Twenty-eight
There was snow and snow and snow. It seemed as
if all the world had been swallowed by white. Yoko had never in all
her life seen so much of the stuff. Even at the passage of a
thousand men, it did not smear away and turn to brown earth
underneath. She was lost in it, lost amidst an army who had come on
the heels of its lord and she was giddy that men were able to
function to efficiently in the abundance of the snow. Her horse more
times than not, tread in snow past its knees. When they made camp
she had no notion how they managed to clear enough of it away to
pitch their tents and dig their firepits. She huddled in layers of
furs and soft leathers, her feet bundled in thick boots and her hands
hidden away in fur lined mittens and drifted in her own world of
heartache. Kall talked to her and Gara did, but she heard only a
fraction of what they said and absorbed even less. They always left
her with wary, concerned expressions on their faces.
And then after what seemed endless travel though
bitingly cold whiteness, the walls of Sta-Veron broke the unchanging
vista of snow. High gray walls glazed with a layer of ice and frost. Stark walls for a stark city cut out of a frigid, ungiving land. The gates opened and an army gone only briefly in the way that armies
passed time, was welcomed back with enthusiasm muffled only by winter
scarves and fur lined hoods. The people lined the streets and
cheered for their lord, who rode with passive silence, as if he were
continually amazed that they honored him so. The army dispersed,
going to homes, or barracks or where ever an army went when it was no
longer needed, save for her and Gara's ninjas and the core group of
commanders who rode with them into the inner walled sanctum of the
Ice Lord's own castle. There the noise and the crowd that had come
out to greet them on the streets of the city lessened to a more
controllable confusion of stableboys rushing to take charge of horses
and servants scattering here and there in preparation of their lord's
return.
Someone helped her down, Gara she thought, he
was so bundled against the cold, she had only a fleeting glimpse of
eyes past hood and scarf. She stood within the disorder, a small,
huddled figure, as lost here as she had been in all the endless snow. She was jostled by man and horse, so she retreated to the edge of
the thick stone steps leading up to the castle. She leaned there,
arms wrapped about herself until a gruff female voice from above
demanded attention.
"You there. Why are you dallying. Don't you
have work to do?"
Yoko swung around, staring up at a thick, red
faced woman of middle years who seemed to be looking over the
activity in the yard. Yoko opened her mouth, not quite knowing what
to say, and the woman narrowed her eyes at her and stabbed a finger
down at her.
"You're not one of mine. Did you come with his
lordship?"
Yoko barely nodded, teeth chattering, when the
woman stomped down the steps, descending upon her like a wrathful
banshee. She almost cowered, but the big, rawboned hands merely took
her under the elbow and steered her up the steps towards the thick
wooden doors.
"Never trust a gaggle of men to do anything
right." The woman was complaining. "Leavin' you out in the cold like
that, when there's a perfectly good fire blazing inside. What's your
name, girl?"
"Yoko." She stammered.
"Yoko, humm?"
"Tia Note Yoko, ma'am."
"Ma'am!" The woman snorted indelicately, as
blustery as the winter that waited outside the gates. "I'm no Ma'am,
at least not to guests of my lord. Keitlan is my name. I look after
his lordship's domestic staff and see to his household."
She looked pointedly at Yoko, as if expecting
as concise a description of what station Yoko occupied as in regards
to her lord.
"He -- he invited me here." She said quietly. "I'm a -- a friend."
The woman looked mildly dubious. As if she
either doubted the invitation or the claim that Kall-Su had friends. They entered a high ceilinged main hall. Tall windows let light in
along both sides, though the illumination was stark and chill against
cold gray stone with no adornment. Wooden tables and plank benches
lined the walls near the far end where a great hearth dominated the
greater part of the wall. A draft insidiously snaked through the
hall, causing chill even with the roaring flames of the fire. A
plain, well constructed hall, made to house a great number of men if
need be. But barren and stark and cold, much like the face its
master showed to the world. There were doors along the walls and on
either side of the hearth, leading deeper into the castle. Yoko
somehow doubted it got warmer or more welcoming, if the great hall,
the facade all castles showed to the world, was a harsh as it were.
Keitlan steered her towards the fire and the
tables near it.
"Setha, you lazy girl. We've people to see to."
The housekeeper called loudly and Yoko winced at the volume. The
lazy girl in question appeared from one of the doors at the hearth
and hustled forward, eyes alight with curiosity at the woman in the
company of her superior.
"Fetch a cup of mulled wine for the lady. And a
bowl of hot stew to take the chill off. His lordship is coming in
with a troop of cold men, so get those other lazy girls off their
behinds and have them ready to serve them when they come
in."
