paler than usual. Weariness stained the skin around her
eyes.
I placed my hands atop hers and swallowed my
misgivings. I would not harm her, or the life she carried, with my childish
questions. I trotted back to my chamber with anxiety trailing in my wake like
an unseen standard.
*** ***
I went to visit Merikos early the following
morning. I could not help the dark thoughts turning round and round in my mind.
In my mind’s eye, I saw my mother and Merikos clasping hands, and pondered
their shy smiles. It made my insides ache. I needed to hear Merikos speak, to
let his voice soothe my turmoil with gentle words that brought me peace. So I
surprised him in his chamber when he had just finished his morning prayers.
“Dori,” he smiled at me, disguising his shock. “It’s
nice to see you. Are you enjoying the gymn -? ”
“Do you love my mother?” I interrupted.
Fear is a pithy weapon. The words blurted out
before I could stop them. I had not thought to question him. I simply wanted to
see him again, to hear his magical voice reassure me that all was well.
“Dori, please. Come in and sit. Let us speak as
friends. It does no good to have you, or your words, lingering in the hall.”
I followed the music of his voice, though I
struggled against it.
He scooted the stool nearer to the hearth and my
legs gave out beneath me. The comfort of his familiar actions soothed me. Nevertheless,
it was not kindness or patience or scholarly zeal playing beneath the calm
exterior of Merikos’ face.
It was guilt.
Merikos poured himself a goblet of wine, but I had
not an adult’s patience or restraint. His expression made me wildly fearful of
what he might say to me. I had to know. I had to.
“Tell me, Merikos. You cannot put me aside. Are
you the father of my unborn brother?”
Merikos turned. His hands shook and he opened his
mouth to speak.
“Dori,” he said. His eyes were solemn.
I felt my legs grow weak as water. My knees
relaxed and I slipped from the stool.
Merikos rushed to aid me.
“Don’t touch me,” I protested, too angry to accept
even his hand.
He drew it back with a sharp, graceless motion. His
entire body went rigid and stiff, as if he had been carrying a burden for some
time and had only now sought release enough to straighten.
“Doricha, try to understand. All of this had
little or nothing to do with you.”
“Nothing to do with me?” I cried. “How could you
say such a thing? It has everything to do with me!”
“You were not yet conceived, Dori. I loved your
mother years ago, when she and I were still devotees of the temple. I’m sorry
if my words cause you pain, but I cannot change the man I was. Not even for the
sake of your tender feelings or your mother’s indifference.”
“She was not so indifferent as to lie with you!” I
was on fire with the anguish of my mother’s betrayal, and with his.
“Lie with me? We have never! I meant only that I
loved your mother. I did not assent to enjoying her body or her womb!” He
rounded on me and became as menacing and dark a figure as I had once thought
him, long ago in the Throat of Orpheus. “That is Aidne’s poison you spew forth.
Has she turned your heart as well, then?”
My face must have shown the fear I felt, because
Merikos composed his features into their customary placid expression.
“I have never touched your mother, save in
friendship. She would not have it so, and I love her too much to force my
attentions on her. I did not, though I am a sacred priest and could do as I
wished with no one to say nay.”
Warm relief flooded through my veins like blood.
“Then my brother is my father’s
son,” I whispered.
“For all that I might have wished otherwise.” Merikos’
lips twisted into a wry smile. “Come, Dori. Do you dislike me so much?”
How could he think such thoughts? Then, I
remembered the hateful words I’d spoken. Indeed, how could he not? I loved
Merikos a little, I think. As a wanderer, who has lost her
eyes.
I placed my hands atop hers and swallowed my
misgivings. I would not harm her, or the life she carried, with my childish
questions. I trotted back to my chamber with anxiety trailing in my wake like
an unseen standard.
*** ***
I went to visit Merikos early the following
morning. I could not help the dark thoughts turning round and round in my mind.
In my mind’s eye, I saw my mother and Merikos clasping hands, and pondered
their shy smiles. It made my insides ache. I needed to hear Merikos speak, to
let his voice soothe my turmoil with gentle words that brought me peace. So I
surprised him in his chamber when he had just finished his morning prayers.
“Dori,” he smiled at me, disguising his shock. “It’s
nice to see you. Are you enjoying the gymn -? ”
“Do you love my mother?” I interrupted.
Fear is a pithy weapon. The words blurted out
before I could stop them. I had not thought to question him. I simply wanted to
see him again, to hear his magical voice reassure me that all was well.
“Dori, please. Come in and sit. Let us speak as
friends. It does no good to have you, or your words, lingering in the hall.”
I followed the music of his voice, though I
struggled against it.
He scooted the stool nearer to the hearth and my
legs gave out beneath me. The comfort of his familiar actions soothed me. Nevertheless,
it was not kindness or patience or scholarly zeal playing beneath the calm
exterior of Merikos’ face.
It was guilt.
Merikos poured himself a goblet of wine, but I had
not an adult’s patience or restraint. His expression made me wildly fearful of
what he might say to me. I had to know. I had to.
“Tell me, Merikos. You cannot put me aside. Are
you the father of my unborn brother?”
Merikos turned. His hands shook and he opened his
mouth to speak.
“Dori,” he said. His eyes were solemn.
I felt my legs grow weak as water. My knees
relaxed and I slipped from the stool.
Merikos rushed to aid me.
“Don’t touch me,” I protested, too angry to accept
even his hand.
He drew it back with a sharp, graceless motion. His
entire body went rigid and stiff, as if he had been carrying a burden for some
time and had only now sought release enough to straighten.
“Doricha, try to understand. All of this had
little or nothing to do with you.”
“Nothing to do with me?” I cried. “How could you
say such a thing? It has everything to do with me!”
“You were not yet conceived, Dori. I loved your
mother years ago, when she and I were still devotees of the temple. I’m sorry
if my words cause you pain, but I cannot change the man I was. Not even for the
sake of your tender feelings or your mother’s indifference.”
“She was not so indifferent as to lie with you!” I
was on fire with the anguish of my mother’s betrayal, and with his.
“Lie with me? We have never! I meant only that I
loved your mother. I did not assent to enjoying her body or her womb!” He
rounded on me and became as menacing and dark a figure as I had once thought
him, long ago in the Throat of Orpheus. “That is Aidne’s poison you spew forth.
Has she turned your heart as well, then?”
My face must have shown the fear I felt, because
Merikos composed his features into their customary placid expression.
“I have never touched your mother, save in
friendship. She would not have it so, and I love her too much to force my
attentions on her. I did not, though I am a sacred priest and could do as I
wished with no one to say nay.”
Warm relief flooded through my veins like blood.
“Then my brother is my father’s
son,” I whispered.
“For all that I might have wished otherwise.” Merikos’
lips twisted into a wry smile. “Come, Dori. Do you dislike me so much?”
How could he think such thoughts? Then, I
remembered the hateful words I’d spoken. Indeed, how could he not? I loved
Merikos a little, I think. As a wanderer, who has lost her
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