Harndall pushed open the heavy door and entered as quietly as he could. He knew he was running very late for the meeting but he had found himself unable to leave the distressed peasantry that was residing in the chapel. Valeriya had been right, the people needed him. He had no right to be wallowing in his own misery in his room when such troubled times were upon them. He had put all thoughts of his own inadequacy as a priest from his head and thrown himself into his work. Still, there were nights when he woke up sweating, his limbs twisted in his sheets after dreaming of the touch of her lips.

And now the King had called a meeting to discuss the latest developments. Harndall had already been to see Goodwife Rawtharn after her frightening meeting of the night before. The peasant woman had seemed distant somehow, not terrified as he would have imagined. She had sat and listened to him talk, cradling her small child in her arms, her face blank, answering his questions in a dull voice.

The men had not noticed his entrance yet, so involved in their heated discussion where they. The King had insisted that all the nobility be present for this discussion. Harndall’s stomach turned slightly, seeing Radomir sitting in place between Sir Inbar and Lord Murchadh. He seemed to be the focus of the conversation.

Eallair looked up noticing him standing awkwardly at the door and weakly smiled at him.

“Ah… Father Harndall. I am so glad you could join us. Please… take a seat”, the strain was evident in his voice, which was bordering on exhaustion.

They were all of them tired, he thought, all had spent the day searching for the vagabond that had attacked the poor woman.

The room went silent at the sound of the King’s voice and he felt all their eyes upon him. His hand reached out shakily and found the chair left for him.

He carefully lowered himself into it, glad for its solid wooden build beneath his trembling hands. He felt out of place, he was a man of the church, not used to being involved in discussions of the court. He knew the King had invited him because he had been the last to see Sister Mella before she disappeared and also he had been the only one to get a sensible answer from Goodwife Rawtharn and her distraught husband.

When he looked up Sir Inbar was looking at him expectantly. He felt sorry for the man but wished he wasn’t putting so much faith in him. This was not his domain. Sigurd was someone who came to see him on a regular basis, almost weekly. He had spent many hours pouring his heart out to the priest and weeping on his shoulder for his lost babies. His wife by contrast, came to see Harndall only occasionally and when she did it was simply to recite a list of small indiscretions and receive her penance. He wanted to help the man but he did not know what to recommend to him.

“I just do not understand how we can be so sure that this woman is telling the truth”, Radomir was saying loudly.

Harndall had not seen the man for a long time. He had heard the Earl had been ill and in truth his face looked gaunt, his dark eyes sunken and his cheek bones protruding slightly.

The King and Eallair were staring at him in astonishment.

“Are you seriously trying to tell me that this woman is making this all up?”, Lochan asked incredulously.

“Why would she lie about this?”, Eallair asked obviously confused.

“Perhaps she wants the attention”, Radomir replied, waving his arms in annoyance, “I don’t know… all I’m saying is that we can’t necessarily take what she says as definite truth”.

“I know she is one of your subjects Radomir, but I think we can definitely take her word on this. She may have been confused but why would she have wounded herself in such a way. I don’t think it would even be possible to be perfectly honest. She had a human bite mark on her neck. Unless her husband bit her, which I seriously doubt, we are dealing with an unknown killer on the island”, Lochan retorted, “And even more worrying is it was almost identical to the wound on the dead peasant girl, Nell’s neck”.

“Fine, whatever you say, Lord Murchadh”, Radomir said, with emphasis on Lochan’s title.

Harndall was suprised by his reaction, it was not like Radomir to back down in a fight.

“Do you think she could possibly have been attacked by the same creature as I was?”, Cordell asked earnestly, “I mean she was wandering out in the forest alone and we know there is a violent black dog out there somewhere”.

“But Cordell”, Alexis cut in, his voice dull, “Goodwife Rawtharn was inside the house which makes it unlikely that it was a wild animal. And unless she is totally delirious then it was a man that attacked her. You may be right about the death of the peasant girl though”.

Harndall gazed at Alexis’ face as he spoke. His face was pallid, only serving to highlight the dark bags underneath his eyes. The sparkle that had always danced in his eyes had died, doused by the waters of despair. There were whispers that his wife would not make it to the end of her pregnancy, so ill and swollen was she now. Harndall had spoken with Goodwife Cade who had told him that he should be ready for her when she called, he would be needed straight away. Still Morven struggled onwards, her heartbeat thready and irregular, so weak and exhausted she could not move from her bed. And Alexis sat there by her side, holding her pale hand until he had been summoned by the King himself.

