this is for Vook, who's been very patient

Chapter Twenty One – Kaesu

Sheeta opened her eyes, she was freezing cold and wet. Their combined body heat had dried them a little but the back of her shirt and especially the riding britches were clammy and icy against her skin. She looked inside herself and found a sensation of exhaustion, bitterness and hopelessness. How long would this go on? Would it ever stop? Would it take their deaths to make it stop? She sat up, it was gloomy inside the barn, evening must be coming. It was noisy too, the rain rattled steadily against the tin roof. The barn might have had slates once, or thatch, but now it was protected only by rusty tin sheeting, almost falling down. She sighed.

"Pazu, we need to get dry, get warm, we'll catch a chill like this."
"Hm."

He hadn't slept, he'd laid, staring at the roof beams, seeing that man's face, the wide eyes, the expression of surprise. So fast, it had happened so fast he'd not had time to think but he knew that if he hadn't fired then the blonde man almost certainly would have: his brains would be splashed up a wall and Sheeta would be their prisoner again. No, there had been no choice. Hating what he'd done, the consolation that it had been the only thing he could have done, brought no comfort.

"We need to make a fire, get out of these wet things."

She got up and looked around the barn. The floor was packed dirt, they could light a fire in here. At the far end of the small crumbling stone building was some machinery, a rusty plough, not used for a long time. It stood in a wooden stall that was dry and rotting. Firewood. She proceeded to pull it apart and break pieces off, piling them on the dirt floor away from the bales of straw.

Pazu sat up, looked around, dazed, his mind still wasn't running correctly. As well as the man's face there had been that feeling, that awful feeling of joy, pleasure even at holding the gun, firing it and seeing his enemy flee. What was the matter with him? To feel that emotion while killing? He looked at his hands. Still a teenager and now a murderer. He closed his eyes and simply wished it all away.

"Pazu. Get up, help me."

He looked for the gun and the six shell cases and put them away, wrapping them tightly in the oilcloth, guilty about keeping them. He sorted through their things and pulled the poncho and blanket out of the pile, spread them out to dry. They had nothing to eat, but he could at least brew tea, he'd been given some more as part of working for their breakfast yesterday morning. Was it yesterday? Just a day ago? That he'd brought the porridge and they sat on the back of the wagon in the inn yard and talked and smiled, without care? It seemed a year ago. He looked down again at the hands that had held the porridge bowl. Killer's hands.

"Pazu! Wake up! Come on!"

He sorted through the knapsack and pulled out their only cooking pan. He went to the barn door and cracked it open. It was getting dark. The hedge and woodland were close by to the left. In front of him across a sloping field were more hedges. In the misty distance was a church spire, a mile or two away. The rain was heavy and steady, a dull roof of cloud lay across the land. Bad flying weather. He wouldn't want to fly in such weather. He doubted there had been many flying operations today. He listened. No guns. Perhaps the big bombardment that had assisted the enemy army in its attack was over. Perhaps the Restormel artillery was moving up now to new positions. Perhaps the war was already over and they had lost. Perhaps he and Sheeta could just go home and live happily ever after. Perhaps this was merely a dream and he'd wake soon, and release the doves and feed them.

"Are you alright?"

She was behind him, gentle hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes.

"Yes. Just thinking about the war. We'll be alright here I think, doubt the farmer will come all the way up here in this weather."

He put the cooking pan outside where a steady trickle of rain from the roof would soon fill it. He closed and barred the door. He dragged the plough into the centre of the floor so they could hang their wet clothes on its long curved handle. He built a fire from Sheeta's gathered wood, laying the rest aside as a fuel store. He broke one of the chemical tablets and green flame consumed the dry wood, a strong blaze built up. The wood was very dry, no smoke, which was good. Picking up the grey blanket and draping it over the plough handle he stripped. It wasn't of the least concern to him, he merely turned his back on her and threw everything off. Whether she watched him or not, he didn't care.

She did watch though, and she did care. She would have loved to see him like this at another time, in another mood, but now wasn't right. As beautiful as he was, he clearly wasn't feeling right, he was acting strange.

He pulled the blanket up around his shoulders holding it with one hand and with the other laid out his wet clothes. He squatted and banged the mud off his boots against the plough blade.

"You need to get your wet clothes off. Do it under the poncho if you want."

