late autumn evening, the sky had already darkened, but the castle residents were just ordering to lay the table.
The supper in Gryvon's room had been rather lovely – Nathia, Olin and two more Apprentices joined him, talking about the flights and landing practice. The evening was interesting, the company was nice and the most important thing – there were no lessons the next day. So he didn't have to rush and take the books and lecture parchments, trying to remember what he did learn and what he didn't.
After the supper he said good bye to his friends and went to see Ashka. He didn't have to do it actually, but he wanted to be sure the next day and the morning especially would be free. The young man had been trapped in the same situations several times, when the Spellbinder with her shining powersuit and a faerie temperament reminded him about the duel practice or the flight lesson he had forgot. It's better to be sure…
Opening the door, Gryvon examined the room.
"Spellbinder, are you here?"
No one answered. There were no voices or any other noises in the room. The fire was started. Big massive candelabras with lighted candles were standing on the cabinet, on the table and near the bed. The cloak and the powersuit put on the struts were on the hanger. The table was laid but it seems the food wasn't eaten. The cooling vegetables, a vase with fruits, wine and a pitcher of water… there was a book on a chair. Gryvon took it, looking at the title. "Ancient legends of constellations". Yes, that was her style, to spend even a free evening together with astronomy.
However, it's strange. Seems like the room had been empty for a while. Cool wind went through the opened window, making Gryvon come back to the reality. Opening the book, he sat down the table, planning to wait and look through some chapters. The cloak and the powersuit is here. So is Ashka. And she'll be back soon.
Somehow he became interested, reading the stories about Spellbinders associating the Darkness with extinguished stars and a possible curse caused by the marauders. Of course it looked anything but truth. As for the marauders – Gryvon hated them but didn't consider these people able to make so great risings and bold outbursts. But the story style was interesting. And as his teacher used to say, an extra point of view is never unnecessary.
Suddenly he heard the door opening. Looking to the right, the young man saw Ashka entering the room slowly. She was in a habit and a tunic, with heavy velvet-bound octagonal books in her hands.
"Good afternoon", - Gryvon said, standing up.
She gave a start and raised her eyes.
"What… What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you, Spellbinder, - he answered, - I was going to ask about tomorrow morning, if you have any instructions. Or, perhaps, we will train powerbolts firing…"
Silence.
'You've been to the library?" – Gryvon tried to begin in a different way, thinking that the Spellbinder was in no mood, perhaps. During these years he got used to her mood changing, more or less. Not professionally, but sometimes he was able to hit the frequency.
Ashka was still silent, looking in front of her.
'What happened?" – the Apprentice exclaimed, becoming anxious. Her look wasn't right, but too wrong, unexpected.
"Gryvon, - the woman said softly, focusing her eyes on him, - Gareth is dead…"
They kept silent for some seconds, not breaking the pause. It was a blow, not too terrible yet, but unexpected. At first Gryvon thought he got it wrong and almost said: "Is it a joke?" but Ashka, standing in the center of the room, with books in her hands made him not do it somehow. With all her impossible outrage, why would she joke like that?
Hesitating, the young man took a step forward. He didn't know what to expect, so he expected everything, any second. What do women do in such cases? Scream and cry? Lose their consciousness? Gryvon could hardly imagine what to do in any of these situations, so he had a right to be anxious.
However, Ashka defeated his expectations once again. She didn't faint. She had no hysterics with screaming and tearing her hair. She just stood there, with books in her arms, until Gryvon came closer.
"How… What happened?" – he asked softly.
"We went to the library, - the woman started, as if thawing out, - he asked me to help with the old books and bring the new ones for his study. He said the servants aren't able to do it properly… We went upstairs in the hall…, - he hands were trembling, heavy books fell to the floor with loud noise, - he was talking and laughing. He was going to saddle three horses and invite as to ride through the villages at night… without any reason…"
"Us?" – Gryvon asked, confused, not even frowning after the loud sound.