“Are we seriously discussing this!”, Radomir almost shouted, “Violent black dogs! Strange men! We know there is noone else on this island, we have been around the whole place. We would know, especially if there was some nobility hiding themselves here! Where would he be living!”.

He noticed a beetle crawling along the table and squashed it beneath his thumb and gesturing angrily, “You sound like a bunch of snivelling women!”.

“Now Radomir, I think you’re going a bit far, everyone is just putting forward their ideas. There’s no need to get angry”.

The King’s expression was one of open concern, and it was obvious to Harndall that Eallair was having a great deal of trouble controlling the passions of his men.

Radomir made a snorting noise and was silent.

“Do you know what I think”, Garrick added, slurring slightly.

Harndall thought it was odd for the large man to be drunk at such an important conversation. It was not like him, but then again it had been many months since Garrick had last visited him for confession. He had no concept of what was going on his head.

“I think it was one of Faldorn’s men”, he continued without waiting for encouragement, “I think it was a scout sent here and if we don’t find him he will be paddling his way home and the first thing we will see when spring comes is Faldorn’s flotilla on the glowing horizon”.

“And then”, he said sighing melodramatically, “it will all begin again and we will be doomed”.

“This is a good point Garrick”, Lochan mused, “But I think you might be overreacting slightly. If it is one of Faldorn’s men we will find him and make him talk”.

“But it really doesn’t explain why he would have bitten her on the neck”, he said with a puzzled expression on his face, “Actually… why would he have even gone to see her at all. If he was a scout for Faldorn wouldn’t he already be heading back with the good news that he has found us. No I don’t think he’s one of Faldorn’s men. But where he’s from then I do not know”.

“No Lochan, I think you’re wrong! He was definitely one of Faldorn’s men and every moment we sit here on our behinds is more time he has to gather information and leave the island. We should be out there searching for him right now!”, Garrick glared at him through squinted eyes.

“Men, men… you all have excellent, valid points. But there is nothing we can do right now. It is pitch black outside and there is a blizzard raging. If he is one of Faldorn’s men he won’t be going anywhere tonight and we will find him tomorrow. If not then he won’t be going anywhere anyway and we will still find him”.

“But your highness”, Sigurd piped up timidly, his eyes wide like those of a startled deer, “Should we be worrying about our wives… it seems to be the womenfolk that this man, if that’s what it is, is going after”.

“Ha…”, Radomir chortled, “You’re worried about our wives being eaten by some strange creature eh? Don’t you think given the current company you should be more worried by the danger posed by your own little creature that likes to come out in the dark. It seems like that’s what’s doing the most damage to our womenfolk these days”.

He looked pointedly at Alexis who reeled back as if he had been punched. Harndall had often spoken with Alexis, the young man seeming to find it humourous to regail the Priest with all the sins he had commited each week. Harndall knew from these conversations that Radomir despised Alexis. Alexis had often laughed about this, claiming that he had stolen Morven’s heart from the blackened claws of the beast. In reality both men had asked for her hand in marriage, but Morven’s father, unlike most had given her the choice of the two and she had chosen Alexis. Wisely, Harndall though with a sigh, an image of Valeriya’s sad face appearing in his mind. She was a lucky girl to have been given the right to choose.

“Oh… oh Alexis… oh my goodness. I am so sorry. I… I really didn’t mean anything by it. I didn’t mean to say anything wrong. Oh… I am so very sorry”, Sigurd turned to Alexis, wringing his hands with a distressed look on his face.

Harndall wished he would be quiet. He had not said anything and perhaps Radomir’s comment could have been ignored, but Sigurd with his bumbling was making it a million times worse.

“No… don’t be silly Sigurd. It’s fine… you haven’t said anything wrong. It was just a joke. I am sure noone meant my Morven”, his voice cracked when he said Morven, and from where Harndall was sitting he could see Alexis’ lip trembling underneath his neatly trimmed mustache.

“Sorry… I… I think I have something in my eye”, he said, rubbing furiously at his eyes with his sleeve. From where Harndall was sitting he could see the tears welling up in Alexis eyes.

