The Blight of Muirwood
Page 34
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“Colvin, you are being ridiculous. I would like to explain something to you, so give me your hand.”
The third time, he finally obeyed. She tugged off her shooting gloves and clasped his hand between hers. His skin was ice cold. Chafing his skin, she leaned closer to him in the cramped tunnel to share some of her body warmth. “Martin taught me, you see, that when we lose heat in our bodies, it can harm our thoughts. Did you know that? If you are lost and wet and cold, it makes it difficult to think. Goodness, your hand is cold. Give me your other, so I can warm them both.” He obeyed, which surprised her, and she took both of his hands and rubbed them between hers. She had never touched him so intimately before. Being huddled near him, with all the earthy smells surrounding them was making her light-headed and very warm. She breathed on his hands, and he stared at her, his eyes curious yet guarded. As she chafed his hands, his expression slowly changed. The expression was grateful – that she was not mocking his weakness, but seeking to comfort him. The tender look made her swallow.
“So you see,” she said, glancing over at the orb, “your fear of the tunnel was made worse by being so cold. By warming you just a little, you will be able to master that fear again. Like you did at the cellar of the Pilgrim when you jumped right in, even though you were afraid to.” She had finished warming his hands but did not want to let them go yet. She nestled them on her lap and kept a grip on them. “How long have you had this fear?”
“I am ashamed to confess it,” he replied, his voice thick. She could hear every breath he took. He was calming down, the panicked look beginning to fade.
“You can trust me with your secrets, Colvin. I should not need to remind you of that.” She gave his hand a little pat.
He leaned his head back against the wall, sighing deeply. “I have always been cursed with an imagination. Of imagining details that do not exist, but that I secretly fear. When it happens, I cannot stop it. It has been that way since I was little.” He looked down at his knees. “When my mother died, I was young. I watched the Aldermaston lay her in a stone ossuary. I was a child but old enough to realize she was dead. But when they started sliding the lid closed, I imagined that maybe she was sleeping. That after they buried her, she would revive.” He shook his head, his expression turning sour. “I had nightmares for days, that she was trapped in the ossuary and could not get out. After the first night, I begged my father to check. The look on his face – his grief so fresh.” He breathed out deeply. “Ever since then, I have been terrified of being trapped below ground. I thought I had mastered that fear. Until tonight.”
He looked at her, then a little smile tugged at his mouth. “Do you remember when you first showed me Maderos’ cave?”
She nodded brightly, glad that he was talking to her and not snatching his hand away. That he was letting her comfort him.
“You said that you and Sowe would play down with the ossuaries at the base of the hill. You cannot imagine what that did to me. That a little girl would hide in one…deliberately.”
Lia grinned. “I never would have guessed by your reaction though,” she said. “You do so well to veil your thoughts and expressions, Colvin. I wish I could. People know what I am feeling by looking at my face most of the time. With you, it is always hidden unless you are angry. I always wonder what you are thinking.”
“Why wonder when you can ask? Did you not accuse me of that as well? I treated you rudely because I did not know how old you were. You seemed sixteen at least. Nearer to my age than you really were.”
“I will be fifteen on my nameday this year. So strange. It was not that long ago – those memories you have. But it feels like ages have passed.”
“You said you wonder what I am thinking sometimes. Like when?” He leaned closer to her, his eyes showing curiosity and interest.
It was her turn to feel uncomfortable. “Well. I am probably not supposed to ask, which is why I did not.”
“You can ask me anything, Lia.”
Their relationship went beyond words. The shared suffering in the Bearden Muir and at Winterrowd gave them a bond that others did not have.
“I wanted to ask you about Ellowyn,” she said, looking down. “How you…felt about her.”
She glanced up as a lazy smile twitched on his cheek. “You sound like Ciana. She wants so much for everyone to be happy, she is constantly giving her opinions and advice.”
“She wants you to be happy. Is that wrong of her?”
“Very true. She quotes Aldermaston Ovidius who wrote a great deal on the heart and the emotions. He wrote: ‘someone who says o'er much I love not is in love.’ And so she uses that to surmise that I either I have no heart, or I conceal the source of my affection.”
