Dianthe

[Sunset Fallow]

An Unprovoked Kindness pending a less than Significant Arrival

Rain soaked through muddied clothes and matted hair, hanging limply on a thin and almost emaciated frame. Through the rain she could see the hazy outline of high wooden gates set along a broad expanse of imposing grey walls. A wagon pulled by oxen passed along the deeply rutted road throwing mud and water on already filthy bare legs. She looked up at the gates and the soldiers who stood solemnly at their post. A thin shawl was wrapped tightly about shoulders that trembled from the cold and hung raggedly to her knees. She clutched at it now and glanced momentarily at the ground, remembering her last encounter; the swift denial, the shove and falling to the ground…the laughter as she crawled to her feet and walked away. The last small portion of her dignity died with her hunger.

She took a deep breath and trudged slowly up to the guard standing closest. She looked at his chest, not meeting his eyes. “Greetings, kind sir.”

He yelled for those hurrying through the gates to move on. Had he even heard her? The gates stood open and people passed freely. She simply nodded and walked on through the gates. She was ignored as might be any beggar.

Dirt roads and closely spaced building dominated the area between high stone and mortar walls. The sounds of a small settlement filtered through the patter of persistent rain. A sign for an Inn was prominently displayed on the left side of the main road along with a smaller sign that read ‘Rooms for rent’. The smell of fresh baked bread permeated the area and drew her like a sirens song to the Inn. Laughter and the sound of singing could be heard through the door as she approached. The door swung open as she stood daydreaming, lost in the sounds and memories that had become so distant.

“Aye, mate…what we got ‘ere?” He staggered to an abrupt halt in the doorway. He was large and tall, and obviously drunk.

“Begging your pardon, sir.” She took a step back and to the side, her head bowed.

He wobbled a moment and then grabbed at the door frame, his vision swimming as he tried to focus on her. From behind him a voice called out. “Goddamn Silas…ya wanna close that damned door?”

The drunk turned unsteadily to the voice and made an obscene gesture. “An’ that’s fer you and that pet cow ya call a wife.”

There was the sound of furniture scuffing the floor and heavy foot falls and suddenly the drunk staggered outward. Blood flowed from the drunk’s nose and was smeared across his face. He wobbled and nearly fell before another man rushed from the doorway. His rush was met by a blow from the drunk and they fell wrestling in the mud.

More men and a few women swiftly followed cheering eagerly for the combatants as they struggled comically in the rain that turned the road to a sea of thin mud. As the last of the Inn’s patrons cleared the doorway, she slipped quietly inside. A large fireplace dominated one side of the main room. She chose a chair close to the fire and sat, water dripping from her hair and wet clothing. Steam rose from her clothes as the heat of the fire warmed her and brought a pink glow to her cheeks. She closed her eyes and shivered.

“What kin I bring ya?” A man stood close by. An apron made of canvas covered his rotund form. Her eyes opened. Had she slept? She sighed and looked up at him, a smile curving full lips almost before she could think. Blue eyes set in a broad face gazed back.

There was the pause of indecision. Should she simply admit her inability to pay or try to connive a few more moments of heat from this fire? Cold muddled her thoughts. He looked so kind…”I’ve no gold” Her head and eyes dipped almost immediately. She waited for the inevitable; the firm rebuke that bid her to again take to the streets. She looked back at his face, and again she smiled. Perhaps, just this once.

“Hot cider…for milady.” He smiled at her…a real smile. Gods, had it been so long? Then he left, his rotund form scurrying off more quickly than she though possible.

Although the wait for the cider was probably only a few minutes, she had fallen asleep again when he returned. She startled awake as he set the cider on a small table standing behind her. “Your cider, milady.” She smiled again and thanked him. He stood looking at her and she saw that he was very young, perhaps not much older than her.

The patrons had begun to return but mostly ignored her except for one man who came up and stood directly in front of her. “You’re sittin’ in my spot.” She stood silently and moved two chairs to one side. He was gravely faced with pock marks from acne and a ruddy complexion that seemed forever scowling. He walked slowly to where she sat and again stood just in front of her. “You’re still in my spot.” She looked up and then moved away to stand some distance further, but still near the fire. He turned to watch her silently.

“Is this your spot too, Hiram?” It was the rotund barman with those piercing blue eyes. He was sitting in one of the chairs with his arms crossed before a massive chest.

The one he had called Hiram turned toward the barman. “She’s a tramp. Ya oughtna be serving her kind in here.”

The barman stood and walked the few paces to where Hiram stood. “This is my place and I serve who I want.”

Hiram jabbed a finger into the barman’s chest. “This is your dad’s place…an’ don you forget it. Your dad would NEVER have served TRAMPS!” Heads turned and the Inn became quiet.

The barman suddenly lost all aspects of good humor. “This is my place…and my dad’s dead, you animal fornicating coward. You had best leave…NOW!” The barman loomed larger than expected and muscle bulged from what she had thought was his soft and ample girth. Hiram’s toes scraped for purchase as the barman lifted him easily with one hand by the front of his clothes. The barman’s face moved to within inches of Hiram’s. “I never liked you Hiram. Not one day. My dad only served you ‘cause you didn’t have nowhere else to go…no other friends.” The barman set Hiram down with a slight push backward. “Now you leave…leave an’ don’t come back.” The barman paused briefly. “Ya hear?”

She wanted nothing more than to be left alone, to sink into a hole far from sight. Hiram kicked at a table and left without a word. The barman stood looking into the fire, taking deep breathes, making and unmaking fists as he fought to control his anger. “Thanks.”

She glanced across the short space, her voice barely above a whisper. “Welcome…not quite sure what for.” The Inn which had become so silent just moments earlier resumed the low drone of conversation and laughter.

The barman looked at her now. He seemed older somehow. “Him.” He nodded toward the door where Hiram had so recently exited. “Been wanting a reason to do that since…” The barman paused. “I’m Thurman.” He took a deep breath. “You’re welcome to stay the night…a hot meal. We’re not all like ‘em. Good people here.” He looked at her drink that had gone cold. “It’s on the house. I’ll bring you something a bit stronger.” He turned to leave.

