Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (48 page)

Some
hours later Theregrond nodded with satisfaction as Jeff began to breathe deeply
and shiver.

“Perhaps
the crisis has passed.”

Magda
said nothing, but closed her eyes and her own breathing took on the rhythm of
sleep. Lilet shifted position so she could run a hand along Jeff’s ribs, which
stuck out prominently.

“He
is so wasted from his toil, Father, yet strength remains. It is not his time to
leave this world.”

“As
the gods ordain.”

Lilet
raised her head so she could view Magda’s face from a better perspective.
Orange light from the bed of coals illuminated her daughter’s features more
effectively than full sunlight. Lilet had never been able to understand Magda,
for the two women viewed the world from perspectives that could not be
reconciled.

While
Lilet was comforted by the predictable routine of village life, actively
avoided anything unusual, Magda took every opportunity to wander far afield in
search of new adventure. Magda, perhaps, understood this better than Lilet. At
the moment, however, and sensitized by events, Lilet was taken with prescient
insight that eluded the limitations of her tightly ordered life.

The
sense of completion to Magda’s features, the way she held this man, struck
Lilet to the heart. She could not comprehend being attracted to such a person.
He had just arrived, was a complete stranger, not of her people, and obviously
extremely rash. She saw a future for her daughter that faded far beyond the
realm of experience; saw alien landscapes and peoples that frightened her.
Lilet gasped and tears rushed to her eyes. For one brief instant she glimpsed
eternity but did not welcome it and shuddered away.

“Oh,
Father, I fear for her. What has provoked her to move so quickly? It will be
her death to join with this man!”

“Do
you doubt a time is come when the gods would walk among us, Lilet?”

“This
is a man, no god.”

“Yes,
he is a man, but will you consider my question?”

“The
time is come.”

Theregrond
nodded. “Then let us be accepting of their will, whatever the import. I believe
that, in your heart, you have long known that Magda is a most unusual woman.
Perhaps her destiny lies far from this village.”

“Thus
I fear, for it has been given me to view that destiny and it…” Lilet lay down
and placed a hand over Jeff’s heart. “I will say no more.”

Jeff
woke up the next afternoon. He babbled incoherently, took some broth and was
quickly asleep again. It was two days before he could stay awake for more than
an hour, and six more before he could walk. The skin on his fingers, cheeks and
ears blistered from the effects of frostbite. As it became clear over passing
days that he wasn’t going to lose fingers, Jeff’s relief was immense. The
swollen knee also began to shrink. Magda was his constant companion during
those anxious days.

Never
speaking more than a word or two, she always seemed to be there when he needed
a hand up or a shoulder to lean on while trying to get his legs working again.
His body odor was so offensive that Jeff could hardly bear it, and he was
humiliated by what she must think.

Without
having to look in a mirror, Jeff knew that his filthy, emaciated body and
scabbed face must be extremely ugly. He tried to brush Magda away the first
time she gave her hand to assist him. Rather than withdraw, she simply took his
arm and pulled him to his feet.

When
Jeff was able to stand for more than a few minutes she draped a fur robe around
his shoulders and assisted him to the village sauna. Inside, she undressed him
like a child and had him sit on a stool. Dipping a bucket of warm water, Magda
unceremoniously dumped it over his head. Others in the sauna lent a hand in
what became a communal effort.

He
could hardly sit on the stool but had enough strength to struggle weakly when
Magda scrubbed the worst of the dirt off with a bristle brush. The villagers
considered that a positive sign and encouraged him with cries of approval. They
did not release their grip. A woman tossed a wad of alkali soap to Magda and
she laid into the task.

The
village chief and elders visited on a regular basis to keep track of his
recovery. When he had gained some strength, Jeff recounted his experiences on
the trail in a halting voice. Those assembled hung on every word as the story
unfolded. Jeff lapsed into silence after relating what he could remember of the
last march. There was no sound except the fire’s crackling as the chief
continued to examine Jeff’s drawn features and bowed head. Theregrond took the
chief aside.

“You
must leave now. Life was nearly gone when he was found, and of a night I hear
his spirit crying its desolation. We must be patient lest it flies to seek
distant refuge.”

Nearly
the end of December, the days extended no more than five hours and the deep
cold retained its grip on the land. Villagers spent their days constructing new
garments, repairing old ones and tending to many other tasks in preparation for
spring. Evenings were given over to singing, recitation of ballads and dancing.
It was a pleasant time for the older villagers, but the young set felt confined
as winter ground on. Even though game was scarce, they organized hunts just to
burn off energy.

Jeff
gradually became an accepted part of the village, which he learned was called
Fastholm. He visited the meeting hall on occasion during the day, but always
withdrew when the real partying began. One evening, without saying a word,
Magda hauled him to his feet and tossed a fur robe at him. When he dallied, she
grabbed the robe, threw it around his shoulders and dragged him out of doors.

Taller
than Jeff by four or five inches, she had a figure that even his dulled
perception had taken note of. Of much greater importance, he always felt
comforted in her presence. Jeff thought Magda was the most self-possessed,
psychologically poised person he had ever known.

At
the hall’s entrance, Jeff balked. The commotion inside was overwhelming. Taking
a firmer grip, Magda pulled him into the smoky interior and humid warmth. The
place was packed with villagers and filled with music and laughter.

“Now
you will dance with me, Jeffrey.”

They
broke into the outermost ring circling the meeting hall. While the pace was
fast, the steps were familiar and Jeff was surprised to find that he could keep
up. The knee was a problem, but it loosened up after a few times around the
hall. The rings eventually broke up into smaller groups. In the process, Jeff was
spun away by a woman who was about Magda’s age and height. Jeff thought her
name was Nilka.

