Hills of Moonlight Chapter 34 : Hearth, a castle in the sky fanfic

Chapter Thirty Four - Hearth

They returned to the cave. The snow had stopped although it lay on the ground, two, three inches deep. The forest was white and silent and mysterious. Night was coming, the short autumn day was ending. They sat by the fire huddled together for warmth. She cooked for them and then they lay down, not apart this time, not her in her sick bed and he curled up in his jacket, but together on the bed of moss and leaves beside the fire. They shared her poncho and blanket and Sheeta lay on her back and sang for him. He lay beside her watching her and listening. He didn't understand the words, he just listened to the sound. She sang him several songs, the ones she knew best and one of them he knew. It was the one she'd sung that first morning when she had bathed in the stream. He knew it was a sad song but the way she sang it there was a happy, hopeful undercurrent there as well.

She sang it again and this time sang the lines alongside in the tongue he knew.

Huhn, ny'muhl la daloeh om-e - I'm here where the daylight begins
La fohr u-la lirhmoth tu puhr sem - The fog on the lamplight slowly thins
Ah u-la ah la whinnoh - Air on the air is the way
Imroh la suerte o-fodh ehroth - The safety of islands fading away

Fluh yau skur - Fly your sky
Myet yau stor - Meet your storm
Yau he-ayerth al om-e tuh - All I want is to be your harbour
La lirhum om-e - The light in me
Hewn gier yau-tal're - Will guide you home
Yau he-ayerth al om-e tuh - All I want is to be your harbour

Brinnoh au-seth, ust for la - Fear is the brightest of signs
Silyeth au la bruwynd yau lus neh'mher - The shape of the boundary you leave behind
e-Shuurn yau-al coertens tau mor - So sing all your questions to sleep
Ensur la urt-thome au herthme duh - The answers are out there in the roaring deep

Yau brwyneh o-goh tau - You've got a journey to make
Uth'uru yau huernen tau caesen - There's your horizon to chase
Uesen gu fuhr aeyond ueh'stunen - So go far beyond where we stand
Na maerteh dunstuch la - No matter the distance
Yau-teh huldhe om-e - I'm holding your hand

When she finished there was silence, the quiet of the night and the gentle rustling of the wood in the flames. He looked at her face, her eyes, her mouth. He wanted to touch but he lacked the courage. He wanted to ask if she wanted to feel his touch but he was afraid. He wanted to do the thing his mind had dwelled on many times when looking at her but he knew this wasn't the time. When that happened, if it happened, he wanted it to be in the perfect place, and at the perfect time. He had no idea where and when that would be. He wanted it to be now, so much he wanted it to be now. But he feared to take that first step.

"That was beautiful. No wonder it took so long for me to make you well. The angels in heaven wanted you. So you would sing with them. Did you write it?"

She giggled.

"Me? No, no. That's a very old song, hundreds of years old. Hm, it's funny, I've always loved it. My grand-mamma taught it to me. It's a song sung by girls when their boys go away. For their year. Their pead-lth-u'or. When they return, they are men. They are allowed to carry a weapon, set up a home," she looked away, "and take a wife."
"Yau he-ayerth al om-e tuh. The words you say in your sleep."
"Yes. I sang that song for two years. It made me so sad to sing it."
"You had a boy?"
"I did, but he was one of the many who go away and never come back. It happens Paetsu, the spirits decide who is weak, who is strong and who is so beautiful they take them for themselves. He was beautiful, and he was taken."

Pazu felt awkward. He didn't know there was another boy.

"It doesn't matter, he's gone. But now when I sing this song, I sing it for someone else. For another boy to come home. You know him."
"Paetsu Fuhmonhir."
"Yes. You. I said the song was old. It was written for Phom, the prince who was disowned and sent away. His lover sang it, which is why it is a sad song. I sang it for two years. The story is that she sang it for twenty, and she sang it the day she died. They say her heart couldn't go on, it was broken. But when girls sing this and their lovers return, it is sometimes sung again at the homecoming, and then it's the happiest song you could imagine. If a girl sings it to her lover at the Furtuen Caemarth – the Feast of Homecoming, it becomes a wedding vow. You know, strange as it might seem, it's your song. It was written for you."

