Rising Ch. 07

The Master hadn't seemed to notice her liberty. His thoughts were far away, and his eyes showed this quite obviously.

"I never knew my mother," he murmured, his own eyes now locked in the fire, caught by its mesmerizing sway. What was it about fires that so brought the mind and all its memories to life?

"She died giving birth to me. I never saw her face...never heard her voice. My father said she had the voice of an angel. He said she was a very happy woman, that she was a woman with energy and life.

"She had quite the temper," Methaniel said with the barest of smiles. "Father said she was a fiery woman. She was quick to anger, but quick to forgive as well, and she tried to restrain her quick temper and sharp tongue. When her anger passed, she would laugh and smile, as if nothing in the world could ever be wrong, and she had never been upset to begin with. She loved jewels...loved shining things and unique things. Not as most women do, or so my father told me. She loved them not for the status they represented or the power that came with such finery, but she honestly loved them for their beauty. She was fascinated by their brilliance and coloring and drawn by their sparkle.

"And she coveted him just as strongly," Methaniel continued. "She coveted him as if he were a treasure all his own. Father says she coveted me as well....that she told him...she told him the greatest joy of her life would be being a mother to his child..."

Ahma watched as silent tears spilled down his face, shining in the firelight. His face remained set in neutral calmness, concealing the roiling emotions she knew forced those tears to the surface.

"In the afterlife," Ahma said softly, "All are reunited. This is true for almost all religions of the races. I know your father has gone to a good place because he was a good man. And I'm sure your mother was a good woman. She must have been a very nice person. I know one day you'll be with both of them again."

She tried to reach an arm around him. It spanned just past half his back.

He pulled her to him tightly, his arms surrounding her. No sob or sniffle escaped him, and from what she could tell, no more tears slid down his face. Ahma shivered at the closeness to him. All around her in the shelter of his arms, muscles bunched and rippled against her chilled body. Her cheek pressed to the corded muscle of his wide chest and his big, powerful hands rested upon the small of her slender back. His warmth and heat washed heavily over her. She could feel the steady, comforting beat of his heart against her cheek. His heartbeat was strong, good.

Ahma pulled her wings back slightly. She was unsure of what to do, but he was warm. Even his hands were warm. She could smell him quite well pressed close to him like this, a warm, slightly sweaty smell. It was actually somewhat nice, she found.

"Master?" she asked softly.

Methaniel pulled back a bit, and when his eyes met hers, some of the sadness in the silver orbs had been pushed back down. Still, his hands lingered on her back, just below where her wings stemmed from her shoulder blades. His eyes bore into hers, intense and strange. Her hand had fallen upon the broad plain of his chest, and the muscle flexed under her fingertips.

"Are you hungry yet? It's almost time to feed Lanion," she said in a thick voice. She cleared her throat quickly.

"Yes," Methaniel nodded slowly. "Would you like to feed him today?"

Ahma smiled, feeling genuinely delighted at the prospect. "Certainly."

She hand fed Lanion the last remaining oats and two old, slightly molding carrots Methaniel'd bought at Ertil. That day seemed so long ago, somehow, as if years had passed since they'd begun their trek into the mountains. After today, Lanion would likely have to scavenge for much of his food, trying his luck out on the trails at times when the storm died down enough for the horse to survive out in the open. They'd gathered bits of bark and twigs as they were able, but it would only go so far.

Methaniel checked the weather, quickly pushing his head outside the cave to assess conditions and then jumping back from the lash of icy cold wind and snow violently whipping around outside. More than a moment in a storm such as that would surely strip the flesh from ones bones. He took stock of their supplies and rationed out their remaining food accordingly. Ahma mindlessly rubbed the horse's chin and neck. Lanion gave a soft whicker and rubbed up against her.

Ahma smiled at the horse, "I'm glad you like me."

She found herself wondering if Lanion was the only one.

Her mind wandered somewhat. She couldn't help but wonder how Methaniel thought of her...something about his actions and attitude toward her made her wonder...but no, he would never have such feelings...would he?

