In a small, dark room near the base of one of Babel's sweeping towers, an old Eeee woman sits on a three-legged stool, sewing half by feel, half by sound, clicking her tongue and listening with large, pivoted ears for the reflection of the sound to tell her where the needle is in her work.
Her eyesight has long since been rendered nearly useless by the constant fine work; even were it not, at this close to midnight, no illumination reaches her tiny apartment. The luxury of candles is quite beyond her means, and the glow of the fire in the stove scarcely lights anything beyond itself.
Her stitches are neat, trim and even despite her handicap the product of a lifetime of practice. As she works her mind wanders to thoughts of her younger days, when her four children were growing up, when she had a husband to keep her company. Oh, he was often gone, and the children were unruly and tried her patience every day … but how she misses them now.
Her little darling Jolie, who died of fever at age four, but until the day she passed away always seemed so happy. You should have lived, Jolie. I think you would have had a good life. But perhaps Inala asked Gorphat to intervene, that She might take you to Her bosom before you ever knew true sorrow, my poor wee angel, she thinks, a tear glistening in her eye. Maybe oblivion is kinder than life.
Her firstborn son, Joshua, found beaten to death a few weeks before his fifteenth name-day. No one could ever prove who did it, but in her heart the old Eeee knew it was the shiftless, cruel, drunken carpenter to whom her husband had apprenticed him.
How we fought over that! How I raged! If only Blakat had strengthened me, if only I had prevailed, if only you had not gone to him, my son, if only, if only, if only. Rephath guided me to avenge you, my child … For a moment her mouth curves into a smile. … and the carpenter died later, after a fall in an alcohol-laced stupor … but Rephath is a cold mistress, my son, and I would rather have you back.
Then Taniazadze, taken too young by the Yodhbarada, to become one of their own. How are you now, my precious Tania? she wonders, stitching patiently at her work. Are you spy, priestess, or thief? I hope you are well, whatever you do, my daughter of mysteries, and all your life kept secret from me. She sets her work into her lap, brushing at her useless, watering eyes with her hands, then resumes.
And Karo. Oh, Karo. No one took you from me, my baby. No Goddess or priestess or man. No one else's hand pushed you away … only mine, mine alone. Tears trickle unheeded now down her nose, spattering onto the fabric she blindly stitches. If only I could take back all the hurtful things! I remember the little stuffed rakhtor you loved when you were seven, and I burned it in my anger when I learned you broke my mother's vase.
I remember how hard I pushed you, to be strong, to stand up foryourself, to learn quickly and do as you are told, never show weakness… I asked so much of you, my Karo. I was so proud of you when you entered the military – and then you got a commission! Oh, my baby boy, my little officer. I wish I could do it again. I wish I could explain to you, that when I was cruel and harsh, it is only because I wanted better for you than I or your father ever had. With a sleeve, she wipes her eyes again, then shakes out her cloth before resuming her sewing.
I should not have been so harsh with your young wife, Karo. I wanted better for you than her … but she was your choice. I wish… I just wish … I could explain to you. How sorry I am. My Karo.
Lieutenant Karo bar Joshua stands at the railing to the balcony, the cool night air ruffling his fur, with one arm around his wife. She gazes out across the city, but his eyes keep drifting to their infant daughter, held in her arms. "It's almost a new century," she whispers, reverently, and he nuzzles the top of her head. "Do you think it will be a good one?"
"Better than the last," he answers, then smiles. "With you at my side, I am sure it will be perfect, my love."
She turns to him, answering his smile, and leans her head against his shoulder. "No regrets?"
Karo doesn't answer for a little bit, then says, softly, "Maybe a few."
"She still hasn't seen your daughter," his wife whispers, cradling the infant to her breast. "Maybe that would make a difference to her."
"It's not you, Leyla. Mother was always like that. Even a baby couldn't soften her heart," Karo replies, smiling at his daughter, chucking her under the chin.
"You don't believe that. She loved your little sister Jolie. Isn't that why you picked the name for our baby?"
"Jolie was always happy. I want that for our daughter, too," her husband says, smoothing the batling's headfur down, while the child opens her tiny mouth to squeak.
"It's almost a new century," Leyla repeats, looking out across the city. "New beginnings. For everything."
"You think I should go see her."
His wife turns back to watch Karo, and nods soberly. "Let her meet her granddaughter. What harm can it do?"
Another pause, then he nods, and holds out his hands for the baby,snapping his wings out to his sides.
"You want to go now?" Leyla squeaks, surprised.
"Why wait another century?" he replies with a smile.