“Thurman, thank you.” She smiled widely.

He turned and made a perfunctory bow laughing. “Milady.”

[Sunset Fallow]

Hollow excuses, and triumphant pain;
And oft her cogitations sink as low
As, through the abysses of a joyless heart,
The heaviest plummet of despair can go— *

The day dawned clear after the rain. A bright shaft of light shone through the window illuminating tiny motes of dust that danced lazily in the still air. What was his name? Yes, now I remember. Thurman. We drank too much and talked too long, and I quite enjoyed being warm.

I rolled from the bed and stood. My clothes were folded and lay at the side of the bed. Odd that I don’t remember doing that. There was a long mirror on one wall. A tall girl, with long dirty hair and painfully thin limbs stared back. How long had it been? She was so very thin. Ribs and bones tented pale skin. Her hands went to her breasts, small breasts more appropriate to a girl just entering her puberty. I saw tears form in those eyes. Beautiful eyes. So sad, she was crying. Poor girl…

“Dianthe…” A soft rap sounded at the door. The girl stood crying, great wracking sobs that filled the room. The door opened. She looked at the man standing in the door. Tears streaked her cheeks and wet her chest. “Oh, Dianthe…” He took a step towards her. She held out her arms. He took another step and another, and then she was in his arms.

She cried for a time as he comforted her. Much could have been said of that time. Yet they never spoke of it. It was only after and much later that she again appeared, clean and freshly scrubbed with soft hair that hung to her waist and pale white skin. Nothing seemed amiss save for the silence, awkward and painful.

“The clothes look nice on you.” He spoke without turning, hearing her softly pad barefoot into the room.

“You never even looked.” She stood a few feet away, clean clothes and bare feet.

“I can tell. You’re a pretty girl. Anything would look good on you.” He set down a large cleaver and turned to face her. “Shoes…” He began to walk off.

“Thurman, wait…wait, wait.” She pursed her lips. We all fear failure, some more than others. The refusals and slights that hurt so much, forever remembered as tiny wounds.

He stopped and after a time turned to face her. An image lingered in his mind of her in a room, standing and crying. He looked at the floor, wishing the image away. “Come sit. I’ve some rolls and butter.”

They spoke of nothing, the silences and glances saying everything. He watched her eat for a while. He brought some cheese and hard salami. Finally, he asked. “Wait for what?”

Big blue eyes gazed back at him. “May I stay…here with you?”

He took a deep breath. “I’m nearly old enough to be your father, Dianthe.”

It was such a beautiful smile. It melted his heart. “I know.”

*W. Wordsworth, 1888

[Wired]

\\ wow, STRONG first (and second) post. Welcome!

[Sunset Fallow]

((Wired - my most humble thanks.))

Death on dark wings fly
Its feathered shaft
An arrow loosed
Did pierce her through and through

Her breath tore from her in ragged gasps. Brambles ripped at her clothing and rent her skin leaving bloody trails. She dodged left around a tree and heard the hard thump of an arrow striking the trunk. Where was he? He was right behind her. She looked to either side, panic bringing a cold sweat to her face. She didn’t know which way to run. ‘Gods…Gods…Don’t do this…think’.

She saw a brush covered depression and ran. The wind created a cascade of sounds that concealed any footsteps save her own. She reached the steep slope and leapt down the hill, losing her step and tumbling to a stop. Blood streamed from a cut on her forehead. Her dress had torn and hung loosely. She pulled and ripped it from around her knees.

She crouched low and moved slowly through the deeper vegetation towards the village. The ravine began to widen and emptied into a broad clearing. The edge was ringed with thick underbrush. She watched the clearing as she slowly made her way around its edge. Who was it? Why was he chasing her? She was breathing too hard, her lungs burned from the cold air.

There…

She saw someone at the edge of the clearing opposite her. She moved deeper into the forest, but still watched him. He stepped into the clearing slowly. His head was covered by a hood that enveloped his face in deep shadows. He wore dark clothing and soft tan boots. He was short, shorter than her and thin. He carried a bow.

“You’ll not make it to town before I bring you down.” He called out, looking right at her.

“Then why don’t you shoot me now?” She yelled and moved cautiously towards the edge of the clearing. “You’re so brave. Hunting a girl in the woods. Poor man…”

“I could have had you at first. But what fun would that be…you never knowing.” He pulled his hood back. It was Hiram. After all this time, the insult had festered and rankled in his heart.

“You’re a coward, Hiram, just as Thurman said.” She watched from the edge of the clearing.

“Thurman’s little tramp. Enjoyed your time here, I hope. It’s about to end...” He notched an arrow and fired.

She dodged and the arrow missed. She rolled and moved the opposite direction further into the trees. Another arrow hit a tree just to her right as she fled past. She pulled her dress to her waist and ran dodging trees and underbrush.

She was almost a mile from town. It was a day away from chores and book work, and she couldn’t resist the temptation to just ramble. They seemed so few and far between, she had wandered much further than she realized when she started back. Then she saw him…a dark figure darting between trees behind her. It was how he moved, furtively as if hunting, that alerted her. She began to jog, and then ran. Finally she dodged into the trees hoping to elude him. That was a mistake. The road would have been faster and he might not have braved so open a shot at her back even this far from town. But at the time she didn’t know.

The road was to her right a few hundred yards. She began to angle in that direction. She glanced back and saw him jogging between the trees. He stopped and fired. She changed direction quickly and the arrow missed again. Her heart pounded and threatened to burst from her chest. She almost tripped on some vines. The sun was beginning to set and it was getting harder to see under the dense overhead canopy.

She dodged quickly between two trees, hoping he wouldn’t have time for a clear shot. The road finally appeared on her right. She jumped a log and some high brush and picked up speed on the clear ground. Her legs ached as she pushed. She could see the guards now two or three hundred yards off and waved. She couldn’t yell, it was all she could do to breathe, her lungs ached.

Almost there…run,

RUN!

The arrow caught her high on the right side of her back, shattering her scapula and entering her lung. She coughed once and fell face first into the road. She tried to rise. Another arrow hit her low in the mid back. The guards began to run. An arrow struck the road.