A shiver ran through her and she realized she missed his warmth. At the very least, he'd saved her life. For those first days after the attack on the manner, and the news of her brothers' demise, she'd been in such a state of shock she almost hadn't cared if she lived or died. She'd even briefly entertained the notion that death would be better than life without her family and friends.

Master had kept her together and pushed her through that, whether he knew it or not. He had protected her and kept her safe, and given her time to heal and come to grips with her life as they'd traveled on these last weeks. He'd also guided her and watched out for her on the treacherous journey, and she wasn't altogether sure she would have made it this far if not for him. In fact, she was sure she wouldn't have. He had done much for her.

And why? Perhaps her cared for her. Or maybe it was simply that he felt responsible for her somehow, maybe because of his connection to her brothers. In either case, she was content being with him in the moment.

Things could, after all, be far worse.

Lanion nudged her again and gratefully accepted a hunk of bark to chew on before lowering his head and shutting his shinning equine eyes. She patted his neck and smiled at him, then rose and brushed off her knees. "Sleep well," she told him.

She returned to Methaniel's side and sat beside him. He handed her a strip of dried meat and nodded toward his horse. "You handle him well. He doesn't usually let anyone feed him but me."

"He seems a bit restless," Ahma observed.

Methaniel nodded, his copper locks falling before his face. His hair had grown even more unruly from their days in the wilderness, and a fairly thick growth of beard roughened his face. He chewed at a bit of their dried provisions, but kept mostly to the last bit of hare meat they had left. It was old now and stringy, tough to eat and largely tasteless, but he was intent on making it stretch before it went bad to spare as much of their provisions as possible.

"He misses activity," the Nobleman explained. "Not exactly used to being cooped up and stuck. He might be able to step out of here when the storm is a little more subdued, but those are only a few moments, and it doesn't exactly compare to running through plain lands. Part of him probably misses the battlefield, too. He was quite at home there, more so than any warhorse I'd ever seen. Or perhaps not. In any case, he's probably feeling just as cramped and stifled as we are."

Ahma nodded and finished her bread, taking a small draw from her waterskin.

"Lanion will be fine," Master Methaniel continued after they finished their meal and scooted closer to one another for warmth. "No doubt he will be grouchy and irritable for some time, and likely to try to bite me in a fit of ill temper."

Ahma tried to suppress a giggle at the annoyed way Methaniel's face twisted. "He bites you?"

"Tries to, at least," he replied. "But not really. It's always a half hearted attempt, and the one time he even managed to catch me he barely nipped. He has a pretty mild temperament, especially for one so vicious on the field. He is a well disciplined horse. He just has a healthy dose of personality as well."

Ahma chuckled and smiled up at him. "Personality is right."

"He'll be over it soon enough," Methaniel insisted with a smile of his own. "If my instincts serve me, this storm should be over in another week at the most. It'll be just in time for me to go out and collect extra food and water, and I'll take him with me to stretch out his legs."

The days passed slowly, and the young woman couldn't tell if she was thoroughly and utterly miserable or more happy and at peace than she had been in recent memory. It was a complicated and strange time.

Physically she wasn't faring too well. Her joints felt swollen and achy from the near freezing conditions in the cave. She shuddered and shook constantly, the chill penetrating into the marrow of her bones even through the cover of her clothes, cloak, blankets, and her own wings. Sometimes she lost feeling in her fingers and toes, in the tip of her nose and her ears, and the chill sapped any energy she had. It even seemed to muddle her head, making her thoughts sluggish and fuzzy.

Yet she remained well covered and unexposed to even the meager flow of wind pushing into the small cave, and no frostbite found her. And at the same time, she was grateful that they had even this small shelter, for she knew if they had been caught out in the open with the full wrath of winter pounding down on them this far into the northern mountains, no amount of preparation and warmth would have been able to save them. In addition, the Master was always near, his body radiating forth a warmth that at times struck her as impossible. He seemed far too warm and comforting to come from one man, no matter his size, and especially one sitting in such freezing cold. He warmed her blood and infused her with a light feeling that often made her head swim.

She had to contain the giddy spread of emotions he pulled to the surface.