The fireworks heralding the new year flare outside her door, with the glow so bright that even the old Eeee's failing eyes can see it, but she does not turn to the window to watch, instead continuing to work the needle and thread across fabric with her gnarled hands. When the shadow of a figure drops onto the small stoop at her doorway, she does not even notice, and for a moment Karo simply stands there, gazing through the window at his mother, his infant child secure in his arms.
As he shifts the child to one hand and lifts the other to knock, ithappens. Weight vanishes, along with sight and sound. He tries to curl protectively around the tiny form of his daughter, while a bitter wind rushes outwards from all directions at once, so forceful it rips the membranes of his wings. He opens his mouth to scream, but no sound emerges.
Minutes later, the world is still once again, and the lifeless body of the lieutenant floats not far from the splintered door. Inside, the old woman's corpse hunches, her head thrown back, tears frozen into crystals on her cheeks. Her clenched fingers still cling to the project she worked on, and in the reflected glow of the Procession, the intricate patterns of a baby's quilt, almost finished, are visible.
Lochinvar wakes up with a start, breathing hard. After a moment he looks around, seeing that he's in his room still, and everything is in its place. He runs his fingers through his head-hair and sighs, feeling drained from the dreams that continue to plague him.
There's a pounding on the door. "Lochy! Lochy? You all right in there?"
"Yes, yes," replies the Ranger. "I'm … fine. Give me a few moments to get ready, okay?"
"All right," Charaz's voice replies, quieter and reluctant.
Picking himself up off the bed, Lochinvar grabs his breeches and pulls them on, then walks over to the dresser, splashing his face with water from the bowl there, pausing to look in the mirror, trying not to look tired.
Try as he might, he looks dead-drokar tired. Though he's been getting sleep, his dreams have robbed him of a proper night's rest, leaving him looking haggard despite his best attempts.
"Breakfast is almost ready!" Charaz calls from behind the door.
Sighing again, Lochinvar splashes some more water on his face, dabbing at it slightly afterwards with a towel, then heads for the door and breakfast. "Coming," he calls on his way.
A short while later, Lochinvar is at the table with his parents … and several well-wishing members of the village. Everyone seems inclined to get a word in, as everyone in town knows Lochinvar is headed off, back to the Temple, back to the big city, back to being a hero and all that. Ariecha and Dalton make appearances, but they hardly get in more than just a smile and a nod, and a few polite words, what with all the competition for his attention.
Most of the people just sort of file in and go, but there were already enough gathered in the house that it's a wonder that nobody woke up Lochinvar sooner … and nobody mentions whether they heard him scream before waking up. That wouldn't be polite. But he can see it in their eyes. It's probably something mentioned when he's not around.
"Would you like another bowl of phatash?" Lochinvar's mother asks. She offers him a bowl of the traditional Babelite delicacy of squirming bu – No … no, that's not it. Lochinvar snaps out of it, and sees that it's a bowl of creamed grain. He must not be fully awake yet.
"I, uh… " Lochinvar starts, then rubs his eyes a little. "Oh yes, please. Thank you." He takes the offered bowl.
Lochinvar's parents beam at him proudly. "You do us proud, son," his father, Arques, declares. "You be sure and keep on writing when you get back, all right? We'll make certain to make up for lost time."
The winged coyote looks up from his bowl, managing a smile. Swallowing first, he replies with a slight grin, "Thanks, and of course I will keep writing. Remember I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for my returned mail."
Lochinvar's mother gives him a concerned look. "And … be certain and tell us how you're doing." Her eyes have the look that suggest that she's hinting at a specific problem that she's not mentioning in polite company, for Lochinvar's benefit.
Lochinvar continues working on his bowl. "Definitely, mother," he answers, not looking up and trying to avoid that subject.
Once that has passed, Lochinvar has to deal with well-meaning villagers vying for his time, even when he's got a mouth full of glop (tasty glop, one should note) to swallow. There may still be some hard feelings amongst some of the villagers about Lochinvar's compromise regarding Jishyo, and some discomfort in general, but they still show their appreciation for his part in this. The town has its heroes. One of them happens to be heading away today.
Another happens to be at the front door. She peers in again. "Lochinvar," she says, "I'd like a chance to get in a word edgewise before you leave." She gives him a quiet smile, then heads outside.
The Ranger smiles, makes his excuses briefly, and walks outside to find Ariecha.
It doesn't take long to find her. Though it's snowy outside now, as Lochinvar's stay has kept him here into winter, she perches on a bluff overlooking the frozen stream – partially frozen, anyway, as gaps in the ice allow one to peek at the water rushing by. Her natural coloration would make her blend in well with the snow, but she is bundled in furs of deep brown and golden hues. She breathes out, then watches the cloud of vapor trail off in the faintest of breezes. She watches the little puff dissipate, then looks to Lochinvar, and smiles. "Hello."
