Dayn armallah

11. Uncertainty

Somehow the summer breezed past, and before I fully realized it was just about gone once more. The whole village had been working hard and the fruits of our efforts were piling up. Storerooms were filling with food, firewood, clothes and animal feed, with any and all provisions we could think of, carefully preserved for the coming months.

For some reason the atmosphere was easier now, the people seemed more cheerful in their expectation of the winter, and not even the fact that the first frosty nights came rather early managed to flatten their spirits. Rather on the contrary: when we crawled out of our cabins and saw the white tips of grass stalks and the crisp ice on water puddles on the ground, I could hear more than one cry of delight. Children laughed aloud as they set about breaking the ice with sticks and stones, and the women dug up every basket, bowl and other vessel that could be taken along to the forest where all the berries had only been waiting for the first bite of frost to be ready for picking. Even the animals seemed to perk up, though probably not for equally pleasant reasons: the still, chill air no doubt brought to them memories of darkness, cold, and the sounds of predators all too close to the village for comfort.

And thus, on the warmer days that followed, little groups of women and children could be seen heading into the forest, accompanied by an armed man just in case the wolves weren't scared away by their loud chattering and shrill laughter. They would return hours later, sometimes only when the night had already begun to fall, baskets full of red and blue and yellow, the same colors staining their hands and the faces of smaller kids who had shoved their findings straight into their mouth.

On those days I could have sworn that I occasionally saw a hint of envy in the eyes of the priestesses, the only people in the village who still stubbornly isolated themselves from everyone else. They stuck to their accustomed ways, spinning and weaving cloth that was delicate and thin and hardly any use for anybody for a good while to come, performing the rituals, contributing in no way to the welfare of the people around them.

However, it was no more a mystery to me how they survived in the first place. Ever since the question had first occurred to me, I had been wondering at it in vain, sometimes almost desperate enough to believe in miracles. That the Goddess somehow provided for them, giving them what they needed when they just prayed for it. Then, one day I had seen one of the young women of the village take them food. A few days later I had spotted the same girl again, carrying water to the cabin. That was when it had dawned upon me: I had always considered her particularly hard-working, but in fact she had been toiling like a slave these past years.

One of the men later told me that it had been her wish to become a priestess herself, but that dream had come to naught when the City had fallen. Now she pursued her dream in the only way she could: by taking care of the more earthly and basic needs of the surviving priestesses, of things they considered themselves too holy to perform. It was noble and heroic, and so completely stupid that tears stung in my eyes. Couldn't she understand that she was only helping to delay the inevitable blow, and that it would just fall the harder when it finally came?

Of course all that was not for me to decide. All I needed to do was to concentrate on my own task, that of looking after my master – or rather, both of them. Golden Deer was by now a fixed part of the household, and as inseparable from the prince as I had been some time before. At times a feeling unpleasantly like jealousy stung me, but I always pushed it aside. Wasn't this much better? They were the hunters. I was spared the endless walking and stalking in the forest, and I did a valuable job keeping them both in top shape. Of course it was better this way, and of course I wasn't petty enough to feel anything as base as envy. Whom would I be envying, anyway, and for what?

About a week of warm days after the first chilly night, we could feel that a different coldness was once more creeping upon us. It was only afternoon, but it felt so good to crouch next to the fire and reach my hands over it as I stirred the cauldron where our supper was cooking. It was warm here... and soon it would be time to start heating the cabins, too, for the night. Suddenly I noticed a tall shadow appear next to me.

"Tarisha." It was the prince. "Tonight, you'll go sleep with my father."

"The King?" I stammered, nearly dropping the scoop from my hand. "But... doesn't Alaish then sleep with him?"

"Alaish is a restless sleeper." The prince smiled. "I guess he's too lively to be long in one place, even when asleep, and so hot-blooded that he could probably sleep naked in the snow. No, Father needs someone who'll keep him warm, not somebody who kicks and tosses and turns and scatters the blankets around."

It was only reasonable. The old King had recently begun to feel his years more and more, and would certainly be cold sleeping alone on a night like this. I also knew that it was completely futile to expect any one of the priestesses to do something so useful – they just wouldn't overcome their absurd sense of propriety. Nevertheless I had a strange, sinking feeling in my gut when I realized that I'd be leaving the prince alone with Golden Deer.

Though, sensibly thinking, what in the name of the Holy Mother was I afraid of? Surely Golden Deer was well enough capable of looking after himself? And surely Merilion would not, after all this time, suddenly knife his best friend in the middle of the night? My stupid brain just wasn't making any sense! Why didn't I feel the least apprehensive in the morning, watching them leave the village in full hunting gear and armed to the teeth? Why didn't I feel any fear when helping them with the last preparations: tying the leggings tighter, securing cloaks on their shoulders so they wouldn't cause trouble at the most inopportune moment, checking that the big knives were properly cleaned and sheathed, bowstrings in prime condition, quivers full?