Everything turned black.

[Sunset Fallow]

One sole desire, one passion now remains
To keep life's fever still within her veins,
Vengeance! dire vengeance on the wretch who cast
O'er her and all she lov'd that ruinous blast.*

Luck and circumstance conspired to both wound and save me. Those who survive as I did might ponder their good fortune, but I only bemoaned the reasons I was visited by this cruelty. Such was the course of my healing which further darkened an already black mood. My recovery was long and torturous with fits and starts that I endured for weeks as I lay abed with various maladies and complications. Those first few days I lamented my misfortune and grieved over my illness, and was as much a hindrance to my recovery as the illness that crippled me. So great were the depths of my despair that oft I would think to myself of the quick release that my death would have brought.

Such a grim demeanor cast a pall over those who visited my bedside. It was commonly rumored by most who came to me during that time that I would linger on death’s doorstep for a while and finally pass away having relinquished my will to live. Yet as I wallowed in self-pity and fanciful thoughts of my untimely and undeserved death, the sudden realization that I might actually die was quite sobering. I began to think of all the reasons that I should live, that I in fact deserved to live. This revelation was the turning point in my recovery and was also most probably the time I began to think of revenge.

Revenge for the pain I had endured, for the loss and misery, for all that those close to me had suffered. I never spoke of it. I kept it close to me that I might nurture it and feed it; so that none might dissuade me from its course. And it grew with an insatiable appetite. It fueled my recovery and drove me to do things I never imagined.

Hiram, much to the chagrin of all that knew of my fate, was gone. The tiny cabin where he lived was abandoned and watched for some time that he might return. The local constabulary performed their duties well but had little hope of finding him. I took the news and made appropriate comments and thanked all who appeared at my bedside, all the while planning what retribution I would exact. The plans became my mantra; detailed scripts of torture and death, the stuff of daytime fantasies and grisly nightmares.

Within days of my decision, I became determined to walk and exercise. I ate and began to gain weight and muscle at first quite slowly. There were skills to learn, weapons and tracking being foremost. A Soldier retired for his injuries became my teacher. Each morning I would learn the basics of using light sword, dagger and bow and the evenings I worked at the Inn to earn the gold that would pay for my plans.

Days became weeks, and then months. I spoke to all who knew Hiram. I detailed each bit of information I found and asked those who were experienced in such things how I might find a man…any man who did not wish to be found. It soon became obvious that most considered what I wanted as nearly impossible and a waste of time. Some were polite, implying if not said bluntly, that I should continue my life and abandon this fanciful plot. I accepted each word of advice, but kept my own counsel well hidden behind a smile and a considerate nod of thanks.

The vigor and perseverance ultimately displayed towards a goal that I did not openly discuss with Thurman became an issue in the end. We sat one day and he admitted that he knew what I was doing. It was all rather obvious, of course. He chose his words carefully as one might speak to a daughter that was loved beyond all reason and good sense.

“Di…” He said, as he had taken to calling me ‘Di’. “Have you thought what you will do if you succeed, or worse…if after a very long time, even then, you fail?"

Without a doubt, all those days in bed had prepared me for this question. That same eventually plagued me even as I laid out my plans each day and was at first a doubt that I tried to set aside. There was no ‘if’ such a time would come. I would either succeed or fail and I would then have to consider what to do with my life. I had the answer, but I would not share that, even to Thurman, who I loved as much as my long dead father.

“My only failure would be that I do nothing.” I finally replied.

I did not smile or try to fancy coat my feelings. I knew what I felt and could explain everything, but all would say it was revenge. But the simplicity of that word lacks the depth of the need that gnawed at me. Hiram took from me a thing most precious for no good reason other than his pride. And yet, is it not my own pride for which I seek this retribution? I wonder, but still it does not sway me.

*Thomas Moore, 1817

[Sunset Fallow]

Hiram

“Wretched girl…wretched, wretched little wench!” He throws his pack across the tiny room. Could she not even die? He begins to pace. “That arrow should have killed her…and the second.” He kicks the pack and stands panting.

He turns and walks slowly over to the bed, then whispers. “The third arrow would have done it. Yes. But…you missed, didn’t you? I saw her rise. You got her with the second. You did…right in her back.” He laughs to himself quietly. “But now what…hummm? You can’t go back, now, can you?” He seems to be looking at someone. “You never miss?” He pauses. “Oh…but you did. Your fingers shook. I saw it myself. The girl was right. You’re a coward.”

“I’M NOT A COWARD!” He screams, his eyes wide.

“Not…a coward?” He laughs again, derisively. “You ran away. Cowards run away.”

“I had to. Don’t you see?” He whispers, his face devoid of all emotion.

He sat for a time, rocking slowly on the bed, staring off into a distant scene only he can see. He sees another time, another place. He was younger then, just old enough to join the fighting. He was small, shorter than most men. His skill was not with a sword, but with a bow and stealth. They had placed him with the archers. He remembered how good it felt to finally be accepted.

It didn’t last. There was a fight. Words he said, boastful and rude. He had a sharp tongue and used it to win small battles. This battle he didn’t win. He was beat and humiliated. He found a way to even the score, as he usually did. He was always good at sneaking here and there, unseen to most. He waited a few days and stole some things; clothes, weapons, a necklace with a jeweled talisman. He burned the clothes and bow, but the talisman was different, it was valuable and he planned to sell it. But he didn’t. He never got the chance. The commander of the archers came through with some others and went through each footlocker as they all stood at attention at the foot of their bunk.

They found the necklace. He was stripped, taken to the edge of the camp and chained in a place where they kept the dogs. They came by and laughed at him, calling him filthy names. He fought the dogs for his food, and sometimes he ate. Then the camp moved. They took the dogs. It took him seven days to escape.

“She’ll die.” He says as he continues to gaze blankly.

“Yes, yes, but how? You can’t go back. No…they’ll chain you.”

Suddenly, he turns to his pack and empties the contents onto the floor, searching for something. “Where…where. I know I have it.” He finds a piece of bright cloth, the edge of a girl’s dress. “You’ll come to me, won’t you?” He laughs as if at some private joke, then holds the piece of cloth to his face, smelling the sweet scent of perfume that faintly lingers.

