why.
Outside, the wind whistled softly, on and off, as if the storm might be dying down.
Inside, behind the timber and stone and plaster, Allyson and I held each other, trying to hold off the storm, or what it had so suddenly come to represent, our feelings jumbled together between us and the quilts.
“I need to get back upstairs …”
“I know …”
“Father will be checking here in the morning, and …”
“I know that, too.” Jerz Davniads was a friendly man, but he would certainly not hesitate to turn me in to the marines if he thought it would improve the chances of his family’s survival. He might not think so, and wouldn’t turn me over unless it would help. But there was no sense in risking it.
“Sammis … ?” Allyson turned her face toward me, her long hair brushing my cheek.
“Ummm.”
“I wish it had turned out differently.”
“So do I.”
She leaned toward me, letting her lips touch, then warm, mine.
I held Allyson more tightly, feeling for the first time, really, how soft she felt against me, and how sweet she smelled.
“I have to go …”
“I know …” I knew, but I didn’t have to like it. If her father woke up and went searching for his daughter, or couldn’t sleep and wanted to prepare for the trip, I didn’t want him making his way to the cellar. Neither did I want to let go of Allyson.
“I don’t want to go, Sammis.”
“I know.”
“But I have to.” She kissed me again, and then pushed away from me and swung her feet to the floor, reclaiming her slippers. “I have to …”
“I know.” I felt stupid and helpless repeating the same words time after time, and all I wanted then was to keep holding on to Allyson.
She took her glow rod and slipped to the door. “I’ve left everything I could get for you …” Her voice was a whisper.
“If you hadn’t … I don’t know what …”
Her shoulders trembled as she took the three or four steps from the sagging old bed to the door. She was gone before I could even finish my sentence, and I was staring at a softly closed door. A closed door on what might have been. A door closed on … but there was no point in dwelling on that.
Queryan memories are long, and the round-ups and the burnings of the Eastron sympathizers, and of the witch-wraiths before that, had been pounded into my head by my own father.
For a long time, I lay in the jumbled quilts as the room cooled, thinking about nothing, then trying to decide what I could do, or where I could go. For everyone in Bremarlyn would know me, and in this time of chaos, no one would stand up for me—no one but Allyson, and she had done what she could. That was more than enough to get her burned should anyone discover it.
I got up and smoothed out the bed, folding the quilts as I recalled they had been folded. I checked my own uniform, which remained slightly damp, and put it on. Strangely, my cloak was dry, and my boots had never been damp inside.
After dressing as quietly as possible, I looked through what Allyson had brought—and thanked her mentally again. Not only was there the food and the tool kit, but also a small hatchet and a folding knife with several blades, and a folded square of waterproof ground cloth. All the non-food items were dusty, which probably meant that they wouldn’t be missed, but all looked serviceable.
I took my nearly empty pack and placed everything in it, except for the knife, which went into my pocket, and the gloves Allyson had given me earlier. Then I pulled on the cloak and the gloves and swung the pack into place.
The door from the room opened easily. I stopped to listen. Not a sound from upstairs—although I had not expected any, since it had to be well before dawn. Still, my steps were light, if not noiseless, as I slipped to the big latched door.
Hsssst … click. Despite my best efforts, the latch rasped.
I held my breath and listened. No sounds, except for the moaning of the wind outside.
Holding the door against
Outside, the wind whistled softly, on and off, as if the storm might be dying down.
Inside, behind the timber and stone and plaster, Allyson and I held each other, trying to hold off the storm, or what it had so suddenly come to represent, our feelings jumbled together between us and the quilts.
“I need to get back upstairs …”
“I know …”
“Father will be checking here in the morning, and …”
“I know that, too.” Jerz Davniads was a friendly man, but he would certainly not hesitate to turn me in to the marines if he thought it would improve the chances of his family’s survival. He might not think so, and wouldn’t turn me over unless it would help. But there was no sense in risking it.
“Sammis … ?” Allyson turned her face toward me, her long hair brushing my cheek.
“Ummm.”
“I wish it had turned out differently.”
“So do I.”
She leaned toward me, letting her lips touch, then warm, mine.
I held Allyson more tightly, feeling for the first time, really, how soft she felt against me, and how sweet she smelled.
“I have to go …”
“I know …” I knew, but I didn’t have to like it. If her father woke up and went searching for his daughter, or couldn’t sleep and wanted to prepare for the trip, I didn’t want him making his way to the cellar. Neither did I want to let go of Allyson.
“I don’t want to go, Sammis.”
“I know.”
“But I have to.” She kissed me again, and then pushed away from me and swung her feet to the floor, reclaiming her slippers. “I have to …”
“I know.” I felt stupid and helpless repeating the same words time after time, and all I wanted then was to keep holding on to Allyson.
She took her glow rod and slipped to the door. “I’ve left everything I could get for you …” Her voice was a whisper.
“If you hadn’t … I don’t know what …”
Her shoulders trembled as she took the three or four steps from the sagging old bed to the door. She was gone before I could even finish my sentence, and I was staring at a softly closed door. A closed door on what might have been. A door closed on … but there was no point in dwelling on that.
Queryan memories are long, and the round-ups and the burnings of the Eastron sympathizers, and of the witch-wraiths before that, had been pounded into my head by my own father.
For a long time, I lay in the jumbled quilts as the room cooled, thinking about nothing, then trying to decide what I could do, or where I could go. For everyone in Bremarlyn would know me, and in this time of chaos, no one would stand up for me—no one but Allyson, and she had done what she could. That was more than enough to get her burned should anyone discover it.
I got up and smoothed out the bed, folding the quilts as I recalled they had been folded. I checked my own uniform, which remained slightly damp, and put it on. Strangely, my cloak was dry, and my boots had never been damp inside.
After dressing as quietly as possible, I looked through what Allyson had brought—and thanked her mentally again. Not only was there the food and the tool kit, but also a small hatchet and a folding knife with several blades, and a folded square of waterproof ground cloth. All the non-food items were dusty, which probably meant that they wouldn’t be missed, but all looked serviceable.
I took my nearly empty pack and placed everything in it, except for the knife, which went into my pocket, and the gloves Allyson had given me earlier. Then I pulled on the cloak and the gloves and swung the pack into place.
The door from the room opened easily. I stopped to listen. Not a sound from upstairs—although I had not expected any, since it had to be well before dawn. Still, my steps were light, if not noiseless, as I slipped to the big latched door.
Hsssst … click. Despite my best efforts, the latch rasped.
I held my breath and listened. No sounds, except for the moaning of the wind outside.
Holding the door against
Similar Books