She turned her head and looked at him.

"Paetsu, you did something wonderful with that spell. You didn't only save my life, but as well as that, you showed me who you are. I thought I knew already, there had been other signs, but being able to draw a spell from the stone is proof."
"I've been trying to take it all in. I don't think I have yet. There's so much to learn."
"You will, you're a good student."
"I just seem to have more and more questions. And keep crashing aircraft. And getting you hurt."
"No. Not hurting me. Saving me. Again and again, all the time. I feel like you save me every day. You just look at me and I'm saved. You just speak to me and I feel complete. You just touch me. And I feel like I am newborn. Paetsu?"

He stared at her. Her hair was everywhere, all around her face. Her eyes... she was too close, was too warm, and much too soft. Something in him was stirring, something he wanted and yet didn't want.

"Sheeta."
"Yau ulve om," she was whispering now.
"I'm learning."
"Yes."
"I love you too. Even… yau ulve-dhu om."

She smiled, he was nearly there, nearly understanding now.

"Almost. Very close. Yau al-dhu' ulve om. I love you a lot, or I love you so much. It's how I would say it."
"Lucita, yau al-dhu' ulve om. But I like it when you say it, it sounds like the snow falling."
"No, Paetsu, you are the snow. And I am the soil."

Her voice was soft, the way he loved it, breathy and close and making his heart respond, his body respond. She was so close that when she spoke, no matter how gently, he felt her breath on his chin. When she looked at him her eyes had the fire in them, flickering, dancing. The fire was in her and yet in him. How could that be?

"Paetsu, fall on the soil. Fall on me like the snow of winter."
"Yes."
"Wash me like the rain of spring."
"I want to."
"Burn me like the sun of summer."
"I don't know h…"
"Plant your seed in the autumn, it will lie sleeping with the winter. In the spring with the flowers it will bloom. In the summer will come the harvest."
"I love you…"
"Plant in me. Harvest me."

He felt a touch, her fingers were on his side, below where his shirt covered him. They moved lower, tracing the bone of his hip to the top of his leg. His flesh burned where she touched it, his heart burned with a sudden fear.

"Yau al-dhu' ulve om. Can also mean… I love every part of you. It reads several ways depending who says it, or how it is said."
"What does it mean when you say it?"
"All of them. Especially the last. Especially here, this part. I love this part of you. Where you and I are different."

Her fingers were soft, and warm, and gentle. She took hold of that part of him that made him a boy, where he and she were different. Her touch was like nothing that had ever happened before. This part of him had grown like this many times, in the night by accident, in the morning when he woke. But with her fingers there it felt like what she was holding wasn't just a part of him, but all of him, everything he was, was in her hand. When she held him tighter there and moved her hand against his scalding flesh it was as though her hand was on his heart. His heart was in her hand, beating, pulsing. He became a part of her. Like an instrument that she played. As though it was all of him, all that mattered, and his mind hung from her fingers and would go wherever she led.

She let go of him. She put her hands to the bottom of her shirt and lifted it, pulled her arms over her head and drew the shirt away. She threw it aside and let her arms lie raised over her head.

"Take off your shirt."

Fumbling, clumsy, brushing against her, he did so. She had wanted this for so long now, but had resisted. She had resisted because she wanted to know him better and for him to know her. She had wanted to save this until they got home to her farm, when their journey was over and they could throw off that burden of worry. In her home it would be special, her special welcoming. She would be able to secure the blessing of the elders of her community. Then had come this forest and the bullet that had almost and, but for him, would have killed her. And that had shown her the fragility of things, how easily and unexpectedly tragedy could come and take away everything, could destroy them. And she was fearful. And because of her fears she made up her mind to do this now, she wanted this now, right here in this island entryway that had become a cave, a special place where he and she had a past. Here and now, before they faced more journeying, more chances of tragedy. She was worried about making a child, yes that scared her, especially while they were traveling. But she wanted him more, so much more. Her body burned to have him, to feel that which she had so tantalizingly glimpsed during the last weeks.