[Sunset Fallow]

“Convinced myself, I seek not to convince”

A thin mist roils between trees standing as if emaciated sentinels shadowed in near darkness. A shape darts between trees behind her, she tries to run. The mist clings to her legs, pulls at her clothing. She glances back fearfully. The shape becomes a beast of unfathomable hideousness, its form a bottomless pit that swallows the darkness around it. It lumbers through the mist unimpaired. She struggles to escape, her legs inextricably mired in the cloying mists. She pulls on branches that become thin skeletal arms. More and more of the arms bind her, tearing at her hair and clothes. She feels the beast at her back. Cold fingers…reaching, closer and closer. She screams…

Her eyes open on a dimly lit room. Her breath races from her chest forming a scarcely visible plume in the cold air. She stares up at the ceiling. Vivid images of her nightmare gradually fade as if hiding within darker places. She moves to relieve the throb in her right shoulder. Footsteps…she looks at the door.

“Di…are you okay?” A voice at her door. Thurman.

“Yeah...ummm, yeah. I’m fine.” She stands pulling the thick duvet around her shoulders and chest.

“I heard a scream.” She imagines him standing, concerned, behind the closed door.

“Just a bad dream. I’ll be out in a minute or two.” Her breathing slows.

“Alright.” He pauses. “I made some breakfast. I’ll be downstairs.”

His footsteps fade down the hall. A long mirror on the opposite wall reflects the image of a tall well-muscled young woman. The duvet drops to the floor. Full lips curve into a pleasing smile. There was much to do today. She planned to walk out to Hiram’s old cabin and hunt through what he left, again, and what hadn’t been taken by scavengers. She still had her training with Georg, the retired Soldier, although she might have to miss that today. There was market tomorrow and work, of course, tonight. She turned to the side admiring her feminine form reflected in the mirror. Finally, she nearly laughs, I have something on my chest besides ‘flat’.

Thurman waited at their table in the kitchen. He looked up and smiled as she approached. “This was left at the door for you.”

“For me?” She sat and unwrapped the package. A scrap of cloth and a note were inside. She read the note quickly.

“What is it?” Thurman stopped eating as he saw Dianthe finish the note and then examine the scrap of material from the package.

“It’s is from my dress, the one I tore as I was running from Hiram.” Her face seemed puzzled.

“And the note, is that from Hiram?” Thurman leaned across the table.

“No.” Dianthe pulled the note to her chest quickly.

“Di, let me see it.” Thurman placed both hands on the table. She knew he was concerned, of course. But this was private. It was between her and Hiram and whoever wrote this note.

“Why? So you can tell me this is a bad idea?” She folded the note and placed into a pocket.

“Do I have to explain each time why I’m worried? You’re seventeen, that’s old enough to know why. Or would you like me to treat you like you’re still a child?” Thurman leaned back in the chair. It was frustrating that he was right about these things. She passed the note over to him. He read through it quickly and handed it back. He didn’t say anything, but just looked at her.

“So, tell me. You’re going to anyway.” She hated these staring contests. It was what he wanted, and admittedly, she wanted his opinion. She just couldn’t tell him.

“First tell me if you’re going.” He crossed his arms. She knew he wasn’t going to listen to anything she said unless it was what he wanted to hear, and he wasn’t expecting her to say anything remotely close to that.

“Gods, Thurman. I have no idea. Probably. I have to think about it.” She crossed her arms in imitation. “You think I’m a child…and yeah. I suppose I am in some ways. But, he did this to me. Not you or whoever…me.” She looked away.

He took a deep breath. “Will you let me come with you?”

“No.” They’d been through this a hundred times. It was something very personal. She admitted to herself a long time ago that she wanted to kill Hiram, and she wanted it to be with her own hands. Telling that to Thurman would be acknowledging that she was too much like Hiram. It seemed cruel and almost inhuman, but she needed to be honest. There would be no hesitation if the time came. No regrets. No ‘if only’.

“You know this is probably a ruse, or worse, a trap?”

“I figured as much. But this means something.” She held up the torn scrap of her dress. “I’m not going to just let this go. I can’t.” She placed the scrap into a pocket with the note as if ending the discussion.

Thurman looked down at his plate in frustration. “Then take Georg.” His eyes met Dianthe’s. “At least talk to him about it. Explain what you want. He’s a Soldier. This is something he’s done. Please, Di…” Concern etched his face.

Dianthe slumped in her chair. Why Georg and not Thurman? She couldn’t explain it. But he was right. She could talk to Georg and ask his advice. Maybe she was too close to Thurman. Or maybe she thought he was too close to her. Didn’t matter either way.

“Yeah, okay.” She wasn’t hungry now, and pushed the food away.

“And before you go, whenever it is you go…will you at least tell me?”

She only nodded. She loved him. He was her father in every way but birth. She’d tell him as much before she did this. Just in case.

[Sunset Fallow]

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.*

The house that Georg had built was small and tidy, much as you might expect from a Soldier. I tapped on his front door and then poked my head inside briefly finding it empty with a fire still smoldering in the hearth. Georg doesn’t ever travel far, his knee never letting him walk any further than the market and back. So I waited. The day was clear and quite warm and the breeze from the mountains to the east was pleasant with the scent of pines and flowers. I sat on a bench outside his small house watching the children playing as if the sticks they wielded were swords and they were the great heroes of their fathers past.

Within the hour Georg appeared at the far end of the lane carrying a small sack slung over one shoulder. I waved and ran down the lane giving him a cheerful embrace and offering to carry his bag as we met. He laughed and refused citing some chivalrous duty to all women and we continued down the lane to his home chatting about his day at the market. It was at his home as we talked of my days since last I trained that I finally confided to him of my plans to enlist his aid in this meeting. He listened closely to my explanation, his expression turning grave as I began to tell of my eventual intent to have my revenge on Hiram for what he had done.