“Well”, Eallair said stonily, “I think this conversation has gone on well and truly long enough. We will spend tomorrow searching again, the same groups as today. We WILL find this man. I am sure of it. Now go and get some sleep. I will see you all in the morning”.

Valeriya looked around the room and could not help but think that everyone was enjoying themselves but her. She was glad in her heart that Radomir had not shown up for the Christmas festivities but there was another face she would have dearly liked to see who had not attended either.

Varda and Sigurd were quietly sitting at the table before her, listening to the conversations around them. She thought it must be nice to be able to just sit with someone, to be so comfortable together that words became unnecessary.

The King was laughing at the back of the room with the Queen who was proudly showing off her swollen belly. He stopped occasionally to lovingly stroke her growing figure. Valeriya had to swallow hard to stop tears from coming to her eyes.

The Arwaduhns who before had hated each other so passionately it had been impossible for the other inhabitants of the boat not to hear their frequent screaming matches, were chatting to each other happily. Since Cordell had mostly recovered from his illness they had been absolutely inseparable, and while the occasional fight was heard echoing through the hollows of the ship, it was clear that they had put aside their differences and were very much in love.

The only person in the room who did not look happy was Lochan who was standing in the opposite corner of the room to her, watching the proceedings with a bleak look on his face. She had heard that Isaura’s condition had deteriorated and now she was so weak most days she could not leave her bed.

Their eyes met across the room and she weakly smiled. He didn’t smile back but she didn’t expect him to and she thought his expression had grown slightly warmer than the moment before.

She heard a squeal from the centre of the room and her gaze fell upon Cindra and Garrick.

Cindra was shrieking with laughter as Garrick, who had drunk far too much wine was trying to tickle her. She ducked away from him, hindered by her large belly and ran giggling over to the doorway where a sprig of mistletoe hung.

She stood underneath it looking up at her towering husband, one hand resting on her hip.

“Well… are you going to come and catch me or not”, she said saucily.

“I most certainly am”, he growled, slurring his words slightly.

He leapt forward and gathered her up in his arms trying to kiss her. Unfortunately their height difference, the amount of mulled wine consumed and the size of Cindra’s belly proved to make this a very difficult task.

Eventually he gave up and tipped the small girl backwards, planting a rather large and wet kiss on her mouth while she squealed and squirmed in his arms.

Valeriya sometimes found Cindra a bit too much to handle, and this was one of those times. She wished she were somewhere quiet, away from these jovial people who had so much to live for.

The door opened with a click beside her and he walked in, his footsteps barely making a sound on the hard wooden floor. Her heart began to pound so hard she felt sure that everyone else in the room could hear, that they knew what she was thinking. She shuddered at the thought as she looked at him, her breath quickening the room beginning to spin.

Then he noticed her there and smiled. The room stopped spinning and everyone else in it ceased to exist. It was just her standing there before him basking in the warmth of his smile.

Then she heard a shrill cry from behind him.

“Father Harndall is standing under the mistletoe! He’s going to have to kiss someone… and look… Valeriya is standing the closest!”

She looked up at Cindra in dismay and followed her gaze to the offensive object hanging above the doorframe. Her heart began to flutter in panic and she felt the world going black around the corners. She took a deep breath and willed her knees to hold her up.

She heard the others begin to join in, drunkenly jeering as the two of them stood awkwardly before the doorway.

“Come on Father… it’s Christmas time… even Priests get to be a little bit naughty on Christmas!”, Cindra cried.

“And just because you’re a priest doesn’t make you exempt from the mistletoe rule”, Garrick almost shouted with glee.

“Come on Father, it’s just peck on the lips”, Cordell joined in.

Harndall looked at the King beseechingly, but when Valeriya glanced up at him, he too was staring at them expectantly.

She noticed his eyes were blurred slightly from the drink and then he nodded at them and grinned congenially. She knew that in his head Ealliar thought he was doing the priest a favour, letting him savour a quick kiss from a beautiful woman.

There was nothing else that could be done to appease the party-guests so Harndall stepped closer to her and laid one hand gently on her shoulder. She closed her eyes tightly waiting for it to be over, for the humiliation to end.

