Where is he? He has gone. The First Star observes my haste. One stocking is lost but I am soon away, clutching the basket of foodstuffs he brought. To market the goodwife goes, and home again, quick as she can.
“Did you get barley?” Old Witch, needs the barley to finish her stew. Eyes me like I’m the witch. Is
there some hay in my hair? I give the barley to my boy, who is always waiting for me, so beautiful but so filthy. Is there time to fill the tub before supper?
My boys push and slide over each other in the warm water. I barely notice as their feet assail my shins, their shrieking assails my ears. I sink lower until my long hair is afloat. Meeting my lover feels like floating in
the river. You can close your eyes and when you open them, the shore is further away than you had imagined possible.
“My family!” “Papa.” After a day in the outer fields, my husband is also filthy but he would never climb into the tub with us. Even if there were space enough, he is too modest, and too proud. He will use the water, when we are finished. I return his smile and the door closes again.
Much later, in bed and with a belly full of barley, I turn to my husband. We talk about rain for the crops and food for the dogs, books for the children and linen for his mother. He falls asleep as he strokes my hair. I remain awake for a time.
Why am I here? I am sitting in the soft meadow again, waiting. The first thing I will see is my lover's hair, alight in the afternoon sun. How many times have I observed his stride across this meadow? Gait betrays nobility,
although he denies it. I once saw a portrait, made of my lover when he was but a few years older than my own sons. It hung on the Keep's wall as we sheltered under it, back when the Blight was more than a lingering nightmare of childhood. His likeness is unmistakeable.
I know I am with child again. Does a child of royal blood want better toys?
My son has fallen badly. The Old Witch has not been able to still his crying. I take him in my arms and carry him into the night. I look to the First Star and hold aloft my hands to receive its healing powers. I guide the First Star to the laceration on my son’s leg. He soon quiets and I rest as he throws stones into the river for a time.
Back in the house, the Old Witch rushes to her grandson and marvels at his leg. She eyes me suspiciously and shepherds him away, to find a book before bed. It isn’t magic. It is a secret my father showed me many times
in my clumsy childhood. The healing secret of the First Star is the parent’s gift.
Much later, by the fire, my husband asks after our son’s injury. The Old Witch has said something to him. Over the years, he has decided that I have latent magical ability. It frightens him. When we were young, he said his lovers always seemed afflicted with a curious weakness or disorientation. I pursued him nonetheless and I suffered no such ill effect. He sees magic where there is only love.
The grass is wet beneath me. My lover is kissing my belly. How does he know? His palms caress my skin. He whispers stories of his own mother in my ear; his mother the famous beauty, his mother the hero. He whispers of a boy’s love for his mother. My lover whispers of fathers and boys wresting freedom. I listen as the clouds wheel overhead and day darkens to night.
Even the Old Witch smiles when I break the news but she stops short of touching my belly. My husband and sons, modesty aside, put their hands in my dress, poking and cuddling the royal bump all evening. I feel sick of body and sick of heart. This child should not be with me.
The Old Witch didn’t deserve it. I can smell her burning flesh even here in the meadow, in the fresh morning. She may have asked me to go to the market when I felt too weighed down with child to carry another thing. She may have told me that my son needed my attention when he was fine by himself for a time. She may have looked at me, as she does, when I awoke tired and drawn.
The Old Witch is with healers now. My husband has taken her himself. My sons are with his sister and I am alone. My husband didn’t reproach. He insisted that, upon his return, we travel to the Circle together and ask after my magic. I am tired but there is now no doubt.
Somehow, although we always meet as the sun is falling from the sky, my lover is here in the meadow. And somehow, in the morning light I can see him for what he is. He is what I most desire, nothing more. Or perhaps once something more, a young man, strong and well loved but forever corrupted.
So easily I can overpower my lover with newfound magic and he offers me one wish in exchange for freedom. All I desire now is safe passage to the Tower for my unborn child. What happens next will be in the hands of those more knowledgeable than I. My lover caresses my bump and wishes me well.
And so I walk. How long will this journey take? Each night I search for the First Star but it remains hidden in the night sky. Perhaps someone at the Tower can turn my eyes towards it. By the time my husband finds me I will be able to show him the First Star myself.
Modifié par Firky, 25 octobre 2010 - 02:01 .
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