The third time, he finally obeyed. She tugged off her shooting gloves and clasped his hand between hers. His skin was ice cold. Chafing his skin, she leaned closer to him in the cramped tunnel to share some of her body warmth. “Martin taught me, you see, that when we lose heat in our bodies, it can harm our thoughts. Did you know that? If you are lost and wet and cold, it makes it difficult to think. Goodness, your hand is cold. Give me your other, so I can warm them both.” He obeyed, which surprised her, and she took both of his hands and rubbed them between hers. She had never touched him so intimately before. Being huddled near him, with all the earthy smells surrounding them was making her light-headed and very warm. She breathed on his hands, and he stared at her, his eyes curious yet guarded. As she chafed his hands, his expression slowly changed. The expression was grateful – that she was not mocking his weakness, but seeking to comfort him. The tender look made her swallow.
“So you see,” she said, glancing over at the orb, “your fear of the tunnel was made worse by being so cold. By warming you just a little, you will be able to master that fear again. Like you did at the cellar of the Pilgrim when you jumped right in, even though you were afraid to.” She had finished warming his hands but did not want to let them go yet. She nestled them on her lap and kept a grip on them. “How long have you had this fear?”
“I am ashamed to confess it,” he replied, his voice thick. She could hear every breath he took. He was calming down, the panicked look beginning to fade.
“You can trust me with your secrets, Colvin. I should not need to remind you of that.” She gave his hand a little pat.
He leaned his head back against the wall, sighing deeply. “I have always been cursed with an imagination. Of imagining details that do not exist, but that I secretly fear. When it happens, I cannot stop it. It has been that way since I was little.” He looked down at his knees. “When my mother died, I was young. I watched the Aldermaston lay her in a stone ossuary. I was a child but old enough to realize she was dead. But when they started sliding the lid closed, I imagined that maybe she was sleeping. That after they buried her, she would revive.” He shook his head, his expression turning sour. “I had nightmares for days, that she was trapped in the ossuary and could not get out. After the first night, I begged my father to check. The look on his face – his grief so fresh.” He breathed out deeply. “Ever since then, I have been terrified of being trapped below ground. I thought I had mastered that fear. Until tonight.”
He looked at her, then a little smile tugged at his mouth. “Do you remember when you first showed me Maderos’ cave?”
She nodded brightly, glad that he was talking to her and not snatching his hand away. That he was letting her comfort him.
“You said that you and Sowe would play down with the ossuaries at the base of the hill. You cannot imagine what that did to me. That a little girl would hide in one…deliberately.”
Lia grinned. “I never would have guessed by your reaction though,” she said. “You do so well to veil your thoughts and expressions, Colvin. I wish I could. People know what I am feeling by looking at my face most of the time. With you, it is always hidden unless you are angry. I always wonder what you are thinking.”
“Why wonder when you can ask? Did you not accuse me of that as well? I treated you rudely because I did not know how old you were. You seemed sixteen at least. Nearer to my age than you really were.”
“I will be fifteen on my nameday this year. So strange. It was not that long ago – those memories you have. But it feels like ages have passed.”
“You said you wonder what I am thinking sometimes. Like when?” He leaned closer to her, his eyes showing curiosity and interest.
It was her turn to feel uncomfortable. “Well. I am probably not supposed to ask, which is why I did not.”
“You can ask me anything, Lia.”
Their relationship went beyond words. The shared suffering in the Bearden Muir and at Winterrowd gave them a bond that others did not have.
“I wanted to ask you about Ellowyn,” she said, looking down. “How you…felt about her.”
She glanced up as a lazy smile twitched on his cheek. “You sound like Ciana. She wants so much for everyone to be happy, she is constantly giving her opinions and advice.”
“She wants you to be happy. Is that wrong of her?”
“Very true. She quotes Aldermaston Ovidius who wrote a great deal on the heart and the emotions. He wrote: ‘someone who says o'er much I love not is in love.’ And so she uses that to surmise that I either I have no heart, or I conceal the source of my affection.”
