Forge of Stones
Page 16
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Celia woke up as the beam of sunlight characteristically bounced off the gleaming, copper-skinned Ministry tower as was usually the case. Her long golden brown hair tangled as it was from last night’s fretful sleep, resembled a flaming bush when the copper-tinted light cast off the ministry’s tower shone upon her. Her visage was one of a fiery, avenging god-maiden of fury and destruction, an avalanche of wrath rushing down upon the wrongdoers and evil-makers that dared incur her retribution.
But that was only a fleeting impression, for when she touched her belly and felt her unborn child still soundly and safely asleep, her smile was like heavenly orchards that grew and bore ripe honey-sweet fruit in the blink of an eye. It was as if all the goodness in creation had come together in a still moment of time; a mother’s smile, a power beyond reckoning and imagination, all that in the creases of a beautiful face and two comely lips. She who had seemed as a terrible force had been wondrously transfigured into a mother bathed in sunlight, radiating warmth and love; all hints of terrible awe a mere phantom now in the eye of the beholder.
After a few moments of silent contemplation as if communicating with the fetus growing inside her, she spent some moments of simple indulgence in smelling the morning fragrances and hearing the first sounds of day. Celia then threw her sheets away playfully and got out of bed to follow her usual routine: she took her morning bath and then offered her own prayer to her own Gods, thanking them for sending a man like Amonas to her, for the conception of their child. She also prayed for her husband’s safe return and her child’s first cry unto this world.
She was then startlingly taken by the fragrant smell that had gently occupied her senses ever since she opened her eyes. She felt almost strange for not immediately taking notice of such a beautiful scent. With a familiar way she tried to trace the source of the strong, tasteful smell that seemed to seep through the walls and pour from balconies and windows. She peered over her stone balcony and saw that more and more people were starting to wade through the streets, the day ticking on in its usual rhythm.
She then spent her morning as was her usual routine nowdays: brooming and cleaning the house as much as her straining back allowed. Most of her time though she spent knitting clothes for her unborn child: winter clothes and baby gowns, blankets as well as a lenarion for Amonas. But her mind ever so often wandered to him, and when he would come knocking at their door again. She put her mind at ease knowing he had Philo with him, whatever they were doing.
Time flew by like birds in the spring. When she had felt tired once more, evening had beckoned. She was surprised that she hadn’t felt any hunger, but her appetite was strange for a pregnant woman, she had known. Sometimes she could not stop eating whatever came to hand, and other times hours went by without a single bite of food. She decided to bring firewood from their small cellar and paused for a while before starting a fire anew for the day’s meal. She mused about making some stew or perhaps a broth of beans and greens.
She stood with a few small pieces of firewood cupped into her arms, when the thought flashed in her head with a jolt: she was out of uwe, again! She left the tiny logs aside on the small kitchen table and went upstairs to fetch her small purse.
She then made sure she hadn’t actually started off an untended fire and drew her broadly-hemmed cloak around her darting off towards the market.
The city crowd on the streets was shifting towards its nocturnal aspect, the people that rarely venture outside if the suns still abound and rarely crawl back to their domiciles before dawn is about to break. The Watchday would be over as soon as the suns set and the Merrynight would hold until tomorrow. Loud song and cheers, sounds of merrymaking and laughter could be heard at least once in every street that she passed on her way to Ves, a farmer that was her distant kin, a cousin in fact, and did not try to fool her like most others in the market did.
She wasn’t sure if she would make it in time for at that hour Ves as well as almost everyone else with farms or animals to tend, had to leave for his farmstead to eat and rest. In the morning he would be getting up in the middle of the night to water whichever plants were in need, and then he would harvest those ready for the market. Then he would load up his cart and off he would be to the market once more to make some coin for his wife and children, so they’d not have to beg like some people who were cast adrift in the unfathomable torrents of fortune.
She could see those people: disheveled beings, sometimes indistinguishable from animals. Some of them brought a sore tear to her eyes. A few she helped as she could, a loaf of bread or her daily bottle of milk she would share. Sometimes she would leave a plate of food for those that drifted throughout the city and did not just await their end at some dark corner of the market.
As she turned the last corner before she reached Ves’ usual stand, she could see she was too late: Ves as well as everyone else in the same spot had left for the night, leftover fruit and vegetable stalks amassing on the cobbled streets and a sour acrid odor wafting all around her. If nothing else at all, she had indeed taken a walk though at an inappropriate hour, and felt she should be getting home before long.
As she turned around to start walking back towards her house, she froze where she lay when a mailed hand seemed to stretch from a shadowy crevice, some chasm in a wall she hadn’t noticed in her dimly lit surroundings: it was a surreptitious figure that seemed well-disposed towards her, or else she would be already lying in a pool of her own blood for what little coin she carried in her tiny purse. She shuddered at the thought that worse things than an untimely death could have happened to her that she dared not imagine while carrying her child still in her womb. The figure spoke to her in a curt, hushed voice:
“Lady Celia, be still and fear not. I am Kin, and I bear news for you: Philo has been arrested, but your husband is nowhere to be found.”
Her voice quavered in shock and vibrated with disbelief:
“And Amonas?What of him?Is he dead?”
It was a well-practiced phrase in her head, her moment of fear was embodied in her low voice. She barely avoided a stutter and her lips trembled while her eyes narrowed down to small ovals. What little blue was left in them was exposed to the light of the lamps, flashing with terror. Her hands had instinctively gone to her belly hugging it closer than ever, as if she feared the child would be needlessly drawn away from her, a life unborn for a life taken.
“Hush milady, we know not. But no body to be found, or a trace of cloth, we can be sure. Have hope, Lady Celia. And let not a soul know of this.”
The man left a hint of consolation in his voice but none of that would be enough for Celia now.
He was gone as silently and instantly as he had appeared through the unseen folds of the night, a messenger in the dark leaving grim and hollow thoughts in his wake.
She ran back to the house with tears running down her pale cheeks. Blood had left her face, and coldness crept in like endless tides of water running under a door. The laughing crowds that seemed to have taken over every street became a noise of sorrow in her mind and a weeping feeling choked her heart. She ran up to their bedroom feeling the child within stir uneasily, as if it knew something was amiss.
She lay down on their bed and put on her wedding gossamer tirval. She wept until she could weep no more, until her tears dried and her numb mind sent her into a merciful, dreamless sleep.