There was the inevitable advice that revenge does not ease the feeling of loss, nor does it give us back that of which we were deprived. Nothing of my feelings had changed. Yet when I tried to explain that it wasn’t revenge I wanted, but to punish Hiram for what he did, Georg simply said he has his punishment. I was lost as to his meaning and asked as much.

“Hiram is a mean spirited little man. He’s no room for anything in his heart ‘cept himself. As for punishment, you’ve already seen to that in good measure just by living. You beat him despite the best he could do. And he knows that and, deep down inside, it gnaws at him.” Georg walked over to the fire and placed a few sticks on the still warm coals and began urging it back to life.

I argue that Hiram deserved to be punished, that he would do this to others and they might not be as fortunate as I was. I said all that I could to convince Georg of the nobility of my actions, but in reality, I was trying to convince myself.

Our conversation lasted long into the afternoon and as the sun finally passed beneath the horizon, I admitted that I might not be able to carry through on my plans. Georg was all too familiar with the scenario; the false bravado of some youths clamoring for battle only to find them later, hiding in some out of the way corner shaking and nearly inconsolable. It’s one thing to imagine a man’s death, but quite another to be the instrument of it, so close that you can smell his blood and guts as he slips limply to the ground.

Nor was it as simple as I would have liked. Georg agreed with Thurman that this was more than likely a trap and was simply a means for Hiram to lure me to a place more suitable to accomplish what he had failed to do the first time. And there was still the matter of the meeting. Even as I began to feel some relief that I could let go of this vendetta, I now felt as if I was instead a hunted woman. That unease grew quite suddenly as I now feared that I would find Hiram ready to leap out at me from around every corner, lurking in each wooded area or hiding in the dark of my own room waiting to put an end to what he had started.

Once we had agreed that whatever this note and meeting might represent, there was the real danger that Hiram would continue this war until its grisly end. I had to smile at the similarity to my own so recent thoughts. I did ask about telling the constable of the note and the meeting, and Georg agreed that we should, although he expressed some doubt as to whether it would be given much attention.

At the end of our conversation I felt betrayed that I should live in this place in near hiding, fearing for my life while Hiram was free to roam and plot whatever nefarious deeds he desired. Georg walked with me to the Inn if only to console me. All that we had discussed had darkened my mood considerably and I slumped into a chair by the fire in the great room wondering why fate had chosen to turn my life so bitter.

I saw that Thurman was now speaking quietly with Georg and as they saw me gazing their way, beckoned me over to where they stood. “We have…something, perhaps a solution.” Their look was not encouraging. I sensed with some misgiving that what I was about to hear was not a solution I wanted.

Thurman spoke first. “Di…Dianthe. When you were hurt, I never felt such pain. I would have gladly taken those arrows for you, even if it meant my death.” He took my hand in his great thick paws and squeezed. “If I find a wife and the Gods bless us with a daughter, I could wish for no one better than you. And you will forever be my child.” He smiled wanly at me, the pain clearly etched in his eyes as he spoke. “And now, with all that Georg has told me I cannot help but agree. Your whole life is ahead of you.”

I began to panic. My heart raced as he held my hand even tighter. I tried to pull away…to run. I knew what they were saying and I started to cry.

“Dianthe….” It was Georg.

“No, Georg, let me…” Thurman pulled me to his great chest. “My child…” He whispered to me. “I love you so very much.”

This was good bye…I sobbed on his chest. The words he said tore at me like none I had ever heard.

*Robert Frost, 1916

[Sunset Fallow]

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.*

He wiped at his eyes, sweat and dirt smeared in muddy streaks across his face. The smell of old dust and death permeated the stagnant air of the attic. He rolled uncomfortably to one side to relieve a cramp in his leg. How long had it been? He stretched painfully. She should have come to that meeting. She’s the cause. The old couple wouldn’t have had to die. But he needed a place to watch, now didn’t he. It wasn’t his fault.

“Little tramp...” Hiram repeated quietly to himself.

The door opened to the Inn. He pressed his eye closer to the small opening in the wall. Tiny clouds of dust rose from the floor as he moved. It was her. And she was with that gimp of a Soldier. I could have them both now. He chuckled quietly as he watched. No, no. Wait and let her walk. Alone, my boy…alone. That’s what you want. Then you can skewer her like the little tramp she is. He smiled and inched closer to the opening.

Hummm, she has a pack, knives on her hip. Odd. Yes, very odd. Which way? What’s this? She’s not going towards the market…the other way. The gate. Catch her, FOOL!

Hiram rushed down the stairs past the dead couple laying with their throats cut in the main room of the house. He barely noticed the smell of old blood and feculence. He hurried through the room to the back of the house. He paused at the door. It wouldn’t be wise to be seen leaving this place. He looked about then left quickly.

He darted from building to building, just out of sight of the road. He caught a glance of her briefly, then slipped quickly behind the corner of an outbuilding near the gate. He tried to stifle his breathing. He was panting heavily. Calmly, my boy. Let her walk a bit, get comfortable.

He waited until he was sure they’d cleared the gate then adjusted his hood and walked slowly through. Sweat dripped from the end of his nose. Look at the ground, boy…look at the ground. His heart pounded as he shuffled along, miming a slight limp with his bow wrapped in a cloth next to a long stave used as a crutch. He couldn’t help but smirk as he cleared the gate and saw them up ahead. They had stopped to talk. He walked a bit more slowly concentrating on his slouching gate. They didn’t even look. He grew excited as he passed within a few feet of where they stood. Such Idiots! He lowered his head and walked to the opposite side of a wagon as it passed.

The road wound through the countryside in a generally west direction towards the city of Arabel. He’d traveled the road a few times, and knew it took several twists and turns and was generally not well traveled between here and the city. He round the first bend in the road then slipped into the forest to watch. There were few side paths and only a couple of houses outside the city walls. He was sure she’d make no detours before she reached him. Then he’d follow. He unwrapped his bow from the cloth covering and waited.

The pack dug into her shoulders. It’d been too long since she was on the road. Dianthe pulled the straps tighter across her chest and adjusted the pack to a more comfortable position. Despite all that had happened it was good to be out. No one to tell her what to do and when to do it. Just the open sky and the horizon…and what lay beyond.