The girl scampered off. Keitlan took Yoko's
cloak and her gloves and scarf and the inner layer of coat and
trundled off with a full armful of winter gear. Yoko was left
standing before the fire, shivering, her hair clinging to her face
from static, her lips chapped from cold. The girl came back with a
cup and a wooden bowl.
"Sit down. Sit down." The girl gestured to the
table closest the fire and set the bowl and cup down there. Yoko did
as she was bid, gratefully taking the warm cup in her hands and
sipping the mulled sweet wine. Wonderful. The warmth. The taste. She closed her eyes in a moment of contentment and opened them with
the girl staring at her from across the table.
"His lordship's never brought a woman here
before." The serving girl stated, eyes very very curious. Yoko
sighed, figuring that gossip would soon be running rampart. She knew
the ways of servants and the speculation that would run the gambit of
the staff, from stableboys to cooks to chambermaids.
"He offered me a kindness." She said, in
attempts to turn the tide of speculation to a path less destructive. "When there was no one else to do it. I don't know how long I'll
stay."
The maid did not have the time to comment,
for the doors burst open and men stomped into the hall, bringing cold
wind and errant flakes of blown snow with them. The girl, Setha,
hurried for the kitchen entrance, no doubt to start bringing out wine
and food.
They shed cloaks and winter gear, a loud noisome
lot that tracked mud and snow onto the bare stone floors. Gara, red
nosed and red fingered, came and sat down next to Yoko, a grin of
flushed excitement on his face.
"Wondered where you'd got to. Damn, its cold
out and not even full winter yet."
"Oh, wonderful." She murmured, not heartened by
that fact. Men were crowding the tables, Gara's, Kall-Su's. She did
not see the Ice Lord himself.
"Where's Kall?"
Gara shrugged, eyeing her mug of aromatic wine
enviously. "Seeing to this -- that. You know how he likes
crowds."
Setha and a half dozen other serving girls began
to file out from the kitchen, bearing trays of bread, stew and hot
wine. Gara got his wine and pitcher of the same sat on the table
within easy reach. He was happy. Yoko was tired. She sat an elbow
on the table and played listlessly with her stew. Her stomach
complained and she feared to lose its contents, which made her think
of what she carried within her and where its father was at this
moment -- and with who. She sighed miserably and blinked back
wetness.
She swam in a sea of noise and smells and he own
unease until Gara looked over his shoulder and a hand was laid on her
own soon after. The house mistress, Keitlan looked down at
her.
"Do you want to see your room, lady Yoko? I've
had a fire set."
Blurrily, Yoko nodded. She rose and swayed
unsteadily. Both Gara and Keitlan reached out to catch at her arms.
"I'm okay. I'm okay." She assured them both,
even though her vision wavered alarmingly. The house mistress
hummphed. Gara drew his brows in concern.
"You look sick." He remarked.
"Small wonder." Keitlan snapped. "Poor girl
being dragged along in the middle of an army and at this time of
year. Come along."
She gripped Yoko's elbow with fingers that Yoko
had no strength to shake off. Off the right and through a door. There was a hall and stairs. They went up the stairs to a second
floor with doors lining its corridor. There was an open one, where a
maid entered before them with an arm full of bedclothes. Keitlan led
her into it.
A simple room, with high ceiling and one crystal
paned window. A bed with the makings of a canopy but no cloth
hanging over it. A chest of drawers, a table with a wash basin, a
chest at the foot of the bed. A fireplace where a newly made fire
crackled. A small room to the side where a door hid a garderobe. The floor was bare and cold. There was nothing to make it cheery or
welcoming. Keitlan smiled her own welcome.
"I'm told you've nothing of your own, so I'll
have some things brought to you, until we can get something made of
your own. I've a few girls who are close to your size."
"Thank you." Yoko whispered. The maid made up
the bed. There were thick coverings over the sheets. It at least
looked inviting.
"Are you still hungry?"
"No. I think I'll just rest."
Keitlan nodded, as if she had thought the same
thing. "Shall I have the girl stay and help you?"
"No. I'll be fine."
So they left her finally in peace. She stood
before the fire, hands out, basking in the warmth, clearing her head
of thought, merely staring at the hypnotic flame. She shed her
clothing, piece by piece by piece, draping it over the chest, until
she stood bare to all the world. Her skin pimpled at the cold, but
she ignored it, wishing for a mirror, hands smoothing over the skin
of her belly. She wished she could see if there was a swelling, but
from the angle she looked, there was nothing but the flat tummy she
had always had. She crawled under the cool sheets then, and pulled
the blankets up over her head, hiding from the world. Breathing in
the cold, fresh scent of the sheets, telling herself that things
would start to get better now that she was done with traveling. Telling herself that all she had to do now was concentrate on the
life she carried and not on the things that had sparked it. She bit
her lip and coiled her knees up to her chest, an ache so profound and
painful that it took her breath, twisting in her chest.