She took his advice and within a few minutes she handed him a bundle of damp things which he hung beside his. He noticed that she had taken everything off, even her underskirt or bloomers or whatever they were. A week back he'd have been shocked with embarrassment, now it seemed unimportant, it was just laundry.

She pushed her arms through the arm slots of the poncho and pulled a straw bale closer to the fire. She dug in his bag for the tea and his canteen, filling two mugs with water and putting them on the fire to heat. He came and sat next to her.

"We'll stay here tonight and see what the weather is doing in the morning. I don't want to travel in this muck but those men won't fly in it either. I think we put enough miles between us to be safe. For a while."
"Why are they following us? There is no Laputa now," Sheeta stared into the fire.
"I expect they are trying to find out who killed Muska and why. They may have found his body."
"How do they know about us? Did someone on Goliath survive?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe Muska survived?"
"I hope not."

An ugly thought came to her,

"Pazu, only Tanner knows we are heading north."
"They must have questioned him."
"He must have told them."
"He's not so stupid to hold anything back, he wouldn't let them hurt Morwen."
"Oh, I hope not."
"We can't worry about everybody."
"But it's our fault."
"Sheeta, it's not. It's not our fault. It's theirs, Muska's people."

She made tea and they drank it, holding the hot tin mugs cupped in their hands for warmth. Their shoulders and hips touched and they both found comfort in the shared warmth and contact. She stared into the fire and spoke.

"You had to do it, it wasn't like you had any choice."
"He would have shot me."
"I know Pazu, I know. I saw his face. It had to happen."
"I was thinking of you. I couldn't let them take you again."

She took one hand from her mug and placed it on one of his wrists. He went on,

"Thank you for being there. When you put your hand on my shoulder. I knew what I had to do, you… you really helped."
"I just felt you needed me. I just wanted to tell you I was there."
"I'm not proud of what I did, Sheeta."
"But I'm proud of you."

He looked at her. He opened a hand, the hand that hers was touching, and turned it palm upwards, hers slid from his wrist into his waiting palm.

"Don't feel guilty about what you did, Pazu, there's no need. It was their fault, not yours."
"I killed a man."
"He would have killed you. Stop blaming yourself."

She squeezed his hand. He managed a small smile.

"That's the first time you've smiled since we had the fight in the back of Hamar's wagon."
"That was a long time ago."
"Please don't stop smiling. I know this is horrible, but don't let everything go."
"Hm, your hair's wet. Wait."

He found a corner of the blanket that he didn't need in order to remain covered. He lifted it and began to dry her hair.

"Mm, thank you. Feels nice."
"Have you a brush?"
"In my dress bag."

Pazu got up and went to their bags, he came back, sat down and she brushed her hair. He watched.

"It's a lovely colour."
"Thanks, but it's a mess. It needs cutting and I need to regrow it," she pulled the brush roughly through the tangles, "Urr, and it needs washing. Yuck. You should see it when it's long. If I put my head back a little I can sit on it. It's lovely."
"It's lovely now."
"You're very sweet, but it's not lovely, it's just a mess."

He held out something, a paper bag.

"Anyway, dinner? It's not fish broth or Morwen's cheese but it's all we have."

She dipped her fingers into the bag and picked out a sweet, popping it into her mouth.

"Thank you. Hm, strawberry, my favourite. I love strawberries but the growing season up in Gondoa is never long enough for them to get nice and fat."
"What's strawberry in Oistrakh-Auera?"
"Reustaub. Red berry."(1)
"Nice."
"And," she pulled the sweet from her mouth, "stimmer."

The boiled sweet went back in. Pazu stared at where it had gone. He had seen her spit shining on the sweet's red surface, and a primitive urge in him had wanted to reach for it and put it in his own mouth. So he could taste her spit.

"Huelth," she said solemnly, pointing at the flames.

Pazu was still staring at her mouth, he could hear the boiled sweet being moved around behind her teeth. He took one for himself. Apple.

"And here, holoth," she put her hand on the bale of straw, "holoth, gets used for lots of things: straw, hay, animal feed, bedding."
"I just like hearing you speak it," he said.

She put a hand on the grey wool that covered him.

"Brockur."
"Blanket?"
"Uh-huh. Also bedding, words can be interchangeable."