She was confused and conflicted in her heart and mind. She still grieved for the loss of her brothers, and the knowledge of their absence from the rest of her life left a hollow ache in her chest. Her thoughts returned to them often, and her memories were bitter sweet. The loss of what had been her home and family for so long stung her keenly as well, and she prayed for all the poor souls lost in the disaster of the manor, even the Steward, that they could find peace and rest in the afterlife.

The emptiness and sadness, however, was not so very piercing as it had been. Time had taken some of its bite away. She came to terms with all of it, and the desperateness of their situation helped to remind her that their own safety was of primary concern.

Also, she admitted somewhat unsteadily to herself, more and more the Master was a cause for her calmness. His powerful, steady, comforting presence was ever close and assuring. His beautiful eyes and kind smile, the strength of his body and gentleness of his heart shown to her more and more through the days spent so close to him, went a way toward filling the emptiness of her heart. Ahma tried to deny it, to pretend that she wasn't filled with warmth and assurance every time he was near and that deep silver gaze was trained upon her, but it was becoming more true and apparent to her with every passing day.

She wasn't sure what to think of this. It was unsettling and thrilling all at once. She knew nothing could ever become of her feelings, that they were from different worlds. But sometimes, she wondered...he showed her such kindness, and he often went out of his way to see to her comfort. He was warm and gentle to her, though it was shrouded under a façade of cool practicality.

Ahma spent more and more time wondering.

And so, in the blink of an eternity, the storm had mellowed enough for Methaniel to venture out with Lanion into the snowed over passes of the mountain, seeking out any of the bolder wildlife that had come out of hiding to find whatever food of their own they could locate. Though Lanion had ventured out to scavenge for food once or twice, he seemed in high spirits to be able to walk without the storm tearing at him and sapping his considerable strength. He practically broke into a gallop as soon as he was out of the cave, very nearly sending his Master tumbling from his back in the process. Ahma giggled loudly as the pair rode down the path and out of view.

The girl lingered outside the cave for an hour or two, simply sitting with the thick blankets and furs about her and gazing out at the mountains stretched out before her. Snow had fallen thickly all about, blanketing the world in a heavy layer of snow and frosty whiteness that would likely reach at least to her knees in most places. The world seemed empty and dead, and the sun gleamed down weakly through an overcast sky to shine upon the reflective snow. Still, despite the disquieting stillness, there was a peace and tranquility to it. One look at the sky told anyone with a keen and schooled eye that that stillness would not last long. Another buffeting storm was gathering for the coming days, and this one appeared even more ugly and angry than the last.

With the cessation of the storm, the temperature had risen. Still painfully cold, compared to the chill during the storm it seemed quite pleasant and much more bearable. While Methaniel and his mount were away, Ahma took the time to briefly prepare their supplies and organize the cave before stripping out of her dress. She hadn't properly bathed since the night of the incident, and while she still couldn't do a complete and proper job, she quickly decided to clean anyway. Shivering in the cold, she took the opportunity the rise in temperature provided and doused herself with some of the water from the single skin that Methaniel had left behind for her. For lack of another option, she scrubbed at her skin with her bare hands, rubbing the water around her body roughly. She knew it would do little in the way of actually cleansing her, but at the very least she could rub and scrub some of the stale sweat and surface grub away. She scrubbed her pale, porcelain skin until it was raw and red, then pulled the dress back on and piled each one of the furs and blankets around herself before her body temperature could drop dangerously low.

After she had warmed slightly she finally undid the ragged remains of the braid her hair had been in and took up the small bone comb she had made from some of the smaller thin, curved bones from Methaniel's kills and bound together with some of the denser and sturdier hairs from the various pelts and manes of the beasts he had felled. She ran the shoddy makeshift comb and her fingers through her long, rich hair, working out most of the catches, tangles, and knots that had formed in the weeks since she had last brushed it. When she had finished her hair, still slightly oily, fell straight and free again, looking worlds better even without a proper washing.

