Chapter Fifty Three – Winter

The black mare walked slowly along the hillside, just below the crest of the ridge. The young rider was a skilled horsewoman and skilled in fieldcraft. She kept her mount below the skyline out of instinct, so that she would not be seen silhouetted on the line of the ridge. It was a hunting thing, ingrained in her by careful years of living among the forests, the fields and the wild animals. The man with her, holding her around the waist was paying no attention to such details or the beautiful scenery. His mind was elsewhere.

Spring was coming, the trees were budding and the last scoops of snow clung stubbornly in the hollows of the woodland and the higher ground, in the dips and crevices where the sun had not yet peeped in this year. In the shadow of rocks and at the bottom of the narrow rills where moorland streams burst glittering from the spring line atop the harder rock and cascaded like happy children down the slopes. But soon she would, the sun she would, as she sailed higher in the sky each day, her warmth would soon melt away more and more of the winter's cold heart. Soon it would be gone. Winter would be over for one more year and Lucita would breathe her warm breath over the land. Flowers would bloom, bushes would burst into bud, calves and lambs would be born. Spring would come. And with it new life.

It was happening now, even as the last snows stayed on it was happening. A bank of snowdrops and daffodil was higher up the slope, the first spring flowers the girl had seen this year. The young man spoke in the girl's ear and she turned the horse aside and stopped. He dismounted and reaching up to his riding companion helped her down. Even though he could ride tolerably well now he had chosen this day to share her mount. And even though she was a far better rider than he, she let him assist her down, for the simple pleasure of feeling his hands on her.

They walked up the slope a few yards and stood looking at the bank of pretty flowers, white as the snow and yellow as the sun. Winter and spring. For a long time they didn't speak. She didn't want to speak, she didn't want to use words and sentences and thoughts. They broke the days up into smaller pieces and seemed to make the time go past more quickly. She wanted each day to last as long as it could, make each last forever if she could. But she knew she couldn't, she knew that time was passing and so she kept silent, holding onto the precious silence, drawing the moment out, drawing the day out. Making their time together last as long as possible.

The man turned and put his face to the south, across the valley he looked at the view. Each day the sun climbed higher in the sky and each day he feared would be the last. He had been hearing rumours of discontent and mutterings. Not in their village, in Bruaendell every single person was both their friend and his supporter. One man had spoken to him in the lane yesterday.

"If it comes to it, we will defend you, all of us. We would fight."

But Pazu had known that would be the worst thing. Fighting was the last thing he wanted. He'd had a bellyful of fighting and killing and needed no more. Worst of all the thought of war here, men dying here revolted him, appalled him. In this perfect place men should be happy, they had everything to be happy for. No, if it came to that he would simply leave.

Sheeta knew this. And it was this that frightened her most. Spring was coming, life was coming, all around them Lucita opened her arms and poured her love onto the land. Except here, for him and for her. There was little life in their pretty farmhouse. He was dying, by slow degrees each day he became more unhappy and morose. And she? She was already dead. The husk of a woman, waking, eating, bathing, sleeping, just being. She had cried and cried and now there were no tears left to come, nothing left. Except this huge bitter angry ache, the ache that filled her whole life and made every day a funeral.

He breathed in deeply.

"It's a beautiful view, a lovely view. One of my favourites."

She wasn't looking at it, but at the grass. She looked up and slowly turned her head to him. Her face was pale and drawn, dark marks under red eyes. When she spoke, there was no emotion in her voice.

"My favourite view… is you."
"It is better that I go."
"How can it be?"
"If I go, two lives end. If I stay, hundreds might. It's not a choice I can even hesitate to make."
"That doesn't mean I have to agree with it."
"The dream, Sheeta, my dream that night. He's using me, Maerth-dhu has a hold of me somehow and is using me to do his work, to take lives. I won't let him do that. I'm going to fight him."
"I've heard this all before Pazu. I know. I don't need to be reminded of your reasons. Just… before you go. Let's not talk about it. It hurts to even think about it."
"Come with me."
"I want to, but my life is here. It's all here, this is where I should be."
"Just pack a horse and come. It's easy. We can go far away. I'll build us a farmhouse and we can live together where no-one knows us. Have cows, plant crops…"
"Stop it! Just stop it! Please! I can't bear it. You know I can't leave, so many things tie me here. My royal status binds me."

There had been a time, months ago, when he had sat in the back of a farm wagon and been surprised that spring followed the harvest. A pleasant buzz, a warm sensation in which she played her part. Her smile, her need to end a silly argument between them, had led to a day in which spring had come before autumn. He recalled that day and smiled. A day so long ago when he had been a boy, someone else, someone innocent. Before he had known her, a time before he'd known anything at all. Now winter was ending and spring was finally here.

But not for them. For them winter would simply go on, for ever. No new life with the spring, no budding flowering joy. For them no summer of warmth and happiness, of sunny carefree days. And for them no harvest. Pazu had sown. Sheeta would reap. She had once given him a springtime where there should have been autumn. He had repaid her kindness, instead of with spring, by giving her an endless winter.

Pazu hated the world and everything in it, even himself. There was only one thing he did not hate, and that was the one thing he could not have. They didn't speak again. She didn't want words and sentences to tear the day to shreds, to tear her heart to shreds.

The Gathering's decision of nine weeks ago had become notorious; the most infamous announcement they had ever made; never before in centuries had this happened. The Decision Bell had rung out nine times in agreement to the proposal posted on the debating chamber doors. There had then been silence for ten minutes before it rang again, this time it tolled thirteen times. The Gathering had agreed that Pazu was a prince and had disagreed that he was royalty. The news swept the land like a blizzard. Despite being barred from royal status there were still those who feared him, who feared Sheeta might recognize him. People, their vision clouded by their own greed and desires, plotted to remove her from his influence. To protect their own interests they would harm those of their own queen.

They rode on across the countryside, through farms and woodland, splashing through streams and over the high ground. They rode in silence, this time of being together and holding each other was all they had. As the day drew down and the sun sank in the west Sheeta turned Immy homewards. She hated this, the coming home, it might end with bad news, of men coming, of disturbances, of perhaps officials at her door demanding she come with them.

They rode down the lane in the early evening dark and rounded the last bend in the river. There were lights on in her farm (Pazu had stopped thinking of it as their farm now, it had become just her farm again) and they could see the yard gate open and people within. Sheeta pulled on the reins and Immy stopped. Was this it? Was this the last day? The day she had dreaded for weeks? Were these people here to argue with them, and perhaps tear them apart?

With an ache of foreboding filling her, Sheeta kicked her heels against the horse's flanks and she went on.

"Usu, Immy, usu. Good girl."

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17 – 18 April 2007

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