But then, in the mornings Merilion was all business, his words crisp and to the point, his gaze eager and alert when he looked at Golden Deer and they exchanged a toothy grin. They would stalk out together, comrades in arms, completely ignoring the fact that their ability to communicate with each other verbally was still somewhat scanty. They understood each other perfectly anyway when needed. Somehow I wasn't even afraid of conflicts arising in the thoroughly possible case they chanced to see other Foresters, and yet I kept feeling queasy while they were in the village. How illogical was that?

I clenched my teeth together and returned to stirring the pot, deciding that I obviously wasn't too well equipped for thinking overmuch.

Night began to fall and cast deepening shadows on the low houses. The village around us quieted, and I sat on the log bench next to the cooking fire and watched as the prince and Golden Deer ate their supper in companionable silence. A smile was tickling my lips as I remembered my earlier thoughts. Such foolishness, such crazy ideas... I collected the used crockery and gave them a quick rinse with the remaining warm water, then stepped to the cabin and shoved them on their little shelf under the eaves. When I turned around once more, my blood froze.

Golden Deer had knelt next to the fire and was poking at it with a stick, pushing the still burning wood into a smaller heap in the middle so that it could be covered with ashes. His attention was focused on the fire that cast a warm glow all over him, turning him entirely into bronze. The heat of the fire had to be the only reason why he didn't seem to feel the gaping holes that a pair of smoldering eyes was burning into his back. I swallowed thickly and cleared my throat, hoping that my voice wouldn't sound too feeble.

"I'll be going now, my Lord. Goodnight."

The prince slowly turned to look at me and nodded. "Goodnight, Tarisha. Take good care of my father."

Golden Deer looked up, astonished. "You – will not sleep here?"

"No, I'll go sleep with the King."

"Ah." He nodded approvingly. "Good. Old man, cold night."

"Yes," I replied and smiled to him. He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.

"King no sleep with woman? Many woman – women – are here, more warm if sleep together?"

"They – " I began and then stopped, struggling with words. "It's difficult to explain, Golden Deer. He's a holy man. The women – uh – they feel they are not good enough to sleep with him."

He frowned and shook his head. "I do not understand. No matter." A shrug, then a grin. "One day I understand everything."

I couldn't help laughing at that, his combined threat and promise. "I know you will, Golden Deer. I know you will!"

I was determined not to look back, but could not help taking a quick peek over my shoulder as I knocked and entered the old King's cottage. The prince and Golden Deer were sitting side by side next to the fire, drinking something, the very picture of restful peace. How deep did that peace reach? What was underneath it?

The old king was grateful enough for my presence, and to my own surprise I actually slept well, despite the fear gnawing at my bones. Even though my dreams were restless, I had apparently stayed sufficiently still to let the king sleep – at least he didn't complain, even when I cautiously asked him. He would be joining the priestesses for breakfast, and thus I was free to go.

I quickly donned my clothes and slipped out of the door. The air outside was chilly and moist, and I walked swiftly through the little clouds of my own breath towards the prince's hut. It was silent, no sound whatsoever, but I swallowed the insane urge to look inside and instead chose to start the fire and fetch water. I always was the first up, anyway, so there was no reason to expect that the prince or Golden Deer would show up yet. They were sleeping, so there was a perfectly good reason for the cabin being quiet, and thus no need for me to start acting stupid.

This was the mantra that I repeated to myself while I carried some water from the brook, rekindled the fire, put a pot over it to boil, dug up the leaves and grains to make tea and porridge. I kept repeating it while I tried not to glance nervously at the closed door every few blinks.

When the door opened – finally, it seemed to me – and Golden Deer stepped out stretching himself to his full height, I let out a deep breath. He smiled to me and walked closer, combing his braided hair loose with both hands, and yawned.

"Good morning, Tarisha. So early you are always."

"You don't sleep very late either, and I want to have breakfast ready." Relief washed over me like a wave, and again when the blond head of the prince appeared as well. "And water too. Do you want to wash with warm water, my lord?"

The prince shook his head, tied his hair loosely with a leather string and turned away. "No, I'll go to the brook. You, Golden Deer?"

I saw the gooseflesh on his arms and belly, bare under the loose shirt he had thrown on his shoulders, and shuddered in sympathy. The Forester grinned and jumped on his feet.

"What, you think I am afraid of cold water?"

An arrogant toss of the head was his only reply, and side by side they disappeared behind the cabin.

I relaxed on the log bench. All right, I was a fool. They had both survived a night by themselves within the same walls, and were hardly going to try and drown each other in the chilly water now! I resolutely told myself that I deserved to be kicked, all the way from here to the ruins of the city, for being such a paranoid moron.