She’d been walking most of the morning when she first noticed. A lone figure shadowing her from the forest’s edge. She picked up her pace. It’d not be easy for whoever it was to keep up with her hour after hour across the forest floor. They’d either give up….or…she patted her knives and loosened the straps to her pack.

She glanced at the other side of the road and the forest beyond as she walked. It was only the one, she hoped. How long before he made his move? She kept checking knowing that once he disappeared, that’d be the time. She knew who it was.

Hiram.

Eventually, she’d see him, of course. He counted on it. At first she wouldn’t know who. Just a shadow fading in and out of the dark. Then the fear would settle into her gut as her mind drew on the nightmares. She’d feel it like a cold hand reaching in and twisting her insides. Maybe she’d puke as the cold sweat ran down her spine. He almost laughed. Just a bit longer, my boy…then we’ll make our move.

He was gone. Her heart raced. She slipped the pack from her shoulders swiftly, letting it drop to the ground. Her hands closed deftly about the hilt of her long knives. She stepped closer to the opposite side of the road, surveying the forest edge. Then she saw him. He stepped from the forest ahead of her…bow range, she thought.

“Well, if it isn’t the creepy little coward come to see me off.” Her hands shook. He looked thin, almost fragile.

“What, no fat barkeep around? No one to save you this time…tramp!” He notched an arrow.

“I heard the stories. I know you…I know they marked you. They penned you with the dogs, COWARD!” She saw the bow come up and rolled toward the forest edge quickly. He was too far and the arrow missed widely. She sprinted up the edge of the forest through brush and around trees. He was judging where she was and watching. He held his bow ready.

The brush was thick on the edge of the road where she crouched. He was waiting. She grabbed a stone and threw it ahead of her and yelled. He whirled, but didn’t fire. DAMN! Now what?

She waited crouched low in the brush. His head swiveled scanning the brush. One arrow, she thought. If he hits me. Then I can be on him…Gods. That’s stupid. Think, think. He’s walking closer.

She stripped off her jerkin. His footsteps were almost silent. He was a few feet to her right. He’d see her the next time he looked. His head turned towards where she crouched. She threw the jerkin towards him.

He fired. His arrow pierced the leather jerkin.

She rushed him in a dead sprint. He dropped the bow and slashed at her with a dagger. She parried pushing his arm to her right, and buried her knife deep into his left armpit.

He coughed, spitting blood onto the leaves as he collapsed. She stood over him, half nude, watching him die. She bent and yanked the long knife violently from his chest as he dropped from his hands and knees to lie grasping on the ground. He never looked up.

It didn’t take long. She retrieved the jerkin and held it up to the light. “Bastard.” And went to find her pack.

John Donne, ~1610

[Sunset Fallow]

An Encounter most Fortunate

She was glad she killed him, but it made her feel guilty…even a bit dirty or evil. She couldn’t quite describe the feeling. It bothered her that she felt the way she did. She pulled his body deep into the woods and left him to the animals and flies. Not that anyone would care.

“That looks to be a heavy burden, Milady.” The sound of his voice startled her. He was standing a few feet away.

Perhaps it was his voice, quite calm and near a whisper. Or maybe she felt spent from what she had done. Regardless, she only turned and faced him, unmoving.

“Pardon my interruption, but he seems to be quite dead. A friend of yours?” Was that a smile she saw flit across his face?

“Not exactly.” Her voice was flat, uncaring.

He grew a bit more serious. “Do you know whose land this is?” He paused not expecting an answer. “No, I suppose not. Still, that is an important consideration.” He leaned on his staff taking a deep breath. “And I daresay, there is fair evidence here of a deed most foul.”

She pursed her lips, finally finding the banter more irritating than charming. “Is this some bizarre mating ritual you have? If it is, I’m not interested…not in you or what you have to say. So unless you plan to do something about what you saw…leave me be. Have I left any doubts about where we stand?”

He took a step toward her. “No, no. Of course not. I only mention the fact since I noticed two Soldiers patrolling the road. And I’m quite sure they noticed a trail of blood leading off into the woods.” There was that smug smile again. “They should be here….about now, actually.”

“WHAT?” She scanned the perimeter of the brush covered area and saw two Soldiers in the distance moving slowly in their direction. “Damn you….” She whispered and crouched low.

He appeared at her side almost instantly. “This way.” He mouthed soundlessly and motioned her to follow him. She had little choice, but gave him a malevolent look.

They moved quietly through the brush to the edge of a clearing some distance away, then angled around the perimeter and along some boulders. Finally, they moved up a steep draw and over the top within the cover of some dense brush to the other side and stopped. They watched the top of the rise for some time before they relaxed.

Dianthe spoke first. “I suppose I should thank you. But you could have said something a bit earlier, you know. I mean, since you weren’t going to turn me over to the Soldiers.”

“I didn’t say that.” He took out a small pipe and began tamping some material into it.

“Oh, and now I suppose you think to have me in your power…is that the game?” Dianthe took a few steps away and crossed her arms, turning to stare at him.

He didn’t answer at once. Instead he struck steel to flint and drew almost lazily on the pipe until it was lit. He blew out a small cloud of bluish smoke and looked at her. “No, I can see what happens to those who garner your ire.”

“Do not mock me. I did what I did because I had no choice. And my demand remains. Since you have aided me in my escape…you can now leave.”

They stood staring at one another for some time before the woodsman spoke. “Yes, well, I can see you’re upset over this whole thing.” He drew on his pipe again. “I saw most of it and was about to help...but you’re quick. Quicker than me, I might add.” He pointed his pipe at her. “I think it’s all wrapped up in this chivalry thing that men seem to have. They see a man who looks to be a scoundrel fire an arrow at a fair maiden, and off they go, running to the rescue. Quite stupid, really. Could have got myself shot.” He stuck the pipe back in his mouth.

“That’s it?” Her arms dropped to her side, incredulous.

He looked up a bit puzzled. “Well, yes. I never intended to do anything, although there was that idea of saving you…and I was quite intrigued. But when I saw the Soldiers, I thought I should give you a fair chance at getting away. The man was an obvious scoundrel…as I said.” He paused tapping the ashes from his pipe.

