Whoever they might have been in the cities beyond...
Whoever they might have been in the cities beyond the hills
Whoever they might have been
For a time, for a lifetime, the old woman thought, looking out the window of her room at the valley in sunlight at spring's returnShe had never been able to keep her thoughts from going backThere was so much waiting for her in the past and so little here, now, living through the agonizingly slow descent of the yearsSeason after season falling to the earth like shot birds, arrows in their breasts, through this lifetime that was her own, and her only one
A lifetime of remembering, by curlew's cry at dawn or call to prayer, by candlelight at dusk, by sight of chimney smoke rising straight and dark into winter's wan gray light, by the driving sound of rain on roof and window at winter's end, by the creak of her bed at night, by call to prayer again, by drone of priests at new chanel bags prayer, by a star falling west in the summer sky, by the stern cold dark of the Ember Days a memory within each and every motion of the self or of the world, every sound, each share of color, each scent borne by the valley windA remembrance of what had been lost to bring one to this place among the white-robed priests with their unending rites and their unending pettiness, and their acceptance of what had happened to them all
Which last is what had nearly killed her in the early yearsWhich, indeed, she would say, had said last week to Danoleon, was killing her now, whatever the priest-physician might say about growths in her breast
They had found a Healer in the fallHe had come, anxious, febrile, a lank, sloppy man with nervous motions and a flushed browBut he had sat down beside her bed and looked at her, and she had realized that he did have the gift, for his gucci knockoff handbags agitation had settled and his brow had clearedAnd when he touched her, here, and here, his hand had been steady and there had been no pain, only a not unpleasant weariness
He had shaken his head though in the end, and she had read an unexpected grief in his pale eyes, though he could not have known who she wasHis sorrow would be for simple loss, for defeat, not caring who it was who might be dying
"It would kill me," he said quietlyI would die and I would not save youThere is nothing I can do
"How long?" she had asked
He told her half a year, perhaps less, depending on how strong she was
How strong? She was very strongMore so than any of them guessed save perhaps Danoleon, who had known her longest by farShe sent the Healer from the room, and asked Danoleon to leave, and then the one slow servant the priests had allowed to the woman they knew only as a widow louis vuitton bags in uk from an estate north of Stevanien
As it happened she had actually known the woman whose identity she had assumed; had had her as one of the ladies of her court for a timeA fair-haired girl, green eyes and an easy manner, quick to laughA widow for a week; less than thatShe had killed herself in the Palace by the Sea when word came of Second Deisa
The deception was a necessary shielding of identity: Danoleon's suggestionAlmost nineteen years agoThey would be looking for her and for the boy, the High Priest had saidThe boy he was taking away, he would soon be safely gone, their dreams carried in his person, a hope living so long as he livedShe had been fair-haired herself, in those daysIt had all happened such a long time agoShe had become Melina bren Tonaro and had come to the Sanctuary of Eanna in its high valley above Avalle
Had come, and had waitedThrough the balenciaga bag replica changing seasons and the unchanging yearsWaited for that boy to grow into a man such as his father had been, or his brothers, and then do what a descendant in direct line of Micaela and the god should know he had to doSeason after season; shot birds falling from the sky
Until last autumn, when the Healer had told her the cold large thing she had already guessed for herselfHalf a year, he had said
She had sent them from her room and lain in her iron bed and looked out at the leaves on the valley treesThe change of colors had comeShe had loved that once; her favorite season for ridingAs a girl, as a womanIt had occurred to her that these would be the last fall leaves she would ever see
She had turned her mind from such thoughts and had begun to calculateDays and months, and the numbering of the yearsShe had done the arithmetic twice, and a third time to be sure chanel bucket tote bag o