"You and me", - the Spellbinder clarified.
The young man was really surprised. He could try and imagine Gareth and Ashka riding the horses through the night forest. But imagining himself as a third one was quite problematic. And there it was – Regent wanted him to join them…
He squeezed Ashka's shoulders lightly and led her to the armchair. She sat down obediently.
"We were almost there, just some more steps…", - she continued, - and then he stumbled. It was like a nightmare. And when I realized what had happened he was already lying there, near the stairs. He was looking up and smiling… The Spellbinders went there, and he was smiling…"
Her fingers were trembling again. Gryvon realized that was a shock, but he could do something for it… He went to the table and poured some wine in the cup. Hesitating, he added water there and gave the drink to the Spellbinder.
"Drink it".
"I don't want…", - the woman shook her head.
"Spellbinder, please".
"Gryvon, I…"
"Holly Regents, Ashka! – The young man exclaimed. - I don't try to poison you rashly! Now come on!"
He kept his mouth shut, already regretting about his temper and familiarity, afraid that the punishment will be immediate. Ashka looked at the young man in bewilderment, then took a sip of wine silently. Gryvon took her cup and put it on the floor. Sat down in the nearest chair. Her silent obedience frightened him. He'd rather prefer her to make a mess here, scream at the appearing servants and guards, slap him with no reason… or at least fire some powerbolts. This was Ashka he understood and accepted, she was more natural like this. But Ashka that was sitting in the armchair was unfamiliar, unknown. Unreal. And this was something that frightened him. That shock, that she had instead of unacceptable hysterics and faints…
"Where is he now?" – Gryvon asked, when she drank the wine and put the cup on the floor again.
"We took him to the old passage, where we'd kept the powersuits once. It is quite clean and…, - she laughed suddenly, silently, heartlessly, - clean… he always told me he wanted a sudden death, unexpected, with no long preparations… How do you think, - the woman looked at her Apprentice, - is such a death appropriate?'
Gryvon swallowed nervously, pouring some more wine and water to the cup and slicing a pear. In the second cup he made the same drink for himself. Now he forgot he sarcasm and the sentimentality that was so inappropriate for the Spellbinders…
"I don't know, - the young man said honestly, giving a cup and a slice of pear to Ashka, - I can hardly believe it's true".
"Me too, - the woman nodded, - when we were standing near the stairs I was sure it is a kind of a cruel joke. And the old rogue would stand up and laugh. If he'd done it I would have strangled him!"
Gryvon lowered his head, hiding a smile. It was very like his Spellbinder.
"My mother died too, - he said finally, - then, two years ago. I got the letter a week later. I went to Clayhill but it was too late…"
While saying it he remembered. He remembered Riana that had met him on the road. Her look told him what had happened. He remembered his father, whose hair became grey for some years at once… just one week. Sometimes it is everything. And it is really too much.
"I envy you, Gryvon", - the Spellbinder said suddenly.
The young man didn't know what to say. Is she serious? In the name of Regents, what could she envy of?
"I envy you, because you didn't see how it happened, - the woman answered his unspoken question, - I did. Thrice".
"Thrice?" – Gryvon nearly repeated, but then he understood.
"Your parents?"
The woman nodded again.
"I was six. My mother was ill. So quietly and invisibly. When she'd gone my father's mind dimmed. He decided he doesn't need to live anymore. And so about me. He left the house empty and went to the mountains…, - she drank the wine, - and then he jumped from a cliff. Perhaps he thought I would do the same… But I didn't want to! I ran as far as I could from that place, shouting until I lost my voice. Gareth found me…"
Gryvon shivered, imagining this horror and the feelings of a small child. That is why Ashka became what she was, that is why she refused to enter his house once, that is why she never told him about her family… All these "that is why" suddenly became so clear and evident, making a chain of understanding.
"Did you love Gareth?" – he asked. Probably it was the wine that made him ask. And she… she answered.