“Then let me set your mind to rest before you depart…he was a scum bag. And he intended to kill me.” She began to pace, her anger and anxiety beginning to bubble to the surface is a torrent of words. “And if he wasn’t such a scum bag, and would have just let me sit in that damned chair…none of this would have happened. But NOOOO. He had to be a jerk. Just couldn’t let me sit five minutes and get warm by a fire. Not even his god damned fire.” She kicked at a rock then pulled the pack straps from her shoulders and let it drop to the ground. She was panting and staring at some non-descript spot in the distance.

“You should sit; maybe talk a bit quieter.” Did he always talk so calmly? It was really irritating.

She sat. “Fine.” One leg bounced. She continued to stare off into the distance, still irritated.

“Where you headed?”

“No idea.”

“Would you like some company?”

“No.”

“I can hunt and cook.” He finished cleaning the pipe, placing it in a small pouch.

She glanced at him and then quickly away. “I’m not hungry.”

They sat for a few moments in silence.

“Breakfast, maybe?” He was watching her with that same stupid half grin.

“Maybe.” She looked at him again quickly.

“Zac. Nice to meet you.” He smiled.

“Dianthe.” She looked back...her stomach growled. “Maybe just a little supper.”

He had a nice smile.

[Sunset Fallow]

To each his sufferings: all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan—
The tender for another's pain,
Th' unfeeling for his own.
Yet, ah! why should they know their fate,
Since sorrow never comes too late,
And happiness too swiftly flies?
Thought would destroy their Paradise.
No more;—where ignorance is bliss,
'Tis folly to be wise*

“You know they’ll figure out who killed him?” We’d been on the road about three days. Zac was usually quiet except for the times he really had something to say, apparently like now.

“What? Who? You mean Hiram. No way!” I looked over at him as we walked then back at the road. I didn’t say the last with much conviction. “And just how are they going to do that?”

“Well, like any investigation, it’s mostly reasoning. Some is deductive, but most of their reasoning will be inductive. They’ll begin making assumptions, some they’ll discard, others they’ll keep. A few clues to put them on the right path and it’ll all fall into place.” He glanced back at her. “Would you like me to outline the process?”

He continued without my assent. “The town has but a few hundred people. They’ll question people in the town about other people’s activities, who’s gone, when they left and so forth. Most murders are committed by people who know one another. I admit there are the occasional thugs and thieves, but if we first concentrate on the most probable course…we…”

“Wait…Wait…WAIT! I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I shook my head and took a deep breath. “Okay...I believe you. So…now what?”

“Simple. It will only be a matter of a few days before you become a person of interest. Then they will rely on a name and rudimentary appearance to form the notice of apprehension or warrant, as it were.” He smiled to himself as if rather pleased.

I nodded beginning to have an idea what he was going to suggest. “Oh God…” And then sighed deeply.

“So, we change your name and dye your hair. Probably should cut it as well. As I said, rather simple.”

“But I like my hair.” I pulled a strand of it around to stare at it.

“Yes, well, I suppose you could tell that to the hangman. That’s sure get you out of the noose.”

“Yeah…then what about you?” I said rather smugly.

“Poor girl…they aren’t after me. They never saw me. But…since we’re together, and they won’t be looking for a couple, I suggest we travel together.”

“We are…traveling together.” I smirked and stared at him to emphasize the observation. All I got for a reply was a tiny smile and a quick glance. I still didn’t like the idea, but it got me to thinking. Now it was going to bother me.

That night at the camp as I sat brooding near the fire, Zac took out a small leather bound book and after a few minutes began to write. I watched for a short time and then asked. “Whatcha writing?”

The nib on his pen paused in its near silent scratching. A couple of minutes passed silently. It was odd how he didn’t look up but I knew he’d heard me. “If you don’t want to say, then fine. But you could have at least said something…politely.”

It was as if nothing had happened. I heard the pen resume its slow scratching. The slow dance of the fire light reflecting off his plain wire rim spectacles never wavered. I rolled over into my bedroll and tried to sleep. The pen continued its slow traverse across the page. What was he writing? He’s so friggin odd. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about.

The next morning I was determined to find out what he wrote. We usually have breakfast from what we can scavenge nearby or what’s left over from the previous night. There were a few berries around; some good to eat, others not so good. I made sure to include some of the not so good and mixed them all together. When Zac saw what I’d picked for breakfast he looked at me with this pathetic smirk.

“Are you trying to kill both of us?”

“What? You don’t like my breakfast…go get it yourself.” I gave him my ‘you’re a jerk’ look and went about rolling my bedroll. He took the pan, tossing what I’d picked and stomped off. I watched until he was out of sight then quickly went over to his small pack and dug through it till I found the book he was writing in last night. The page was bookmarked with a small ribbon;

“I met a woman on the road a few days ago. The entire affair is more than passingly intriguing. She killed a man. I have slowly and methodically questioned her about the incident and those events which led up to his death. I doubt she suspects my intentions are for other than polite conversation. All I have heard seems to be without obvious conflict. I would therefore judge it to be true to the extent that it is what she believes to be true.”

“But how should I judge her act? Was this man evil and thus his elimination a good act? Nothing is ever so simple. Yet I feel the weight of all I have heard bear down on me. She killed. By all I know and believe…willfully taking another life is evil. Does his attempt to do the same to her give her leave…free pass to kill. I cannot believe that is so, no matter how I try.”

“But the dread that fills me has stricken me and placed my soul in its icy grip. I thought I was to be just an observer. I asked to learn. I begged for him to teach me. Yet, with the knowledge I have found has come a burden. God, please don’t make me do this. I don’t understand this compulsion. Am I to be both Thine inquisitor and executioner? Take it from me, My God…take this knowledge and stay my hand!”

I closed the book, my heart pounding. I felt a familiar dread settle into the depth of my soul. My hands moved slowly to place the book back in his pack. Standing slowly, I stumbled back and tried to concentrate. Was it true? Did he feel I should be punished for trying to defend myself? I began to hurriedly place everything into my pack. I could run. I had to run.