She looked at him, the undressed shape of him, she began to feel like she was on a slope, the ground was tilting and she was loosing her footing, sliding down, sliding faster so she couldn't stop herself. She stopped trying to fight gravity, trying to cling on to the slope. She did what she'd been wanting to do for days and days. Her mind had been screaming inside herself to do this for a long time. And she had been holding on, clinging on, holding back. Now she let go.

"Now, kaesu om-e, ulve om-e."

He was shaking with nerves, vibrating with fear, like a motor running. He lowered his face to hers. She watched him as he came to her, her eyes smiling and encouraging. His mouth brushed against her. As soft as always, as warm and as beautiful as she'd been in her bath, she welcomed him. Her mouth opened and he ventured in. She let him enter, lay open for him and sighed as he explored her. She lifted one hand and lay it on the back of his neck. She pulled him to her and her breathy noises awoke in him some urgent thing that needed to move faster, more deeply, more roughly. She moaned against him and her other hand slid down between them again, returning to hold the thing she loved, the part of him that made her weep with longing and anticipation.

With a gasp he ended the kiss.

"Sheeta, I want to, I want to, but… I don't know how."
"Hmm… My beautiful Paetsu, something else. One last thing I want to tell you," she was breathless and drew in a deep breath to calm herself, her hand that lay between them still held him, "He-ayerth, you asked me what he-ayerth means. I wouldn't tell you before. In the song it's 'harbour' because that's a symbol of safety and refuge. He–ayerth like lots of Gondoan words has several meanings. The flying nations didn't have harbours so literally it means hearth or fireplace but it can also be home, a doorway, a safe hiding place. It's also a woman's place, a woman's centre, her hearth. There is a saying that women use to their husbands on their wedding night. Ur he-ayerth mo, literally it means rule my hearth, but the real meaning is know my body, or make love to me."
"Love? As in to love someone?"
"Yes, love is lots of things, an ache when someone is far away. A warm blanket when they are near. A raging fire when they are against you. These are all different. They are all love. Love me. Paetsu, ur he-ayerth mo."
"Show me how."

And she did, although she herself knew little, she knew her own needs, she knew the things her people's songs and poems told. And the things she had learned from the older girls, the young married women, she knew that. She knew what he had to do, the simple act of it. But she knew more, and it was this more that she wanted to show Pazu. Planting the seed was easy, it might only take five minutes, and she knew that. But one of the young married women had told her that love wasn't like farming, it wasn't a thing you did quickly and with the minimum effort. She had described it as a feast, a great meal. There were several courses, each important and each should be taken slowly, enjoyed as a meal in themselves. Sheeta hadn't understood all of this but some basic part of her had connected to it.

In the cave, with the snow and the night and the coming winter outside, she took what she knew and added it to the instincts of her body. She led him with these things. The great feast of love, first the opening course in which there were kisses, softly on the mouth, inside the mouth, on the eyes and the ears and the neck and the hands. And lower, she told him to kiss her lower and when he did, unsure, clumsy but eager and willing to learn, she discovered the wonder of this part of the meal. When his mouth touched her there, where she was soft, when his wet tongue traced lines across the curving shape of her, it made her cry out and lift her spine from the floor. And when, wanting to see what happened, he even nipped her there with his teeth the spasms that bent her body into a sweet painful curve made him draw back in fear lest he had broken her. But her hand returning to the back of his neck and pulling his face back down to her chest told him he hadn't hurt her.

Her words of "again" and "harder" surprised him. He returned his lips and tongue and teeth there, to both of those pretty places and watched and listened in wonder as she writhed and spoke her joy with moans and words in her native tongue he didn't know.