She reached for his hand and picked it up.

"Het."

Her fingers were cool, slender. He looked at them, there was dirt under her nails and they were badly broken but he still thought they were beautiful fingers. She lifted his hand and separated two of the fingers, held one,

"Fhell."
"Fhell?"
"Hm, finger. And Fhell-dhu, great finger, or thumb."

She lay her hand down in his lap, his hand still lay in hers. With her other hand she reached up. Where the blanket was gathered around his neck there was a gap. She pulled at it a little and his shoulder was exposed. She gently touched the tip of one finger to his skin there.

"Tuothir."

He noticed her voice, softer, more breathy.

"Shoulder?"
"Hm."

Two other finger tips joined the first and she lay the pads of the fingers to his skin, moved them in a circular motion.

"Cuothulu yau tuothir om-e."

The sound brought a mysterious gentle image into his head: fog against a window pane. Something outside in the fog wanting to come in.

"I caress your shoulder."

She looked into his eyes. He felt like he was falling, like he would go in and never return. There was a little spangle of light dancing there from the flickering flames and her hair, tangled and damaged and dirty though it was, poured around her face like the sunrise. He couldn't say anything, he couldn't do anything, he couldn't move. He didn't want to move. He wanted this vision to go on forever. Her fingers left his shoulder and reached up. One of them, feather light, touched the top of his ear and traced the curve down until it pressed onto the piece of firm skin under it that joined the ear to his neck.

"Uhr."

He swallowed.

"Ear."
"Mm."

Sheeta moved her hand again, the finger tracing slowly down from ear to chin. She pressed two fingers to his chin feeling the bone of his jaw beneath the flesh. When she spoke it was a whisper.

"Kirin."

He didn't translate. He didn't want to, he just wanted to hear her voice and feel her touch. In his lap he closed his hand over the one of hers that still lay there. Now she moved her fingers back up his jaw and over his cheek. She let them run through his hair, she played in it gently and loosed some of the tangles.

"Haleth."

Pazu wondered what the word for heart was. He could feel his bumping inside him. His heart, her fingers and her eyes were all that remained of the world. Now she moved again, her light touch left his hair and came down over his forehead, pressing the skin. With the very slowest of movements she put her fingers in front of his eye and moved in. He closed his eyes. There came the lightest and coolest of touches to his closed eyelid.

"Ayr."

The touch moved to the bridge of his nose and traced the curve down to the tip. One finger gently tapped it a couple of times.

"Nush."

He grinned and opened his eyes.

"Nush?"
"Yes. Pretty word, isn't it? You have a very pretty nush."

She giggled and the sound made his spirit soar. He heard the last small piece of the boiled sweet chuckle against her teeth, inside her mouth. He wanted to be that sweet. Her finger left the tip of his nose and came lower, scooping the hollow above his top lip. He kept still, rigid even, except for his heart, and his breath which drew in and flowed out like a river in warm, restless, flood. Her finger touched his lips. Her touch was so light now that if he closed his eyes it would be like imagination, like memory.

"Mohre."

She had moved her face very close, and held her head a little on one side, tilted as though asking a question. He still hadn't moved. Her brown red hair was exactly like the firelight, alive, glowing. Like warm air, he wanted to put his mouth in it and breathe in deeply.

"Lips?"
"No. Mouth."

Her cool finger ran along his lips and back again. Slightly insistent it pushed between them.

"Leh."

It pushed in. In surprise Pazu opened his mouth a little. The pad of her finger ran along the top ridge of his lower teeth.

"Teki."

He smiled again at the sound.

"Teki."

Another cute word. As he spoke it he bit slightly on her finger and his pronunciation made his tongue come forward. It touched her finger. Instead of withdrawing, as he thought it might, the finger pressed in, passed his teeth and found his tongue. She patted the top of it several times as though it were a puppy's head.

"Loomb."

She sat, half turned towards him, her face just a hand's breadth away. She could feel him, his tense body, taut like a mandolin string. Her finger in his mouth. Her heart too was aching, surging, crashing inside her

if it doesn't happen now, it never will

She withdrew her finger. The end was wet. She brought it up to her own mouth. His eyes widened, his mouth was still open. She was… she was going to… his eyes stared at the finger tip. The thudding of his heart in his chest seemed louder than the rain. She looked into his eyes as she put her finger tip up to her own mouth, flickered out her tongue and licked off what was on it. She smiled at him.