Methaniel returned later that night to find her seated beside a small, steady warm fire at the cave mouth, the smoke billowing out into the sky. Her body was wrapped in the warm layers of blankets and furs and her eyes turned up to the sparkling stars of the freshly revealed heavens. Her mind was on her parents and her brothers, and her prayers went out to them, for she knew somehow in her heart that they were now together.

She caught the Master's eyes lingering upon her as he stood before her, an enormous hunting cat draped across his shoulders. Its weight was something that would have surely brought a normal man to his knees. Several conies were strapped to his belt with short lengths of rope, and his right hand held a young buck by the neck. Ahma blushed softly in the firelight, her cheeks turning a delicate pink the color of a rose petal. She wondered distantly what he must be thinking, looking down at her, her face and hair cleaner and more tended than they had been in the past weeks. She realized dimly that he had never seen her with her full, thick mane down and loose before now.

"Those will help us nicely through the storm. The cat must have been a difficult kill." She wasn't even fully aware of what she was saying, trying more to distract herself than to make any real conversation.

The Master put his kills on the ground, turning slightly and petting Lanion as the horse nudged him indignantly. He moved and allowed the horse to shuffle into the cave and settle down out of the wind.

"How long before the next storm, Master Methaniel?" She asked. He glanced at her and smiled as he seated himself beside her.

"Two days by my reckoning. It'll be...a very big one. Anyway. Provided there isn't another on the way directly after it's passing, we'll move on from here and continue on our eastward course."

Ahma nodded, leaning slightly against him, no longer considering it an action of over-familiar ness, but merely necessary for both warmth and comfort.

"And by the way, Ahma," he said suddenly causing her to glance up at him. His eyes shone into hers with all their silver brilliance, and his gentle smile was upon his face once more.

"Call me Merie. Your brothers did. As did my father."

Ahma's brow rose in confusion. "Merie? I do not understand..."

Methaniel smirked softly and shut his eyes. "Father named me after his brother who died in a border skirmish a few months before I was born. He said he was honor-bound to do so, as my Uncle had no children of his own to carry on his name. On learning of my Uncle's demise, Father made up his mind and announced my name. But my Mother wanted to name me something else. She'd had her heart set on Merie, for what reason I don't know. In the end, she relented and allowed my Father to honor his brother as he wished. But even until my birth, she referred to me as Merie.

"When my Mother passed, my Father was deeply grieved. He called me Merie for as long as I can remember. It was his way of remembering my Mother, I think. I bear both names proudly, though only those close to me call me by my Mother-given name."

Ahma felt a choke of emotions welling inside, a mixture of sadness and joy. She knew this name bore both happiness and pain with its use. And it touched her that he would trust her with such a personal part of him.

"Yes...Master Merie," was all she could think to say.

***

The next two days were busily spent preparing for the next storm. It seemed Methaniel's estimate of it was accurate by the way clouds gathered in the horizon. By the second day, the land was more thickly snowed over than even before.

Ahma hastily salted and dried the rations as quickly as possible while Methaniel trudged through the snow outside, trying to find any last moment hunting, as well as searching for branches or twigs or any other kind of serviceable wood before the storm settled fully around them. Lanion furrowed through snow piles outside, looking for twigs and bark and dead grass. At one point he dragged three entire bushes into the cave, its roots dangling behind. Ahma had never heard of a horse stockpiling food, but then, Lanion wasn't your average horse.

The night before the storm fell upon them they were up late, organizing their supplies and preparing for the long days of waiting ahead. The sun had barely risen before it was hidden from view by the sudden screaming storm crashing down on their small shelter. They retreated deeper into their little cave, and settled in for the night.

Methaniel woke first. He gently loosened his arm from around Ahma, bundled her deeper in the blankets, and rose. Though he still couldn't stand fully upright, it felt good to stretch and move about a bit. The cold was overpowering, but for the moment he didn't take notice of its sting. He glanced at the cave mouth. The wind was howling violently outside and a steady thunk of falling hail pelted the mountains. Snow had already matted and piled at the cave mouth and plugged it entirely, sealing them in and cutting off all view of the outside world. This storm did indeed seem more violent, by the sound of things, and the snowfall was obviously much heavier. Methaniel shook his head slowly and his brow creased with worry.