Then she felt the light brush of his lips on hers and a tongue of fire arced its way through her body. Her heart was beating so hard she thought it would burst and she could feel a red burning blush snaking its way up her chest and neck, to settle on her cheeks. The jeers of the others fell away and for a moment, with her eyes shut she could imagine it was just them.

Then it was over and he stepped away from her, his hand leaving a warm imprint on her shoulder, his kiss leaving an imprint on her heart.

They stood staring at each other for a moment ignoring the drunken cheers around them. She could see that his face was flushed too, his pupils dilated and his breath coming quicker than it should have.

And then, without a word, she turned and walked through the doors, leaving them all behind her.

“What do you think it means Father?”, Lochan turned to Harndall one eyebrow raised quizzically.

“Were you referring to the strange inscriptions beneath our feet, or to the candles mysteriously lighting themselves or to some combination of the two?”.

“Erm… I guess all of the above”, Lochan replied.

“Well…”, Harndall started confidently as though he had already discovered a solution to these questions, “to be perfectly honest, I have not the faintest idea what any of these things mean. Actually I am choosing to ignore the disturbing behaviour of the candles at this moment, as I have no hope of even beginning to explain that, and focus instead on these strange tiles”.

Lochan squinted at the colourfully painted tiles beneath his feet.

“Well, it does look like a family insignia”, he peered at some of the crude images, “and although it is very worn I think I can make out some birds on this part, actually that one rather looks like a raven”.

“What say you brave Sir Arwaduhn?”, he asked Cordell who had reappeared out of the shadows he had been lurking in.

“I… I do not know Lochan, I… I am not feeling very well”, Cordell replied shakily, rubbing his head with a dazed expression on his face.

They were suddenly interrupted by what sounded like a muffled scream from above them.

“Mella!”, Harndall’s hand flew up to his chest as though to still his pounding heart and he was running up the stairs before the others could even register what had happened.

“Harndall! Wait! Slow down… we do not know what is out there… it could be a wild animal”, Lochan said sprinting up the stairs behind Harndall.

His cries fell on deaf ears, as Harndall was oblivious to everything except the terror that scream had instilled in his heart.

He raced up the hill towards the church yard, the direction he thought he had heard the scream coming from. He was the first to reach her.

He saw to his horror, the crumpled figure of Mella motionless on the ground, lying at the base of a statue. He had seen it before when they explored the ruins earlier, and had thought it a particularly gloomy choice for a grave marker. He had wondered then who was buried here, but right now all these curious thoughts had left his head entirely and been replaced by a steadily rising fear.

“Mella!”, he bent down to kneel beside the figure, checking her neck for a pulse, “Mella… wake up… it is me, Father Harndall”.

She did not stir and he became more insistant, shaking her gently by the shoulders. He was relieved to see her chest rising and falling, even if her breathing was far from steady. He quickly checked her over, unable to find any external injuries whatsoever. Perhaps she had fallen and hit her head on the base of the statue.

“Mella… please wake up”, he said a silent prayer that she be spared, “Open your eyes, we are here to help you”.

To his great surprise she did open her eyes, blinking up at him in confusion, tinged with fear.

He gently helped her to a sitting position. She was mumbling to herself, not words but sounds of animal distress.

Suddenly, she pulled herself away from his helping arms, and began to weep, thrashing around in distress, her hands occasionally colliding with her head. She was panting like a caged animal throwing itself against the bars that imprisoned it.

He looked at her with growing distress, had she finally lost her mind completely. He had been so concerned about her since they had arrived on Mhalwae but watched in despair as her condition slowly worsened till he was beginning to feel she was almost beyond hope.

That did not mean he would stop trying to help her.

Without warning she turned her face upwards, raising her hands in submission, as though to ask God why he was doing this to her.

She lowered her hands, evidently dizzy from whatever injury she had suffered. Her eyes closed and she began to fall backwards, her body shutting down again.

Luckily, Harndall was standing close to her and gently reached out his arm and caught her before she fell. She groaned fearfully as he put his arm around her to hold her up.

“We need to get her back to the ships right now”, Harndall said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

He did not want the others to know he of all people was frightened. There were things going on here that he could not explain, but the last thing the people needed was an unsure priest.

“Do you think you can carry Sister Mella, Goodman Cade, I do not think she can walk back”.

Steen mentally flexed his muscles and picked up the semi-concious nun. He need not have worried, she was light as a feather. As she rested her head on his shoulder, Steen was disturbed by the faint metallic odour of blood that filled his nostrils.