"I am unable to love, Gryvon, - Ashka laughed bitterly, - this is something I know for sure. Gareth said it once…"
"But why? – Gryvon exclaimed, nearly jumping. - Didn't he understand it's not true? It's not you! The circumstances made you like this!"
"Do not defend me, - Ashka said sternly, - and never try to do it".
"But why?"
"Because I am what I am, Gryvon. That's it. And as for Gareth…, - putting of the boots she pulled her legs into the armchair, - I don't know… he had been everyone and everything for me. Sometimes I hated him. Sometimes I loved. And sometimes it was vice versa – he hated and loved me. I wasn't a quiet child".
Gryvon grinned. This was something he never doubted.
"And Gareth… Gareth had always allowed me everything. He was happy to raise me. Sometimes I thought he'd rather prefer a boy, a son, but he had no children. Only me. He gave me this ring…, - she touched the jewelry on her right hand, - Gryvon, why did it happen?"
The young man didn't answer immediately, looking at her slender fingers.
"It's just an accident, Ashka, - he said, - an awkward, unfortunate, horrible accident. Nobody could say this would have happened. Even he…, - his words were about dead Spellbinder. Gryvon imagined the old passage on the lowest level of the castle. Indeed, it was clean. But now it was also uncomfortable. And creepy. - Gareth would have never joke like this. It's just an accident, - he repeated and suddenly became silent. In trembling lights of the candles he saw a shining wet track on the cheek of the woman sitting opposite him, - Ashka, you're crying…"
"What? No! – she became alert, touching her face with her fingers and looking at the tears on her skin in bewilderment. - Indeed… What's wrong with me? It never happened before… I'm not a stupid crybaby!"
She gasped, desperately trying to wipe away the treacherous moisture on her eyes. Gryvon didn't know what she was afraid of – him, herself or these tears. If it was someone else such a reaction would seem wrong and strange. But he felt it couldn't be any other way with Ashka. Gryvon had no idea and didn't want to, imagining how it is – to control yourself for so many years and become afraid of your own tears one day.
"Ashka, - he sat on his heels next to her, - it's all right. All people cry. You are human".
"If you tell anyone about it..", - the Spellbinder started, wiping away another tear angrily.
"You don't need to warn me, - Gryvon shook his head, taking her hand, - in the morning we "forger" everything and behave naturally. But before the morning comes, there's some time, there's this evening. There's nothing to be ashamed of, let yourself go, just for one time".
And she did it. She let the hair fall onto her tears-wet face, forgetting that she's a Spellbinder that thinks about other people and pays no attention to her own emotions. She cried, long and quietly, almost silently, with her cheek on Gryvon's shoulder. The young man felt his tunic soaked, but he was still sitting near the armchair, embracing Spellbinder's trembling shoulders. He didn't say any comforting words. She didn't need them. That evening they were a single entity, with no need to turn the thoughts into words. That evening, and Gryvon realized it with sorrow, they were as close as they had never been before. As they would never be anymore. There would never be such a unity anymore, there would never be the same weakness that made them nearly equals. Once letting somebody to see her soul, Ashka would never ever do it again.
When the fire had faded, Gryvon already knew the evening will be over, it couldn't last forever. But for now he didn't care. He was waiting. And he was going to wait as long as it was necessary. The Spellbinder was still crying, as if in a try to free her eyes from the long burden. And even later, when she calmed down in his arms, tears were still running down her cheeks. Gryvon was waiting. And then, later, when the evening became the night and Ashka fell asleep, he took her in his arms carefully, lifting from the armchair. Slowly and gently he put his precious burden on the bed and covered with a blanket. Then blew out the lights…
In the morning everything will be the same, except the necessity to think about Gareth's funeral. In the morning he will "forget", and she will "forget" too. And the only reminder of that evening for Gryvon will be the fact that from now on he would be allowed to call her not the Spellbinder, but Ashka…