Stepping towards her carefully in the snow, which seems barely trodden on, the Vartan/Hekoye smiles at her again. "Ariecha… Hello," he offers back.
"Hello," Ariecha repeats in a near-whisper, smiling wistfully. "All the time you've been here, and we've hardly said more than that. We've talked about the weather, about how we'll get the right nails to repair the house of Breentan and his nestlings … but we somehow have never talked since you've come back. And now you're leaving."
Sighing, Lochinvar sits down next to the white Vartan. "I'm sorry," he says. "I have so much to say to you, but yes, with me leaving, I don't know how I can… "
Ariecha quirks the edges of her beak into a grin. "There's no sense in wasting the time. And just so we can get past the formalities … Yes, lovely weather we're having. I'm fine, thank you kindly. And this old thing? I've had it for ages."
Lochinvar chuckles slightly. "But it's the first time I've seen you wear it," he replies.
The white Vartan's beak quirks to one side, making her smile lopsided. "I guess it is, at that. How have you been, Lochinvar? I mean, really. Not just 'I'm fine' pleasantry kind of thing. How do you like life in Rephidim?"
"It's certainly different to life here," replies the Ranger. "More complicated. Louder. Sometimes dangerous. It's a faster pace of life, but I enjoy it."
"I'm happy for you," Ariecha says, softly. "I never really liked living in Elamoore, while I was there. Even before – well, you know. Moving to Abaddon was rather more excitement than I ever needed." Her smile gets even more lopsided, then she sobers her expression. "I always missed the village. I like the peace and quiet, and the green growing things all around me."
"Rephidim rarely gets to the peace and quiet," starts Lochinvar, then he pauses, realizing what he just heard. "Elamoore? Abaddon? You were there?"
The woman tilts her head as she listens to Lochinvar, then does a double-take at his next comment. "You mean you didn't know?" she says, blinking. "Didn't your mother tell you?"
Lochinvar shakes his head. "She never mentioned it to me, no," he replies.
"At least," Lochinvar adds after a moment, thinking of something. "Unless that's what she meant… "
Ariecha laughs. "I can't believe it! I'm sorry. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I just thought she told you, you know, everything. This baby was born, this child broke his leg, Ariecha went to Abaddon when the boomer swallowed Elamoore … except, I guess, no one knew that's what happened to me at the time."
"She mentioned that you had returned here safe, but not from what. That could be it?" replies the Ranger.
"Probably," the white Vartan says with a mischievous tinge to her voice. "Maybe she just didn't want to worry you unnecessarily before that. Or maybe Da didn't tell anyone. The carpenter he sent me to apprentice to moved to Elamoore shortly after I joined him. I was still there, with him, when the boomer was dropped. Poof! Abaddon for all of us."
"Oh my dear, Ari," replies the Hekoye/Vartan. "I honestly had no idea."
"It's all right. It was all a long time ago, anyway," Ariecha says, rubbing at the back of her neck. "I never realized how much we fell out of touch before," she admits, rueful.
Lochinvar is silent for a moment. "It's … certainly hard to stay in touch with people when they are so far away," he admits. "I miss my parents when I'm away … as well as everyone back here. But you could perhaps come back to Rephidim with me?"
The female Vartan blinks at her companion, several times, looking quite startled. She opens her beak to reply, then closes it again with a quiet click. Her eyes search the Hekoye's face, studying his expression for a long moment before she finally shakes herself from her reverie enough to say, "Rephidim? Me?"
"Why not?" the winged-coyote asks, smiling back at her. "I think it's something I should have asked long ago. Now, at least, I'm doing well there, have a good job. It's gotten better for me as I've spent time there, but I've always been missing something."
"Why not?" she echoes, faintly. "I … I don't know. What would I do there? What about the village? My father is here. My life is here. All my friends are here… " Ariecha's words trail off, and then she adds, softer but no less heartfelt, "All but one, that is."
The Vartan/Hekoye gazes gently at Ariecha for a few moments, then nods just a little. "Of course," he says. "It's too much to ask. But … Ari … ever since we first met back in Triston you've … always been in my thoughts."
"I know how you feel," the silver-feathered woman replies, looking down at her hands, as if reluctant to meet Lochinvar's eyes. "You're not an easy person to forget, yourself. I wish… "
Lochinvar tilts his head a little, perking his ears a little. "Tell me, what do you wish?" he asks her.
"Do you have to go?" Ariecha blurts out, looking directly at him, then lifting one taloned hand to her beak to cover her sudden embarrassment.
"I have to, Ari," replies Lochinvar, sighing slightly. "I'm expected back there. I've got responsibilities. Add to that I'm probably overdue by now as well."