Oh, liar. Liar. She cried inside her head,
belittling herself for her optimism. As if she could push the hurt
away when the wound gaped so cruelly open in her heart. Tears
spilled from beneath her lashes. Bitter, silent tears. She never
used to cry. She had always been so strong and all it had taken to
dash the strength was a declaration of love.
Eventually, exhaustion conquered misery and
sleep claimed her. The tears dried on her cheeks.
Kall-Su retired to his study, leaving the troops
to Kiro's care. He had a very efficient staff, who performed their
duties quietly and quickly in a manner they knew their lord
preferred. He had faith in their abilities, especially when he had
other matters on his mind. Since he had heard of Schneider and
Yoko's encounter with the forest spirit and the seemingly all
powerful Mother, he had been bitten badly with the urge to find out
more of the eldritch and very old powers that had existed on earth
before this age or the one of technology before it. He had never had
an interest before, being more consumed with the gathering of power
that he could touch and use. But he was intrigued by the notion of
the old powers now. In his vast collection of books, there was sure
to be hints and references. It would take forever to hunt them down,
which did not daunt him, for he enjoyed the solitude of his library. He was eager to begin the search, almost to the point of excitement. His housekeeper stopped him on the stairs, her ruddy, broad face
creased with wary speculation.
"Yes, what is it." He had other things on his
mind than domestic issues. She never bothered him with such matters.
"The lady, my lord."
"What of her?"
"Um -- where would you like her
placed?"
Why he should care was beyond him. "In a room
would be nice. A warm one."
Keitlan twisted her hands, nervously. She was
not a woman usually given to nerves. His patience began to wear.
"I had thought -- that perhaps you would want
her placed near your own rooms, my lord."
He stared, understanding dawning. His staff
thought he had brought home a mistress. His housekeeper, who had
always been bold in her own deferential way, was poising the question
to him. He gave her a cool, reproving stare.
"It matters not to me. The lady is here for her
own entertainment and no one else's, am I clear?"
His look intimated that he expected her to see
that no tongues wagged in the byways of the servant's domain. She
nodded, accepting that without question and he was certain that
Keitlan would see to matters. She ruled her people with an iron
fist.
"Of, course, my lord. I'll set things
straight."
The world settled down. It snowed and Yoko sat
in her room, on the stone window ledge that was wide enough for to
comfortably perch, with knees drawn up to chest, and watched it
through the leaded glass windows. She drew aimless designs on the
frosted glass with her fingertips. She stayed abed slothfully late,
and took her meals in her room, having no desire to walk among other
folk and see their laughter and their smiles while she had none. She
moped dreadfully, with hardly the energy to eat. Gara came to see
her, to try and talk her out of her rooms and into some semblance of
life, but she drove him away with her heavy sighs and distant stares. Kall-Su did not come to visit, but if what she overheard of the
maid's talk was correct, he practiced the same habits she did,
closeting himself away for days at a time in his library or his
study, with hardly a care for the outside world.
The maids thought she was morose and spoiled. She could see it in their eyes, when she took the interest to look,
and hear it in the way they spoke to her. A sullen, spoiled lady
from the south, who disliked the cold of their northern city. She
had complained about the chill once to the maid Keitlan had assigned
her, asking for more blankets and the word had spread. She cried a
good deal and the maids were quick to catch on to that as well,
seeing red eyes or her quick attempt to wipe wetness from her cheeks
when they happened in with her meals or wood for the fire or hot
water for bathing. She was sure they speculated among themselves as
to what tragedy had befallen her, their lord's most melancholy guest.
Keitlan happened by regularly, always with a
frown of disapproval on her face, when she found Yoko sitting at the
window staring distractedly outside.
"Can I bring you something?" she would ask. "Do
you read? My lord has an extensive collection."
No. That was quite all right.
"Something to occupy your hands? Needlepoint?"
Some other time, perhaps. The snow is
enthralling.
Keitlan would leave with as much disgust as she
came with. Yoko felt guilty every time she saw the woman. Weeks
passed. Life began to become disjointed and meaningless. She began
to hate the thought of waking up in the morning. She would happily
have slept her life away, except for the occasional dream --
nightmare -- she wasn't sure which -- about him. He had always
plagued her dreams -- caressing her sub-conscious with erotic hints
and sexual innuendoes, only now she knew what it was like in the
flesh. Now she knew how truly inferior the dreams were. She hated
herself every time she woke with heart pounding in chest and sweat on
her brow, balling her fists into her eyes until the images passed.