They stood before the ruins of what must have in its day been a magnificent chapel. Now it was nothing, the tattered remains of former glory, clinging feebly to the hillside.

Lochan was annoyed. Mella has insisted on coming along with them, following Harndall wherever he went like a faithful puppy. She was only going to cause them trouble. She had already caused enough, what with her late night escapade. And this was the place they had found her. It did not bode well.

Lochan sighed, and led Harndall down below the chapel, into the crypts which lay beneath. He wanted to show him something which he had seen when they found Mella. It had been weighing on his mind for many weeks but the weather had not permitted a trip to the ruined church until now.

Cordell and Steen had come along too, to see whether some of the once-impressive stoneworkings could be harvested for the building of the new church.

Lochan carefully led them down the cracked steps into the tunnels beneath.

“So Father, what do you make of this”, Lochan gestured to the gargoyle on the wall and the brightly coloured tiles that lay beneath their feet.

Harndall scratched his head, “I do not recognise this insignia, have you seen it before… I cannot quite make it out. Perhaps we need some more light, good Master Cade, would you be so kind?”.

Steen, glad to be of some assistance while these clever men discussed what the placement of these tiles could mean, pulled his flint out of his pocket and began to scrape at it.

The candles suddenly flared to life, one by one, their fires burning hotly, so Steen had to jump backwards to avoid burning his hands. Unfortunately he was not quite fast enough to save the entirety of his eyebrows.

Harndall and Lochan where so fixated on th tiles they do not observe this oddity.

“Thank you Goodman, that was very quick of you, you must have fast hands”, Lochan praised him distractedly.

Steen turned to face them, “Uh… the thing is, I had not even got a spark yet going with this here flint, they have just been lighting up all by themselves”.

He grinned sheepishly because he did not know what else to do.

Lochan and Harndall both stared at him.

“Well”, Lochan breathed, “That is very strange indeed”.

Mella had not gone into the crypts with the men, preferring to stay outside in the brisk, autumn air. She walked further up the hill, behind the ruined church to the churchyard.

She walked among the tombstones, trying to imagine the people who had once lived here, who had died here on Mhalwae. The descriptions had long since eroded away, leaving nothing but a hint at who lay in the soft earth, beneath her feet.

She came to a halt in front of the highest grave on the hill. Instead of a tombstone, this grave was marked by the dark statue of a menacing, hooded figure with a spear clasped in its hands.

Mella felt a thrill of terror shudder down her spine until it found her stomach so she nearly vomited in panic.

She turned away covering her face with her hands, trying irrationally to somehow hide herself from the dark face in the depth of the hood.

“Non, non… Mella, ma belle, ma pisliskurja”, the dreadful crooning voice was there again, “ne cachez pas votre visage”.

She felt compelled to look up again, staring at the statue, unable to turn her face away.

She clasped her hands over her ears to try and keep out the sound of his rasping voice, to free herself from the hold he had over her. But it made no difference, his voice was inside her head, mentally caressing her, making her feel stained somehow, ruined from the inside out.

She looked up at the statue towering above her and was filled with all-encompassing terror. It loomed above her and she screamed as she saw the hands holding the spear slowly begin to move.

As always when they happened to be going to bed at the same time, they went to their respective beds, not even saying goodnight to each other.

Cordell sat on the edge of the bed, purposefully looking at Lisbet as she tucked herself into bed. He was desperate to start a fight. Things had been very different between them since he had woken from his coma two weeks before. Where there had been a plethora of screaming and yelling before now there was only silence. And he could not bear the silence. Anything would have been better than this.

Lisbet rolled over and was soon sleeping soundly, but sleep would not visit him tonight. It was not the pain of his wounds, which were slowly healing, although it seemed his face would be marked with a scar permanently now. No, it was a different pain, a pain pounding in his heart, making him dizzy and sick. He felt light-headed as he stood, supporting himself on the bedpost so he did not fall.

He silently crept to her bedside so he could see her sleeping face, lit by the golden candlelight. Her features were soft, but he could not help but notice how sorrowful they were even in sleep. It also occured to him that she wore her hair differently now when she slept, she had forcefully tied it back, although large pieces fell around her face refusing to be tamed. Her mouth was open slightly, her cheeks flushed pink with sleep. Cordell longed to feel the touch of those soft lips on his, to rub his face against those warm cheeks. It was too much to bear.

