The Chapel or Judge Eternity - Chapter 24 - Beowulf's Love Remembers
Everin thinks back to her family and beginnings.
Mirrored time stretching out for a thousand lifetimes repeated rhyme lives past and loves lost to ancient times.
He moved fast, driving himself deeper into the forest, just as he had swam into the mere, then he paused. She was there on the edge of his mind like a blaze of fire on a distant horizon. Nothing would be better than to look in her eyes and see her looking back at him. He wanted that with all his heart. Why should he guard against the troll? Why was it his duty? There were others of the Blood who could take up this task. Why shouldn't he let himself love?
Eleven immortals. One more step and he would not feel her anymore. He closed his eyes and took the step.
Everin had stilled herself as she felt him coming closer. His presence had blazed with desire until he warmed her more than the sun. Then suddenly when he was almost there, he had run cold and turned away. What did he see, that disappointed him? What had he sensed from her? Had he suddenly realized what she was and become sickened by her?
No, she knew that was not true. She knew that he was the same as her, undying. He would turn his back on her for that. Would he?
It wasn't her fault. She had done nothing. There had been no pact, no dark ritual or unholy thirst for blood.
She had taken a husband when she young, when womanhood had come to her as was tradition. He had been from a neighboring village and the third son of a chieftain. Her heart had belonged to him the first time he smiled shyly at her. His name was Gherlan, and had they loved each other often, keeping each other warmed during the frigid winter.
In the spring he went with four other young men for one last hunt or raid. He never came back.
There had never been grief, just hope that faded away to nothingness, a gaping emptiness that never healed.
She stayed on in the small hut he had built for her. She helped her family and they fed her.
Suitors came but she would shake her head at them.
She sat at the same place at her father's table as her brothers left to find wives.
She gave her house to her sister, who had been a babe when she had taken her own husband. She slept by her father's hearth.
Her mother died in her arms, smiling with a worried brow as she took her last breath. Everin buried her because her father's back had grown weak and the sickness in his heart from losing her would not let him pile the stones.
She buried him a month later, he had stopped eating. His bearlike strength kept him alive, but that slowly faded away. In his last days she had carried him from his loft down to the table where she would beg him to take soup. He had only shook his head and smiled love from his pallored lips. At the very end, when she had been carrying him to his bed, he had smiled, stroked her hair and then stopped breathing in a long sigh.
When her brothers and sister came to take their parts of their father's holdings she knew that she needed to go.
Their faces were creased by the years and while she knew that they loved her, there were questions in their eyes. Her skin was as clear as it had always been and untouched by her more than fifty years.
Now she saw those same questions in the eyes of every one she passed in the village. The smith who had been a boy when she was a girl, the grandmother who had been born after her, and the young girl, just wed, who pulled carrots beside her in the village field.
He moved fast, driving himself deeper into the forest, just as he had swam into the mere, then he paused. She was there on the edge of his mind like a blaze of fire on a distant horizon. Nothing would be better than to look in her eyes and see her looking back at him. He wanted that with all his heart. Why should he guard against the troll? Why was it his duty? There were others of the Blood who could take up this task. Why shouldn't he let himself love?
Eleven immortals. One more step and he would not feel her anymore. He closed his eyes and took the step.
Everin had stilled herself as she felt him coming closer. His presence had blazed with desire until he warmed her more than the sun. Then suddenly when he was almost there, he had run cold and turned away. What did he see, that disappointed him? What had he sensed from her? Had he suddenly realized what she was and become sickened by her?
No, she knew that was not true. She knew that he was the same as her, undying. He would turn his back on her for that. Would he?
It wasn't her fault. She had done nothing. There had been no pact, no dark ritual or unholy thirst for blood.
She had taken a husband when she young, when womanhood had come to her as was tradition. He had been from a neighboring village and the third son of a chieftain. Her heart had belonged to him the first time he smiled shyly at her. His name was Gherlan, and had they loved each other often, keeping each other warmed during the frigid winter.
In the spring he went with four other young men for one last hunt or raid. He never came back.
There had never been grief, just hope that faded away to nothingness, a gaping emptiness that never healed.
She stayed on in the small hut he had built for her. She helped her family and they fed her.
Suitors came but she would shake her head at them.
She sat at the same place at her father's table as her brothers left to find wives.
She gave her house to her sister, who had been a babe when she had taken her own husband. She slept by her father's hearth.
Her mother died in her arms, smiling with a worried brow as she took her last breath. Everin buried her because her father's back had grown weak and the sickness in his heart from losing her would not let him pile the stones.
She buried him a month later, he had stopped eating. His bearlike strength kept him alive, but that slowly faded away. In his last days she had carried him from his loft down to the table where she would beg him to take soup. He had only shook his head and smiled love from his pallored lips. At the very end, when she had been carrying him to his bed, he had smiled, stroked her hair and then stopped breathing in a long sigh.
When her brothers and sister came to take their parts of their father's holdings she knew that she needed to go.
Their faces were creased by the years and while she knew that they loved her, there were questions in their eyes. Her skin was as clear as it had always been and untouched by her more than fifty years.
Now she saw those same questions in the eyes of every one she passed in the village. The smith who had been a boy when she was a girl, the grandmother who had been born after her, and the young girl, just wed, who pulled carrots beside her in the village field.
Post Comment | View Comments