She wanted to die. She thought about how much
peace that would bring. She thought that it would make him feel some
sort of remorse. Despite all that he had done, she knew he would
feel remorse.
The maids, when they came, had garlands in their
hair, and more sprite in their step than usual. Winter Festival, she
heard. Sta-Veron was in the midst of celebrating the onset of true
winter, while the rest of the world mourned it.
Kall-Su came by her room. Knocked politely at
the door and entered at her somber bidding. He stared at her long
enough to make her uncomfortable, concern growing in his eyes.
"Yoko, you look -- unwell." He finally said. He looked very fine in a embroidered blue overtunic, over black
trousers and boots.
"I'm fine." She lied.
"There is a feast tonight, celebrating Winter
Festival. Keitlan said you declined to come."
"I'm --- not in the mood for a feast,
Kall."
"Perhaps you should. Have you seen the
city?"
"From the window."
"I think you should come down and join the
feasting. I think it would do you good."
She shook her head, staring into the fire.
"Yoko, what are you trying to do? Loose
yourself in solitude. It never works, believe me. Sooner or later,
you have to come out."
"I'm not." She tried to assure him, but her
voice came out shaky. "I just can't --- they'll expect me to smile
and laugh -- and I can't." She wiped furiously at a rebellious tear
that rolled down her cheek. He looked at her, then away, appearing
shaken himself. He took a breath, then approached her, crouched by
her chair so he was eye level with her.
"I promised you my protection. I see I've been
remiss in it. What are you doing to yourself, Yoko? You can't moon
over him forever. He doesn't appreciate it. I don't know if he can. All it does is hurt you."
"How long is forever?" She murmured.
"Too long. Please come to the
feast."
She sniffed and nodded.
Keitlan came by personally to see that Yoko was
presentable for feast. Or more likely that she would not back out on
her word to Keitlan's lord. She saw Yoko bathed and combed and
brought forth a green muslin overdress and layers of soft warm
underdresses beneath. Yoko let herself be arranged. Let Keitlan fix
her hair and only half listened to the woman's comments on how thick
it was, and how lovely an amber shade.
"So," the housemistress said, putting a last
ornamental pin in the shining coils of Yoko's hair. "Who's the
father?"
Slowly, Yoko blinked, staring in shock at the
wall before her, then at Keitlan as the woman moved into her line of
sight, and stood there, hands on stout hips.
"What?"
"Of your child?"
"How --? Who told you that?"
Keitlan sniffed. "No one had to tell me, girl.
You're not far enough along to start showing, at least not obviously,
but you've been here long enough to bleed and you haven't, and I've
seen women with child who went into sulks like yours. And with no man
to claim you, a woman can understand why."
"Oh, goddess." Yoko felt weak kneed. Keitlan
patted her hand in a motherly fashion.
"It's all right. It's not your fault if you've
been abandoned by the scoundrel. Men are like that sometimes. No
good, the majority of them. Don't let it weigh on your soul. For
the child's sake if nothing else. Go and enjoy yourself at feast
tonight. Goddess knows you'll be the first woman to sit at our lords
side since I can remember. You'll be the envy of many, that's for
sure. He's a pleasure to look at, that one."
Yoko was speechless. She couldn't quite catch
her breath to talk.
"You need to find something to take your mind
off your troubles." Keitlan gave her one last word of advise, before
there was a rap on the door and the housekeeper shooed Yoko towards
it.
It went by in a blur, the Festival Feast and the
entertainment's afterwards. There was food that she ate, and wine
that she drank. Gara talked to her more than Kall-Su did. The Ice
Lord sat and watched, eyes closed off even from the revelry of his
own people. She thought this night was almost as much a chore for
him, who disliked close association with people, as it was for her. There were jugglers and musicians and dancing. The hall was close
with people and talk. Outside the streets of the city were also full
of merriment, of people toasting the winter and daring it to best
them yet one more year. She had a sudden insight, as to the reason
these people celebrated a season of lifelessness and bitter cold. Because if they did not celebrate it, then they would drown from the
bitterness of fighting it. They had to do something to make it
better in their minds. To make the weeks and months of winter storms
that she had heard plagued the north seem a challenge rather than a
punishment.
She listened to Gara talk about the camouflage
techniques he and his ninja had been practicing in the snow, and
only half heard him. She thought Keitlan was right. She had to do
something to divert her mind, or she would drown. And she could not
-- would not -- let him push her to that.
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