Stopping
well away from the dancing, Nilka bent to kiss him. Before she could, a fist
flashed past his face to land up alongside her head with a cracking sound. Nilka
reeled back, but not far enough. Magda pushed by Jeff and landed a whistling
left cross that dropped the already stunned woman to the floor. Glancing at
Nilka to make sure she was breathing, Magda pulled Jeff toward a small group of
villagers that had formed into a square.

As
the frenetic pace slowed, Magda’s body and hands left no doubt she was
interested in more than dancing. The hall was quiet except for drunken snores
and a lone fifer trying to put two notes together when she lead Jeff to a dark
corner and began kissing him. When Magda slipped a hand under his belt, Jeff
called up visions of Zimma much as a priest might hold up a crucifix to ward
off temptation and sidled away. Taking his hand, Magda led him back to their
lodge.

The
evening had been a radical break from morbid brooding. Yet in some ways the
merriment had intensified the sense of personal weakness and failure that
continually haunted Jeff. The villagers were so full of life and easy
confidence that he could hardly bear their presence.

While
physically on the path to recovery, a part of his soul had been deeply injured
by those last days on the trail. For the first time in his life he had been
completely whipped. The sense of fear that hit Jeff each time he thought about
leaving was so overpowering that on one occasion he broke down and wept. He had
nearly died three times since arriving on Aketti. The last time had wormed its
way deep.

Jeff
couldn’t shake memories of the awful silence and utter loneliness of the land.
The beautiful, star-filled night that had sucked the life out of him while
trees exploded and groaned their agony. He frequently awoke from sleep bathed
in sweat from nightmares of slow death, his body covered with frozen rime, arms
reaching out in supplication. But no one was there.

Theregrond
and Magda made sure Jeff was not left behind when, late one night, their family
trekked to a nearby hill in company with the entire village. Logs were stacked
into a tall pile until the whole affair threatened to avalanche down the hill
and set afire. Theregrond joined a group of older men and women intently
viewing stars that revolved by overhead. The oldest among them abruptly threw
her arms up.

“The
sun returns to us. Give joy with the Song of Life.”

Individual
voices were raised, only to be submerged in a chorus that sorted itself out
into a three-part acapella hymn. Although Jeff didn’t know the words, he
experienced such a rush of emotion that he could do nothing but join in. He
also thought, This is it. The Winter Solstice. The longest night of the year.
I’ve got to leave.

He
intended to get organized the following day but cowered away from even the
thought of leaving. Over subsequent days he became moody, even surly, and was
given to angry outbursts. It came to a head one night when Jeff awoke with a
strangled scream. Everyone in the lodge was awake in an instant and reached for
spears, but settled back with sympathetic grunts when they realized it was
another nightmare.

Sitting
up, Jeff rested his head on his knees and waited for the sweat to cool. He
stiffened at a light touch on his shoulder.

“This
is not right,” Magda whispered in his ear. “Your aloneness will first defeat
then kill you. This must not be so, for you are a man of courage and serve us
all.”

She
slipped into Jeff’s bed of furs and pulled him down to lie beside her. Taking
him in her arms she stroked his body with smooth-drawn caresses. Jeff shuddered
from the pleasure of her touch and was reminded of Zimma’s, reminded of what
she had said. Throwing his arms around Magda, he buried his face in golden hair
and let the tears come. When he awoke she was still there. Jeff felt a
wonderful sense of wholeness and drifted into a sleep free of nightmares.

Within
a week Jeff began laying plans for his departure. Many hours were spent deep in
conversation with Fastholm’s leaders. Their knowledge of the land was
encyclopedic, leading Jeff to revise equipment and clothing as he learned. A
rough but serviceable sled was constructed to carry extra provisions, clothing
and tinder. He adopted the Northman’s way of carrying fire buried in a wad of
punk that was enclosed in a ventilated earthen jar, devised a liner for his
mittens, and constructed a balaclava to protect his face.

Comforted
by Magda’s arms, his nights were peaceful. Her calm serenity and unwavering
persistence in loving him, in believing in him, called forth a depth of passion
that first surprised then consumed Jeff. He had surrendered to her, but soon
fell in love without really knowing it had happened.

Most
of the warriors in the village were eager to join in Jeff’s quest to rally the
tribes. While cabin fever played a role in their enthusiasm, the threat he
reported fueled the larger part. Thingel, the chieftain, insisted that he send
teams out to visit tribes they were related to. Jeff gratefully accepted the
offer and estimated that left around fifteen villages to visit.

He
had been spending as much time as possible with Magda, could have done nothing
else. As the time to leave drew closer, Jeff felt such conflict at leaving her
that he began to brood and withdraw. Magda would have none of it. She enticed,
pursued and, if necessary, seduced him. In the end she always captured him,
sometimes two or three times in a day.

The
night before he was to leave Magda silently handed him his furs and, packing
more, led him far into the forest. Laying out their bed on the snow, she
undressed. Standing tall and ivory in the moonlight, she beckoned to him.
Seeming to come afire, Magda gave him no rest until he didn’t want to rest,
their cries of joy and pain not ending until shortly before dawn. With sunlight
streaking the snow, they walked into the village hand in hand.

Following
a tumultuous send-off by the assembled village, Jeff picked up the sled’s
traces and trudged into the forest. Magda accompanied him until they were alone
and could stop for a private farewell. She slipped her hands inside his furs
and pulled him close.

“We
will meet in the south, Jeffrey. I will not be separate from you, and would
hold converse with Zimma.”

The
absolute conviction in Magda’s voice prompted Jeff to step back and look at
her. He was reminded of Zimma after their first loving, but what Magda
projected had a backbone of steel that surpassed comparison. She appeared
radiant, not sad. Deep secrets seemed to lurk in blue eyes that pulled him ever
deeper.