Part 14 (1/2)

The dark day pa.s.sed in a blur of images: gray clouds sweeping past the window, the lonely sound of a solitary dove, Simon's worried face rising above her as periodically as the moon. Miriamele discovered that she did not much care what happened to her. All the fear and concern that had driven her was leached away by the illness. If she could have chosen to fall asleep for a year, she would have; instead, she bobbed in and out of consciousness like a s.h.i.+pwrecked sailor clinging to a spar. Her dreams were full of white trees and drowned cities with seaweed waving in their streets.

In the hour before dawn of their second day in the barn, Miriamele awakened to find herself clear-headed again, but terribly, terribly weak. She had a sudden fear that she was alone, that her companion had left her behind.

”Simon?” she asked. There was no answer. ”Simon!?” ”Simon!?”

”Humf?”

”Is that you?”

”What? Miriamele? Of course it's me.” She could hear him roll over and crawl toward her. ”Are you worse?”

”Better, I think.” She stretched out a shaking hand until she found his arm, then finger-walked down it until she could clasp his hand. ”But still not very well. Stay with me for a little while.”

”Of course. Are you cold?”

”A bit.”

Simon caught up his cloak and laid it atop her own. She felt so strengthless that the very gesture made her want to cry-indeed, a cold tear formed and trickled down her cheek.

”Thank you.” She sat in silence for a while. Even this short conversation had tired her. The night, which had seemed so large and empty when she woke, now seemed a little less daunting.

”I think I'm ready to go back to sleep now.” Her voice sounded fuzzy even in her own ears.

”Good night, then.”

Miriamele felt herself slipping away. She wondered if Simon had ever had a dream as strange as the one about the white tree and the odd fruits it bore. It seemed unlikely....

When she awoke to the uncertain light of a slate-gray dawn, Simon's cloak was still covering her. He was sleeping nearby, a few wisps of damp hay his only covering.

Miriamele slept a great deal during their second day in the barn, but when she was not sunk in slumber, she felt much healthier, almost her old self. By midday she was able to take some bread and a morsel of cheese. Simon had been out exploring the local countryside; while she ate he told her of his adventures.

”There are so few people! I saw a couple on the road out of Fals.h.i.+re-I didn't let them see me, I promise you-but almost no one else. There's a house down below that's almost falling apart. I think it belongs to the people who own this barn. There are holes in the roof in a few places, but most of the thatching is good. I don't think anyone's living there now. If we need to stay longer, that might be a drier place than this.”

”We'll see,” said Miriamele. ”I may be able to ride tomorrow.”

”Perhaps, but you'll have to be able to move around a bit first. This is the first time you've sat up since the night we left Fals.h.i.+re.” He turned toward her suddenly. ”And I almost got killed!”

”What?” Miriamele had to grab for the waterskin to keep herself from choking on the dry bread. ”What do you mean?” she demanded when she had recovered. ”Was it Fire Dancers?”

”No,” Simon said, his eyes wide, his expression solemn. A moment later he grinned. ”But it was a near thing, even so. I was coming back uphill from the field next to the house. I had been picking some ... some flowers there.”

Miriamele looked at him quizzically. ”Flowers? What did you want with flowers?”

Simon went on as though the question had not been asked. ”Something made a noise and I looked up. Standing there at the top of the rise behind me was a bull.”

”Simon!”

”He didn't look very friendly, either. He was all bony, and his eyes were red, and he had b.l.o.o.d.y scratches along his sides.” Simon dragged his fingers down his ribs, ill.u.s.trating. ”We stood there staring at each other for a moment, then he began to lower his head and make huffing noises. I started walking backward toward where I'd been. He came down the hill after me, making these little dancing steps, but going faster and faster.”

”But Simon! What did you do?”

”Well, running downhill in front of a bull seemed fairly stupid, so I dropped the flowers and climbed the first good-sized tree that I reached. He stopped at the bottom-I got my feet up out of the way just as he got there-then all of a sudden he lowered his head, and ... thump!” thump!” Simon brought his fist into his open palm, ”he smacked up against the trunk. The whole tree shook and it almost knocked me off the branch I was hanging on, until I got my legs wrapped around good and tight. I pulled myself up until I was sitting on the branch, which was a good thing, because this idiot bull began b.u.t.ting his head against the tree, over and over until the skin began to peel off his head and there was blood running down his face.” Simon brought his fist into his open palm, ”he smacked up against the trunk. The whole tree shook and it almost knocked me off the branch I was hanging on, until I got my legs wrapped around good and tight. I pulled myself up until I was sitting on the branch, which was a good thing, because this idiot bull began b.u.t.ting his head against the tree, over and over until the skin began to peel off his head and there was blood running down his face.”

”That's terrible. He must have been mad, poor animal.”

”Poor animal! I like that!” Simon's voice rose in mock-despair. ”He tries to kill your special protector and all you can say about him is 'poor animal.' ”

Miriamele smiled. ”I'm glad he didn't kill you. What happened?”

”Oh, he got tired at last and went away,” Simon said airily. ”Walked on down the dell, so that he wasn't between me and the fence anymore. Still, as I was running up the slope, I kept thinking I heard him coming up behind me.”

”Well, you had a close call.” Unable to help herself, Miriamele yawned; Simon made a face. ”But I'm glad you didn't slay the monster,” she continued, ”even if you are a knight. He can't help being mad.”