He gently shook her awake, thinking dolefully of all the times she had not been so polite in raising him from his sleep. She mumbled and stirred, rolling towards him, her eyes blinking sleepily. When her eyes met his, he noticed they widened slightly, a look of suprise clearly written on her face.

She pulled the covers back as he stood watching her. How had he never before noticed the way the folds of her flimsy, white nightgown clung to the curves beneath. His heart was thumping in his chest so loudly now he felt sure she must have heard it.

If she did she gave no sign, carefully smoothing the hair that had broke free of its confines back into place.

She put her hands on her hips the way she used to before a fight but all the fire had gone out of it, leaving only the glow of deadening coals.

“What do you want Cordell?”, she sighed deeply, her hair falling in front of her face again. This time she did not try to straighten it as though the effort was too much.

He searched her face for some sign that the passionate, angry woman he had married was still inside there, anything but this marionette standing before him. Had she really changed so much in the weeks he had been ill. He had only now realised that though fire could burn if you stood too close, or tried to smother it with your hands, it could also warm and comfort if you let it flicker. Now he feared that the fire had gone out.

She was staring at him, her eyes still dull from sleep and he suddenly realised how close his hand was to touching hers and with a burst of courage he reached out and took it.

She pulled it away as though he had burnt it. He looked at her face searching for some anger at his actions but saw none there, only confusion and sadness.

After gazing at each other for some moments, she finally spoke, “Cordell… I am tired… can you let me go back to sleep”.

She said it with a half-laugh, but there was no joy in it and it sounded hollow to his ears. She started to move back towards the bed.

In a moment of clarity Cordell realised that this was it, his last chance, after this there would be nothing. All of the heat of the fire would be gone, the coals too cold for any kindling to relight them.

He reached for her, pulling her firmly into his arms, so the entire length of their bodies was pressed together. He could feel her trembling against him, her breath coming out ragged between parted lips, her pupils dilated. His mouth was so close to hers he could almost taste those lips.

“Cordell… let me go”, she said but there was no resolution behind her shaking voice, “I am tired”.

She stared at him, and he finally saw the flicker of a small spark of defiance behind her gaze, as though she was daring him to comply. It was enough and he tilted her back so far that she had to cling to him to stay upright, his mouth hungrily finding hers. She kissed him back with a passion equaling his and he felt the fire flare up between them.

She moaned as he nipped at the soft skin of her neck, her fingernails digging into his back as she fought to stay upright. He could feel her nightgown riding up her leg and he was suddenly desperate for the material that separated them to be gone.

He turned her around and began to untie the laces of her gown.

“It should be my ladies doing that for me”, she joked, though he could hear her voice shaking.

It reminded him of their actual wedding night when he had found she had dressed herself again after her ladies had left, and had refused to let him touch her.

It also reminded him that he had never seen her naked body before and he pulled frantically at the laces. It should not have been so difficult but his fingers were nervously fumbling and he felt like cheering when finally her gown slid to the floor. He was quickly distracted from his small victory by the sight of her.

She was no longer laughing as he stood behind her so close she could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck. His hands caressed her sides, slowly moving down to rest on her hips.

“Cordell,” she whispered, the tiniest sound he had ever heard from her, “I am very sorry”.

“Me too Lisbet… for everything”, he gently turned her around kissing her deeply, her hair falling over their faces.

He maneuvered her over to the bed and gently laid her down, still kissing her, his hand stroking the smooth curve of her thigh. Her arms were wrapped around his waist and he found himself not quite believing this could actually be happening.

He stopped for a moment, looking searchingly at her face, but he saw there no hostility, only warmth and the hint of something else. He was not able to ponder what that might be as she grasped a fistful of his hair in her hand and pulled his mouth to hers, kissing him fiercely.

He gently moved inside her, kissing her hard to distract her from the pain. He felt her arms tighten around his back, then go soft as she relaxed letting him in.

“Lisbet”, he murmured softly in her ear, “Now we truly are married”.

The pain was great for Lisbet but so was the pleasure as she hugged her husband to her, tears running uncontrollably down her face.