She knew that love wasn't just a thing the man gave to the woman, a thing he did to her. Surprising him and herself she pushed him away, rolled him on his back and wishing there was more room under their covering, she kissed him. His mouth, so deeply she wondered if this could be the pinnacle of it, if the pleasure of kissing like this was all she needed. But she let the slope take her faster and further and she kissed down lower, kissed the muscles under his chin and down his neck, low at the side where his neck joined his shoulder his muscles were hard, the simple strength of his body made her feel weak, he was so lovely. Then again, kissing his broad chest made her feel faint with the beauty of it's hard smooth flesh, and lower still where his flat stomach seemed to be made not for mundane functions to do with food but as a playground for her mouth and fingers. As she knelt astride him she could feel the man part of him against her, against her leg, her own stomach, the softness of her chest.

She wanted to enjoy the second part of this meal and knew how to do this to him. But he had no understanding of what he could do for her. He had discovered kaesu, he had discovered ulve, now she showed him taeh, to touch. Taeh-a'fhell, the touch of fingers as her friend had called it. The woman served the man with her fingers and he served her, it was a shared thing.

It was new to her, here it was just instinct sending her down the slope, tilting the ground steeper so she moved more restlessly, more urgently, everything gathering speed, a reckless rushing thing. Laying on their sides, she could reach him, and by repeated movements where she held him, draw out the sounds of delight from him. But what he had no inkling of was what he could do to her, where he could touch, and what would happen when he touched there. She lifted one leg and held it bent at the knee, her foot on the ground. Open like this she held his hand and guided his fingers there and he felt the heat, her burning centre, her liquid heart. She showed him where to touch, how to explore her, once again she led him and he followed. He learned and as he moved against her she bit her lip and closed her eyes. Yes, a good student. Oh, yes, a very good student. His fingers touched a small part of her and made her shout. She put her mouth to his shoulder and dug her teeth in, to keep from crying out. Afraid, he took his hesitant hand away.

"No Paetsu, please. No stopping, not when I shout. Not even when I scream. If I scream or cry it means I'm hurting. But not now, like this. Here it means yes. It means more. Paetsu, it means carry on. Now, Paetsu, please more. Now."

He was shocked, this wasn't the girl he had come to know, this was someone else, not the angel he loved, more a demon. There was sweat on her lip and rage in her eyes and power in her fingers and an exciting energy in the muscles of her body. Slender and light she might be but as she twisted and turned and groaned and touched him her strength and purpose both frightened him yet drove him on. Was all of this love? Was this what the men in the Red Cow Inn had laughed about? He didn't know why they laughed, this wasn't a thing to laugh at. This was beautiful, frightening yes, but it drew him in with its strong focus, the way she moved and the sounds she made and the way she touched him and the hot feelings she caused in him made him realize how little he knew, and perhaps, and even more surprising, how little the laughing men in the Red Cow knew.

She took his hand and led him back to her. He explored the shape of her, the folds, the depths, the small firm point which made her moan and bite him when he grazed across it with his finger nail. And then she could bear it no more. It was too much, too good, too strong. Now it was time, now she needed more, needed him. Now it would happen.

"Paetsu?"
"Yes?"
"Please don't worry. The other boy."
"What about him?"
"He never knew me. You are the first."

He kissed her.

"Thank you. You are too."

She smiled again, he was so sweet, as if she could not guess.

"I know."

She lay on her back and by gentle words and movements and encouraging hands she showed him. She led him and he followed. She taught him and he learned. She spoke and he listened. She sang and he marveled at her song. He moved over her and puzzled but eager did as she bid. She lifted her legs and made room for him, a wide space in which he lay. It felt strange to him but inside, deep within, a primitive part of him knew. He knew what to do, exactly (his memory reminded him, one of those odd moments when memories come back at the least expected times) as Tanner had said he would, he knew.