"Ethu."
"Lick."
"Yes."
"Sheeta…"
"Shush. No more talking. One last word."
"What?"
"Kaesu."
"Kaesu?"
"Mm."
"What is that?"
"I'll show you."

She was so close when she spoke these last words that he could feel her breath. Her free hand fluttered down and lay on the straw, limp. Her other remained held by his, in his lap. She came closer.

She moved so that her lips flickered against him, the lightest, the sweetest of touches, lighter even than her finger. Her breath mingled with his, she smelled the scent of apples. There she hesitated a moment, just savouring his closeness. Then she closed that last tiny space and pressed herself to him. He closed his eyes. He felt warmth and he felt how amazingly soft she was, softer than he could have imagined. It wasn't like being touched by a person at all, but by a spirit, by the fragrance of a flower. He breathed in and her smell filled his mind. And strawberries. There was the scent of strawberries mingled with her smell, reustaub, he thought, reustaub stimmer. He lifted one hand and it found the poncho which he pushed against and came to rest on her side, low down.

She drew back, and they both opened their eyes.

"Kaesu."

For a minute nothing at all happened except two minds, two hearts looked into each other. He noticed she had a faint smile on her lips. Strawberry lips. He whispered.

"How do I say – 'I like that'?"
"Ul tu om."
"Lucita, ul tu om."
"Paetsu, kaesu om-e, kaesu om-e."

Pazu moved his head forward, his eyes questioning – is this right? She sat, waiting for him. He came close and at the last moment saw an odd expression on her face, a mild unease. Then his forehead bumped hers and she bounced off him. She giggled, and so did he.

"Sorry."
"Tsuru."

She tilted her head back and laughed. He chuckled.

"Try again."

He came again, nudging closer, not very sure. When he was almost touching her he tilted his head back a little, it felt awkward, his neck was in all the wrong shape. He closed the tiny gap and their noses bumped, squashed. Her eyes widened and she sat, her shoulders shaking in silent laughter. He looked at her, ashamed and foolish for a moment, then he too burst into laughter and dropped his head down into her lap, his laughing grew louder. She put her head back and howled.

"Paetsu taeg-dhu! You great clumsy lump!"

He sat up, indignant.

"Alright, you do it then, clever pants!"

She put out a finger and pressed it to his lips – shhh. She came to him, slowly but with purpose. When she was very close, almost touching he laughed again, making her laugh.

"Pazu!"
"Can't help it! It's funny!"
"Shush! How can a girl concentrate?"
"Alright. I'll stop. Promise."
"Promise?"
"Mm."

He sniggered, then cleared his throat.

"Alright, right. Ready now. Honest."

She sat a moment, inches away. She raised one eyebrow and said,

"Like this."

and tilted her head to one side.

that's how you do it. so your noses don't bump.

Again he felt her mouth, how soft and warm she was. For a moment there was no movement, just sweet pressure, just her, so very close. All thoughts of laughter died away.

why is this so nice? why do I feel this way? it's just two parts of our faces touching.

Then something was happening, her mouth wasn't just still and warm and soft and against him but it was moving, changing shape, pressing more. Her lips parted and in doing so parted his. He felt something so strange, so odd that he nearly pulled back. At first his mind didn't know what it was, a stupid - taeg - part of him thought it was the boiled sweet in her mouth, but it moved, and it had something, some urgency about it, it came into his mouth, gently pushing his lips further apart and found his tongue. Then he knew, this wasn't like any other kiss he'd experienced. His father had kissed him on his cheek or his forehead, his mother had too, and rarely on his lips also, but never like this. Her tongue, this was her tongue. He wasn't sure what to make of it. He couldn't decide if it was nice or not, but he let his jaw open a little more just to see what she would do. The warm strawberry tasting thing inside him ran along his own tongue. Moisture. He had looked at the boiled sweet and wondered what her moisture would taste like. Now he knew.

His breath poured in and out through his nose, the smell of her was making strange things happen. Very odd things. Things elsewhere in his body that alarmed him, frightened him. Something powerful began to happen that he had only ever experienced in the dark of the night, alone in his bed, or even more strangely first thing in the morning some days when he woke. Something fired off in his head, a thing like a warning, an alarm. An instinct that told him that this was what should only be done by married people, and that babies happened this way. It made him suddenly pull back.