“Hey, Dianthe…I have breakfast.”

*Thomas Gray, 1742 (published 1747)

[Sunset Fallow]

“A mighty pain to love it is,
And 'tis a pain that pain to miss;
But of all pains, the greatest pain
It is to love, but love in vain.”*

Zac watched a moment as I finished packing. “Are you going to eat?” He held the bowl of nuts and berries in one hand.

I looked up still panting as I felt the anxiety of what I had read in his journal begin to ease. I ate very little and we left after finishing our meager breakfast, but the walk that day was filled with awkward silences. I had little to say and Zac was, as always, taciturn in his conversation.

The dreams began that night. Sleep would only come as exhaustion finally overtook my fear. Eventually I would awaken trembling as I imagined Hiram brought back from death, an undead body stalking me through a dark and desolate landscape, his shambling form never wavering from my pursuit. Always in the distance I would see a lone figure, shrouded in mists and unmoving, yet forever watching, judging. The end would come as finally I would have nowhere to run and Hiram would slowly stagger upon me hungering for revenge. The lone figure would only stand, watching my death.

Zac seemed indifferent to my nighttime awakenings either unnoticed or uncaring. His writing continued in the evenings as we sat by the fire after our late day meal. I never repeated the indiscretion that allowed me that brief glimpse of the writings that now weighed on my soul so heavily. Everything between us changed. I became guarded and anxious in all that I did and said. My conversation became stifled and terse. Yet for all that I tried I could not resume the ease of our previous relationship.

The days passed in a dreamlike haze as I became more lethargic and our conversations almost nonexistent. It was perhaps a week later in the evening as we made our camp that I mumbled an excuse to wander off from the camp to a nearby stream to bathe. Such was my fatigue that I fell asleep as I rested my head for what I intended to be only a few moments. I awoke as Zac gently rubbed my shoulder, his concern clearly evident in his voice.

“Dianthe…I was worried.” He sat close, his hand resting on my shoulder as I lay staring up at him.

Despite all that I wanted to say, I couldn’t speak. Thoughts raced through my mind in an uncontrolled frenzy. I stared up at him wide-eyed and terrified. How long had I slept? He must suspect something now. Even in my confused state I began to think of excuses for my behavior.

It was then I felt his hand move to slowly trail fingertips across my cheek. Softly they traced the line of my jaw and touched my lips. His eyes seemed to look into my soul. Was this some bizarre game he played before my death? I suddenly shied from his touch. I saw the confusion in his eyes as his hand pulled away.

He bit as his lower lip. “I’m sorry.” He got up to leave, walking back towards the camp.

“Zac, wait…please.” I sat upright, my thoughts slowly clearing. I saw him pause and the slow intake of his breath.

“You’ve said no more than several words in as many days. Have I worn my welcome so thin in so short a time, dear lady?” He still did not turn to face me. I could make no sense of what he implied.

“Zac…I read your book. I saw what you wrote.” I stood, taking a step to one side as my sleep induced languor faded.

He turned and I saw the small rueful smile. “Ah yes…my book. I wondered when I came back to camp. I hadn’t cast the cantrip I usually use…but you wouldn’t know of such things, I would think. I wondered for a while, but you said nothing. I cannot imagine your thoughts. If I would have read such a thing, I would have left in the night. Yet, here you are.” He spoke as if greatly saddened.

“Do you speak of sympathy…PITY…for me, for my plight at having discovered that you mean to kill me? Are you so arrogant? You think you know how I feel, that you plot my death?” I began to shake. “I’ve seen your type…absolved of guilt, claiming to be the hand of some Godly being.” I wanted to scream at him. I took a step forward, my hands reaching for my knives…and remembered they were left at the camp.

“It’s not like that, Di. Have you read more? It’s there…it’s all there.” He held his hand out to me, gesturing as if urging me to read from that journal. “I couldn’t, you know. I couldn’t.” I saw him make a fist and close his eyes.

“What…the voices told you to spare me?” Sarcasm dripped thick from my tongue.

“No voices…none but my own. I argue constantly, but I hear only my own voice in return. It takes me so long to find the truth, you see…so long to find what I believe. Some say that we know in our heart what is right and wrong, what is good and evil, but I wonder. I wonder if what I know to be right is only what I have learned, placed in my head by well-meaning parents and teachers, men and women who have no greater understanding than any man or woman.” He shrugged as if to dismiss this oddness of thought as a benign quirk.

“Wonderful. You’ve now convinced me that you’re not some religious fanatic, but just a bit off. Am I now to trust you?” I wanted to laugh.

“I think you have a colorful picture of me. I’m a philosopher, conflicted at best…but hardly dangerous.” He smiled. It was irritating to watch him act as if this was some game, with my life as some frivolous chit hanging in the balance.

“So, now I am not to die. I have been deemed worthy to live, for whatever reasons. Are my actions now judged as justified? What have the voices said, Sire?” I bowed mockingly.

He looked at me for several seconds. Then his eyes slowly dropped to the ground between us as he turned to leave. I heard him speak. “I’ll leave tonight. I just need a few minutes to pack my things.”

I was stunned. I watched him walk away and couldn’t speak. I’m not sure I wanted to speak. I suddenly wondered if I wanted him to leave. All that I thought was wrong. After a few minutes I ran along the path back to the camp. He was placing his few belongings into his pack. I stood for a few seconds and then spoke. I could hardly believe the words that came from my mouth. “Stay with me.” He stopped. “Please.”

Without looking up he spoke. “I don’t think I could kill anyone, Dianthe, especially you.” He whispered. “I just have to write what it is I think. It’s how I figure things out.”

“And who was it then that you wrote might kill me…some other you?” I couldn’t help it. I rolled my eyes even as I said it.

He turned to look at me finally. “No, Di…” I saw the resignation, the defeat as he slumped even as he looked up into my eyes.

“Then what…what? Gods, Zac…help me understand.”

“I think…” He stopped as if the words were caught. I could see his distress, almost feel the mad thumping of his heart. Finally he continued. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

His look was as if this explained all that he had done. And it did, in an odd sort of way.

*Abraham Crowley, Anacreon, 1656