They both guided him, she with one hand holding him and leading, he with one, almost holding her hand. He felt a hot place, a place of wondrous warmth and exquisite wetness and smoothness. Curious, he moved in. It seemed a very small space. It squeezed him tightly and he was afraid of hurting her. She thrashed her head from side to side and cried out. It hurt, she hadn't expected it to hurt. Then the pain quickly passing, she felt something else, something so wonderful she gasped in, sucking in breath trying to believe that anything could feel so good.

"I'm sorry. Is this right? Am I there?"
"Yes, oh, yes, Paetsu you are there. Welcome, I welcome you… Paetsu, ur he-ayerth mo."

She twisted her head back, tilting it until her neck, her throat was exposed. She moaned as he kissed her throat. He stayed still a while, kissing her, then the instinct in him that Tanner said would take over, did so and he began to move. Not knowing why he did so, it just felt right. The thing he must do.

The Taeh-a'fhell part of the feast ended and with a moan of pleasure Sheeta welcomed the next part. The most beautiful part. Pazu, knowing nothing, did everything. Completely ignorant, he was perfect. Lacking all skill and knowledge he gave her all she needed. In his blindness, he could see. He moved back and then forward again, and she gasped. He repeated this, it seemed to be something she liked. He withdrew again, and pushed back, a little harder and drew from her mouth a louder cry.

if I cry it means yes, it means more

So he did more, moving again, each time he returned she would make a little noise, a gasp, and if he returned faster she would cry more. If he pushed into her harder he found she moaned even louder. Whatever it was he was doing, it was pleasing her. And if he could please her, he was happy. He held himself above her on his arms, muscles taut and burning and concentrated on only one thing. Pleasing her.

Sheeta was going, leaving. She felt she was drawing away, going on ahead. Always ahead of him, leading him, he following. But now she felt something begin to happen. It was a new thing, a thing she had never before in all her years experienced. She knew nothing about it. The songs and the poems and the married women had never once mentioned this. Specifically this. They had spoken of love but nothing specific. And this was specific. It was centred right inside a certain part of her, a place where she burned and received him and opened and sang. There was a place, a place he touched as he moved. Her whole mind seemed to be right there. Yes, she could feel him moving inside her, by lifting her legs a little and bending them back she could make that feeling so much more. The sensation of him being in her was enough to make her moan and twist her head from side to side. But along with the filling sensation, the sensation of completeness that he caused in her, there was something else, something so hot and hard and desperate and new that her mind began to come adrift and go on ahead. She couldn't grasp how good this was. How good was perfect? How good could something be? What happened when a sensation became like perfection, pure and white and tasting of everything that was beautiful?

Seeing him half naked and chopping wood had made her feel a hot need but this feeling was more, so much more. It was so much she didn't know if she could stand it. It went on and on, more and more, building and building until she could no longer measure it, no longer cope. It happened, for the first time in her life it happened to her. Even with his weight on her, her neck bent back, her scalp pressed onto the ground, her hips too, but between head and hips there was nothing, nothing but her arched back and her risen stomach and her aching singing chest and her thrown back arms. And she was no longer flesh and muscle but made up of colours, she became the rainbow, the bright arch between sun and rain, she became the storm, the lightning and the thunder, she became the flower that blossomed in the forest and the bright moons that sailed together across the dark. She became the sunrise and the sunset, the deep lake at dawn and the roaring of tumbling streams. She became the fog rolling over morning's river and the laughter of children. She became the stars dancing on the carpet of the night. She became the high mountains and the restless sea, she became fields of golden corn and the endless blue of the sky. She became the crying of a new born lamb and the scream of the curlew. She became everything – Lucita, all of life, life beginning and rolling on - and at the same time nothing - a single instant of time, a drop of rain. She became at that final moment just a scream, just a cry, a pure sound that went on and out and into the night.