“I love you Lisbet”, he managed to say between ragged gasps, “I love you… I love you so much. I thought I was dead and I would never be with you but then you saved me from the dark”.

“I love you too Cordell”, was all she could reply but it was more than enough.

Cordell had been struggling in the deep water for what seemed like eternity. Sometimes his head would sink beneath the surface for long breathless moments but always, the strength of his will would push it up again.

But his limbs were exhausted, his whole body aching desperately for sleep and he knew he could not last any longer. His head sank again into the water and with a final burst of energy he came up spluttering, gasping for breath. He knew it would be his last.

He could not fight it anymore, his body was broken and his limbs relaxed as the cool water pushed in around his face, finally swallowing him. He welcomed its icy embrace, gently wrapped itself around his worn out body as he slowly descended towards the depths of the lake.

But as his lungs began to burn he was filled with panic, thrashing around uselessly as the weight of the water pressed in around him. This was not how it was supposed to end, he thought as his movements gradually lessened and a dark fog settled on him. He felt himself slipping away from his struggling body, down into the black depths where sightless creatures crawled amongst the slime.

Just as he was floating free of the confines of his body a firm hand clasped his and he felt his body being pulled towards the surface back into the light.

The hands held his tightly as his head broke the surface and he felt the sting of the icy rain on his skin. He gulped in the cool air, retching and spluttering as he brought up the water he had breathed and swallowed.

When he could breath again more normally he looked up into the face of Lisbet. Her soft lips slightly parted she was smiling silently at him, her face glowing radiantly despite the heavy mist that surrounded them.

Her thick hair was plastered to her face and he could not help but notice her dress was clinging damply to her body. It was the dress she had worn on their wedding day, he did not know what had become of it now, perhaps she had burned it. He would not have been surprised.

But she had not let go of his hands and he clung desperately to them, feeling as though if he let them go he would be lost, sinking again into the muddy depths.

He saw her lips moving, she was saying something but he could not make out the words.

She only said it once and then he felt her hands pulling away from his and she turned towards the bank.

“Lisbet… please do not leave me here”, he cried in despair trying to follow but he was unable to leave this place.

“Lisbet”, he croaked again, his voice hoarse from the water he had swallowed, “Lisbet…”. But she did not turn around.

He raised his hands pleadingly to her, but she did not see and he lost sight of her between the trees. He did not know where she was going, only that he wanted to follow but could not.

Cordell moaned in pain, suddenly very aware of his body. It took him a moment to understand the unfamiliar surroundings. He was lying in a bed in a dark stuffy room, his head pounding and his entire body singing out in exquisite pain.

The heat of the room was suffocating, and he breathed deeply trying to take in enough air. What was most disconcerting was the hot body pressed up against his and he pushed it away from him, groaning from the exertion.

He heard a sharp gasp, and then felt the bed moving. He turned his neck stiffly and saw Lisbet, pushing back the covers and hurriedly sitting.

He tried to sit too, his head reeling as light danced behind his eyelids.

“Lisbet”, he croaked, his voice hoarse, his tongue swollen and thick in his mouth.

She turned to look at him, shock written all over her face which was also blushing a dark shade of red.

“I will get someone for you Cordell, lie down again… you.. you should not be moving around”.

She turned her back on him again fumbling at the door handle.

“Lisbet… please… please do not leave me… Lisbet…”

But she was already gone and he was left alone again, dizzy and frightened, pain flaring in every part of his body and a sob rising in his throat.

Father Harndall had come and gone, and now it as just Lisbet and her dying husband in the quiet of the room. Harndall had given him is last rites and prayed for a long time by his bedside. Now Lisbet knelt on the wooden floor and prayed too as she had done every day many times since Cordell had become ill.

She did not know what to ask for anymore. At first she had prayed because she felt like she should. After all he was her husband and he was ill, it was a Christian thing to do. But as the weeks wore on and Cordell’s health steadily declined, she had found her prayers for his survival becoming more and more fervent, until she was begging for him to be spared.

She would have given anything for her husband to yell at her and call her a banshee or a witch. Anything would be better than this deathly silence, the pale, wasted figure lying before her, struggling for every breath. She had watched that face so long she felt like she knew every curve, every hollow. His superficial injuries had begun to heal but there had been no sign of the fever abating, and they had told her he would probably not last the night.

