8th January 1103

The day was icy, the kind of cold that shrivels the end of your tongue and freezes your eyelashes. The grey clouds that had hung dejectedly over Mhalwae like haunted spirits had been chased this way and that by the wind, so that the sun shone weakly through the gaps. But with the lack of the protective blanket of grey, the day was all the colder, the air so frigid it was hard just to breathe.

Tiny ice crystals crunched and squeaked beneath Kelgar’s boots as he pounded his feet on the ground, trying to get some warmth. Good Lord, he must look ridiculous. Thankfully the only witnesses to his freezing dance were the dead and they remained silent on the matter.

“Well Vance old mate. Happy birthday and all that nonsense,” Kelgar drawled to the tombstone in front of him.

The elaborate interlocking ice crystals had blown their way into the carved words on the tombstone. They hid in the indentations, their six limbed bodies tangled into impossible shapes. Pure white, their huddled forms brought out the words in stark relief. Rest in peace Vance Corstead. Loving husband to Illewen. Doting father to Matilda. May the Lord keep and protect your soul.

Loving husband. Doting father. Who would protect them now?

“Seriously, what the hell do yew want from me Vance?” he scowled at the inoffensive grey stone, “what do yew want?”

“I swore I would protect them, an’ I’ve been keeping an eye out for them for sure. I did what yew asked.”

His frown crumpled, his face aching and red from the cold, the scars pulling tightly at his skin.

“I’m sorry Vance. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help them. The responsibility, it’s too much for me. I’m not a good man. I’m not good enough for them.”

He fell to his knees, thousands of crushed snowflakes mashed beneath his heavy weight, their melting bodies seeping into his leggings.

From that night his life had been nothing but a tangled map of indecision, winding its way from this to that but without a sense of purpose. Nothing had pleased him as before. Nothing had made him happy.

He began to pray for some guidance. He was not a good man, but he was full of faith and the Lord would surely help him along his path. He prayed for Vance Corstead, the man who had been his friend. He prayed for Illewen and Matilda. He prayed for himself and asked for forgiveness for his many, many sins. And he prayed that his path be made clear to him.

In his heart he knew what he must do but he was afraid. Afraid of losing himself. Afraid he was unworthy of her. Afraid to step up. He prayed for strength.

“I am not a good man Lord. Is this truly what yew ask of me? Vance? Is this what yew meant? Is this what yew wanted?”

It felt like a sin but he saw the logic in it.

He saw the deep green eyes in his mind. They had been haunting him ever since that night when they had stared up at the full moon above, the life fleeing from them. Kelgar had made a promise then. And he saw now with great clarity that he had not fulfilled it.

A chill breeze whispered through the dead trees, the branches shivering with a soft sigh.

Kelgar sighed too, a feeling of relief rushing through his frozen body. He knew what he must do. He would ask her. He saw the staring eyes, the slight crinkle at the corner and he knew they were smiling.

“Alright yew old bastard, have it your way. I suppose I shouldn’t be complaining. I think yer getting the raw end of the deal here, being dead and all but oh well.”

He pushed himself onto his feet, stretching out limbs that had grown stiff from the cold and from crouching in the snow for so long. He felt buoyant, weightless, the crushing yoke of indecision removed from his aching shoulders. He knew what he must do. And so he must go and do it.