”Slay the monster? What, with my bare hands?” Simon laughed, but sounded pleased. ”But maybe killing him would have been the kindest thing to do. He certainly seemed past saving. That's probably why whoever lived there left him behind.”

”Or he may have gone mad because because they left him behind,” Miriamele said slowly. She looked at Simon and saw that he had heard something odd in her voice. ”I'm tired, now. Thank you for the bread.” they left him behind,” Miriamele said slowly. She looked at Simon and saw that he had heard something odd in her voice. ”I'm tired, now. Thank you for the bread.”

”There's one thing more.” He reached into his cloak and produced a small green apple. ”The only one within walking distance.”

Miriamele stared at it suspiciously for a moment, then sniffed it before taking a tentative bite. It was not sweet, but its tartness was very pleasant. She ate half, then handed the rest to Simon.

”It was good,” she said. ”Very good. But I still can't eat much.”

Simon happily crunched up the rest. Miriamele found the hollow she had made for herself in the straw and stretched out. ”I'm going to sleep a little more, Simon.”

He nodded. He was looking at her so carefully, so thoroughly, that Miriamele had to turn away and pull her cloak up over her face. She was not strong enough to support such attention, not just now.

She awakened late in the afternoon. Something was making a strange noise-thump and swish, thump and swish. A little frightened and still very weak, Miriamele lay unmoving and tried to decide whether it might be someone looking for them, or Simon's bull, or something entirely different and possibly worse. At last she nerved herself and crawled silently across the loft, trying not to make any noise as she moved over the thin carpet of straw. When she reached the edge, she peered over.

Simon was on the ground floor of the barn practicing his sword strokes. Despite the coolness of the day, he had taken off his s.h.i.+rt; sweat gleamed on his pale skin. She watched him as he measured a distance before him, then lifted his sword with both hands, holding it perpendicular to the floor before gradually lowering its point. His freckled shoulders tensed. Thump Thump-he took a step forward. Thump, thump Thump, thump-he pivoted to the side, moving around the almost stationary sword as though he held someone else's blade trapped against it. His face was earnest as a child's, and the tip of his tongue protruded pinkly from his mouth as he gripped it between his teeth in solemn concentration. Miriamele suppressed a giggle, but she could not help noticing how his skin slid over his lean muscles, how the fanlike shapes of his shoulder blades and the k.n.o.bs of his backbone pushed against the milky skin. He stopped, the sword again held motionless before him. A drop of sweat slid from his nose and disappeared into his reddish beard. She suddenly wanted very much for him to hold her again, but despite her desire, the thought of it made her stomach clench in pain. There was so much that he did not know.

She pushed herself back from the edge of the loft as quietly as she could, retreating to her hollow in the straw. She tried to fall into sleep once more, but could not. For a long time she lay on her back, staring up at the shadows between the rafters as she listened to the tread of his feet, the hiss of the blade sliding through the air, and the m.u.f.fled percussion of his breath.

Just before sunset Simon went down to look at the house again. He came back and reported that it was indeed empty, although he had seen what looked like fresh bootprints in the mud. But there was no other sign of anyone about, and Simon decided that the tracks most likely belonged to another harmless wanderer like the old drunkard Heanwig, so they gathered up their belongings and moved down. At first Miriamele was so light-headed that she had to lean on Simon to keep from falling, but after a few dozen steps she felt strong enough to walk unaided, although she was careful to keep a good grip on his arm. He went very slowly, showing her where the track was slippery with mud.

The cottage appeared to have been deserted for some time, and there were, as Simon had pointed out, some holes in the thatching, but the barn had been even draftier, and the cottage at least had a fireplace. As Simon carried in some split timbers he had found stacked against the wall outside and struggled to get a fire started, Miriamele huddled in her cloak and looked around at their home for the night.

Whoever had lived here had left few reminders of their residence, so she guessed that the circ.u.mstances which had driven the owners away had not come on suddenly. The only piece of furniture that remained was a stool with a splintered leg squatting off-kilter beside the hearth. A single bowl lay shattered on the stone beside it, every piece still in the spot where it had tumbled to a halt, as if the bowl had fallen only moments before. The hard clay of the floor was covered with rushes which had gone damp and brown. The only signs of recent life in the room were the innumerable cobwebs hanging in the thatches or stretching in the corners, but even these looked threadbare and forlorn, as if it had not been a good season even for spiders.

”There.” Simon stood up. ”That's got it. I'm going to fetch down the horses.”

While he was gone, Miriamele sat before the fire and hunted through the saddlebags for food. For the first time in two days, she was hungry. She wished the house's owners had left their stew pot-the hook hung naked over the growing fire-but since it was gone she would make do with what she had. She pushed a couple of stones into the fire to heat, then rooted out the few remaining carrots and an onion. When the stones were hot enough, she would make some soup.

Miriamele scanned the ceiling critically, then unrolled her bedroll in a spot that looked like it was far enough from the nearest hole to stay dry in case the rains returned. After a moment's thought she unrolled Simon's nearby. She left what she considered to be a safe distance between them, but his bedroll was still closer than she would have preferred had there not been a leaky roof to deal with. When all was arranged, she found her knife in the saddlebag and got to work on the vegetables.

”It's blowing hard now,” Simon said as he came back in. His hair was disarranged, standing out in strange tufts, but his cheeks were red and his smile was wide. ”It will be a good night to be near a fire.”

”I'm glad we moved down here,” she said. ”I feel much better tonight. I think I'll be able to ride tomorrow.”