The woman sighs, too, prodding at the ground with the tip of one hoof. "I suppose you do," she murmurs. A little louder, "Is it worth it?"
The winged coyote chuckles a little. "If you'd asked me that about five years ago, when I first started, I probably would find it hard to answer," he says. "But now? I'm getting out there and doing good for lots of people."
"I'm glad to hear that," Ariecha says, turning her head enough to watch him sidelong. "That's what you always wanted, isn't it? To help others."
Lochinvar nods again. "Yes," he says, sighing slightly. "Of course, it comes at the high price of leaving people close to me far behind."
She nods. "You know it's not just me. Dalton, your parents, your cousins… We all miss you, Lochy. Even the ones that've been complaining that you've been corrupted by 'ferreners and magic'," the Vartan exaggerates a "hick" accent, offering a shy smile to the winged coyote. "They're the same ones that complained loudest when you were gone."
The Vartan/Hekoye chuckles at Ariecha. "They do, do they?" he asks. "You can see that I haven't, yes?"
"Haven't missed us?" Ariecha says, deliberately misconstruing him and lightly punching at his arm. "Of course I can. You're a heartless man, Lochinvar. You haven't it in you to miss anyone," she teases.
Lochinvar looks crestfallen for a moment, then scoots over a little to put his arm around the white Vartan, tickling her lightly with his other hand. "You know what I mean," he tells her, grinning.
Giggling, Ariecha tries to squirm away, batting at his tickling hand, though she doesn't seem to be putting a lot of effort into it. "No fair!" she protests. "Oh, all right," she relents, looking into his eyes. "Maybe … you've been changed by foreigners and magic," the white Vartan says, softly. "I don't know that the Lochinvar I grew up with would have been so quick to accept magic as a solution, when offered it for Elavars." She reaches with one hand to cup the coyote's cheek. "Or maybe you would have. I don't know. But I would not call that corruption, either way."
The Ranger cocks his head a little. "Perhaps," he notes. "However, one must realize that in such a situation, there would have been no traditional way to treat Elavars for what happened to him. I could not see another way to help him. I still distrust magic, but there's a time and a place for everything."
Ariecha nods. "It was better than leaving him like that. Or throwing him out of the village for being tainted, the way the tribe of Oak did to those similarly afflicted, all those years ago." She wraps her wings around her body, looking as if she felt a chill unrelated to the cold winter air. "What happened to him was not his fault. Making him suffer for it is needlessly cruel."
Lochinvar nods, lightly brushing his hand over Ariecha's shoulder. "I remember… ," he says. "That's something that certainly influenced the idea."
Reaching up, the white Vartan rests her taloned hand over Lochinvar's, holding it in place against her shoulder. "Thank you," she whispers.
Smiling, letting his hand brush her cheek now, Lochinvar replies, "You're welcome. Anytime… " He pauses for a moment. "There's nothing I could say to tempt you to join me on Rephidim?" he asks.
She smiles, too, leaning her cheek against his hand. "Oh, plenty you could say to tempt me," she murmurs. "I'm already tempted. Still… " Ariecha's gaze wanders down the slope, to the mostly-frozen stream with its tiny trickle of water glistening in the sunlight, and the drifts of white snow piled on the opposite hillside. The barren trees are black outlines further silhouetted by white snow that lines their branches.
"Still?" Lochinvar echoes, turning his head to follow the white Vartan's gaze. "Something else?"
"I like the open spaces, Lochy. The hills and woods and the places where I can fly for days and never see another sentient hand. I like the look of newfallen snow that no one's walked on. I like the peace, and the solitude. I don't know that I could give that up to live in a city again," Ariecha answers, her voice still soft.
Laughing a little, Lochinvar asks, "You do know what it is I do, don't you?"
"Not really," Ariecha admits. "You've been pretty vague, though your mom said you did something sort of woodsy there. I didn't think there was that much wild space on Rephidim."
"I'm a Ranger for the Temple there," the coyote replies. "Pretty much means that most of what I do is patrolling the wilds around the City, the forests and open spaces there. It's a large island, Ari – larger than what people make it out to be. The City is quite small compared with the rest, so there's plenty of space."
"Is it really?" The white Vartan bends one knee, resting her elbow against it and looking across the landscape. "Well … maybe I could come and visit sometime?" she suggests, glancing to her companion.
"Oh yes," Lochinvar urges. "And some of the landscapes … Well, you will have to come visit and see for yourself."
The Vartan turns her head to look at Lochinvar for a moment longer, then she scootches closer, pressing her side against his and turning her head to lay her cheek against the coyote's chest. "All right," she whispers. "I will."
Lochinvar puts his arms around Ariecha, cuddling her gently to him. "This time, let's not wait too long, mmm?"