And in her came Lucita, the earth mother. She came there to the cave. She stood at the entrance on top of the snow, weighing nothing, leaving no trace of her passing and watched, she saw the boy and the girl and smelled living things all around them, even things that had once had life and from where life had now departed. There was the wood of the fire, the plants in the broth, the leaves and mosses under them. A million tiny things in the cool spring water in the bottle, the wool of the blanket, the leather and fleece of their cloak covering. There was the leather string that went around her neck and on it the living stone. Lucita saw three living things in that cave, the sweating boy, the screaming girl and the glowing stone. The stone was not living as the girl and boy were living. It had no beating heart, it did not see or hear or feel or breathe. But it had a spirit, it had a soul and it was alive. And as she stood, dressed in white and beautiful as a maiden, calmly awaiting the boy to bring forth the seed she needed to kiss, she let herself be drawn once again into the pure and beautiful dance that lovers create. She saw the girl ready, the small point of life inside her waiting, ready to receive. And then she saw the boy, felt his mind, cried out with him and the guttural rush of pleasure that for a few seconds made his mind behave as though it were dead, knowing nothing. Unhinged from reason, from the ability to think. She was his cry, she felt the girl open and receive him. Receive her.

Lucita's heart saw all this and saw how beautiful it was. But she also saw it was not yet the time. There was more that she needed these young people to learn. It was not yet their time to create life. That future would come, at the right time for them, when they were ready. Although it was in her power to take the life in his seed, in what the boy had placed inside the girl, and although her body was ready to receive that seed and bear fruit, Lucita saw a greater need, a need for them to spend longer with each other, to learn more, be much more together, be stronger. There was her time of bleeding he had not yet seen. He needed to experience that, to understand more of what the woman in her endured. And, she thought, this boy and this girl deserved other times like these, times of delight and awakening, times of pleasure, times of loving. There should be time for all of that. Lucita wouldn't make the girl barren but she would delay her fruitfulness for a season, perhaps for two so that these young people might enjoy the pleasure of union and learning.

The seed and the egg were not wasted. The energy created in this moment she took, she reached inside them and closed her warm hand about the point of energy and withdrew, she would use that life force to balance, to overcome a darkness elsewhere. Lucita would return, but for now she would leave them and their simple earthy pleasures.

The cave that had briefly contained four lives then the promise of a fifth, a brief fifth inside the girl passed, and there were three life forces left there. One cool and silent and gentle and two others ragged and hot and spent and wet and filled with joy.

He fell onto her, gasping, her back collapsed under his weight and she held him tight, moaning and thanking him, over and over. And now came the last part of the feast. In some ways this was the nicest, this was the time afterwards. The time of resting and holding each other and gently touching and simply being against the warm presence of the other. Whimpering, Sheeta stroked her hands over his back. Pazu, gasping, his lungs burning from the effort, resting his weight on his elbows lest he crush her, ran his fingers through her hair and wiped the wet strands from her face. And each of them felt the other, he felt her heat holding him secure, filling him with a comforting protected sense of never wanting to leave her. She felt him in her, deeply resting, filling her and she felt something else, what he had placed inside her, moving within, seeking to make a new life. But not this month, Lucita had decided she would not bear fruit this month. He moved and withdrew and she felt empty and incomplete. Pazu lay beside her. He touched again with wonder, the soft front of her, wondering how beautiful a thing could exist. He lowered his head and kissed her there. She needed no further touches and pulled his head up and kissed his mouth.

And drawing the covering more tightly about them, pressing close and holding each other, and softly kissing, they let sleep come over them and take them away.

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24 – 28 March 2007

There are so many new Gondoan words here that I'm not going to list them - they all have a translation in the story anyway, but I have added a big update to the dictionary in the forum.

Once again, the song lyrics are not mine but belong to Vienna Teng, I can't do more but repeat that she is a singer-songwriter who has been so inspirational to me these last few months. This song "Harbor" is especially beautiful although I have changed some of the words for the Gondoan version.

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