Was this how it would end, Cordell like a fish dragged onto the shore by a hook in its mouth, finally losing the battle for breath. Despair welled up in her and suddenly the grief was too much to bear and she stood up, almost knocking the chair over.

She thrashed around wildly, as though the movement would somehow abate her sorrow. Her head was whirling and she felt dizzy and short of breath. Her body shuddered with great, gasping sobs and her ears were ringing as darkness pressed in at the edge of her vision.

She managed to stumble to the edge of the bed and then collapsed onto the floor, leaning heavily against the bedpost. Her life was crumbling before her, all her cruel comments, her unfair demands and insults ringing in her ears. How could she have been so stupid? How did she not realise what she had before it was too late. She felt as though her eyes were open now to all the possibilities that had been before her and she had ignored. And now it was too late.

She gasped for air, retching, her heart pounding inside her chest. She couldn’t live with this pain, how could she go on another day like this, in a world without him. Her heart would surely break apart inside her chest, oozing blood until she was cold and dead.

She slowly stood up, her knees shaking beneath the weight of her body as she steadied herself against the bed. She had never shared a bed with her husband, never known what it was like to sleep next to a man. But tonight she would even it would be the only night she ever did.

She carefully sat down on the edge of the bed , as nervous as though it were her wedding night. But she would never have one, never have his children, never be loved by him. All these things would now be cruelly pulled from her desperately grasping hands, just as she realised how important they were to her.

Another wave of sorrow crashed over her and she hugged her knees to her chest and buried her face, her sobs muffled by the heavy fabric of her dress.

She maneuvered herself under the blanket, and tentatively pulled it up to her chin. Although she had shared beds with her sisters before, it was a strange feeling to know that there was a man in this one, her man, her husband. She should be giggling as he tried to kiss her smiling mouth, feeling his strong arms wrapping around her, knowing she was safe there with him.

Instead she felt like an intruder, as though she had accidentally climbed into the wrong bed and found someone there she had not expected. Worse, she felt as though her husband was so far gone already she may as well be climbing into the crypt to lie beside his cold, dead body.

She brought her small hand up to the pillow and stared intently at the wedding ring on her finger. She had been so angry to have it put there in the first place, this sign of possession. She had hated it so as though it had been shackles around her ankles instead, had even considered throwing it into the river. But now, glowing soft gold in the candlelight it seemed to her a thing of exquisite beauty and she wondered how she could have ever disliked it so fervently.

She carefully moved over, edging closer to the body of her unconscious husband. Even though he was so far gone nothing would have woken him, she did not want to disturb him.

She drew as close as she dared to his body, as near as she could be without actually touching him. She could feel that he was not cold, but very warm indeed, the heat of the fever radiating from him and warming the bed around him.

With a brief burst of courage she crossed the remaining space between them, burying her face in his long mane of hair. She had expected him to smell bad, he had been bathed during his illness but still he had been lying there for weeks, thrashing around in a fever. But he didn’t, he smelt warm and safe and with her body pressed against his she could almost imagine he were just sleeping and in the morning he would wake and roll over and smile at her. But it was not to be.

The tears began to roll down her face again, dripping silently onto the pillow. She had been so wrong. But now she knew and she wanted to say it even though it was too late. Perhaps it would be something to comfort him on his long journey to the land of the dead, or perhaps he would go cursing her name but she would say it anyway.

She brought her soft mouth to his hot ear and whispered gently the words she had never spoken to him.

“Cordell, I love you”.

Lisbet sat by the bedside watching the flickering candlelight play over the face of her husband. It had been two weeks since he had been bitten by the strange dog, and he had not woken since that night. When she had woken the next morning and been unable to rouse him she had panicked and got help immediately. But there was no physician on Mhalwae and the best they had was the young midwife, who had only been able to suggest a few things. They had moved Cordell to a bigger, warmer room and there Lisbet had sat, in the same chair day after day watching as his condition steadily worsened.

(more…)

Lisbet lay on the bed, her thoughts elsewhere, somewhere she had the life she wanted and was not tethered to the relentlessness of this one.

(more…)

Cordell stood deep in conversation with Steen. The young man showed remarkable apitude when it came to deciphering the cause of a problem. And at that point they were having problems with the ground that part of the foundation would lie on, so Cordell could use all the apitude he could get.

(more…)