He opened his eyes. Her face was there, her eyes open. He felt embarrassed, awkward, rude. But when he looked at her, he felt calmer. She merely sat, an open look on her face, a slight smile, even a question.

"Sheeta…"
"Mm?"
"Is this…?"
"Kaesu."
"What is kaesu?"
"A kiss. Just a kiss."
"Oh."
"Didn't you like it?"
"Uh. I don't know. I felt…"
"How did you feel?"

Her eyes sparkled at him, he felt like she was teasing, as though she knew, knew how he felt and was playing games. He felt as though she should be holding him, to stop him moving away. But she didn't, her hands lay relaxed beside her. The one holding his didn't hold tight, it just lay there. It was like… like she knew she didn't have to hold him here, she knew he wouldn't want to pull away. And that, more than anything else, calmed him.

"Um. Something…"
"Well, that's good. It's good that you felt something," her smile broadened, her face lit up, "it means you're not dead."

Now he smiled. How could he not? With her face looking like that, so close?

"You made me feel…," this was impossible, "like I shouldn't feel."
"I don't think we are getting very far, are we? Did you like it or not? Say not if you want, I won't be offended. Really."

How could he refuse a girl who said things like this? How could she be like this? She was his age, he envied her, she seemed to have learned so much more than him.

"Your tongue. That felt – funny."
"You didn't like it?"
"No… but. I didn't expect it."

She smiled again, so prettily, she sat back and sipped her tea. It was as if this wasn't important to her. But to him, the whole world was made of right now, as if, what he said or did now would cause a corner in their lives. They would either turn the corner and go down another street, or they would carry on, and he'd look back at the missed turning, and an opportunity would pass. He thought they might come to this corner again but next time it would be different and the simple fact that they had not taken it this first time would change the flavour of it when they went down it the next time. That was all his mind could tell him.

He wanted to turn the corner. He felt she wanted to lead him down that side street. But he was afraid, nervous.

"Would you like to do it again?"

She was at the corner, beckoning him to turn it with her. She held out her hand to him, encouraging him to walk with her. He saw all this, his heart felt it, but something in his ignorant upbringing made him want to stay.

"Will we…?"
"What Pazu? Ask me."
"Is this how babies are made?"

my god I asked her. ground open and swallow me. please.

His face went red.

The thing that stuck with him most about her answer, that stayed with him the longest, was that she didn't laugh. She merely smiled, that same gentle, open half questioning smile. Her eyes didn't tease, her voice didn't mock.

"No, Pazu, babies are not made by kaesu. A lot more needs to happen for that. Tonight, no babies. I promise. Tonight, just kaesu, if you want to."
"What's round this corner?"
"What?"
"I'm sorry. It's like I'm standing at a corner. And you are too. It feels, like a choice, I can walk round this corner with you down a new road, or we can go straight on."

She looked serious now.

"Which would you like to do?"
"Take my hand."

She lifted her free hand and placed it on his, the one that rested on her side. She lifted it and held it, stroking the back with her thumb.

"Like this?"
"Yes. Lead me. Sheeta, lead me round the corner."
"Paetsu kaesu om-e"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

14 - 15 March 200

(1)Lots of Gondoan words in this one, most of which I translate as we go. But I list them here anyway and have added the new ones to the dictionary in the forum.

Ayr : eye
Brockur : blanket, bedding
Cuothulu : caress, stroke
Ethu : lick
Fhell : finger
Fhell-dhu : great finger, or thumb
Haleth : hair
Het : hand
Holoth : straw, hay, animal feed, bedding
Huelth : fire
Kaesu : kiss
Kaesu om-e : kiss me
Kirin : chin
Leh : lips
Loomb : tongue
Mohre : mouth
Nush : nose
Reu : red
Reustaub : strawberry
Staub : berry
Stimmer : sweet (confectionery)
Tuothir : shoulder
Teki : teeth
Tsuru : sorry
Tsuru-dhu : very sorry (or a more formal expression)
Uhr : ear
Ul tu om : I like that
Ul tu-dhu om : I like that a lot

For author notes about Chapter Twenty One, please see my forum (click on my pen name)