03 The Gamblers Fortune by Mckenna Juliet E

Author:Mckenna, Juliet E [E, Mckenna, Juliet]
Format: epub
Published: 2010-04-10T21:07:18.242000+00:00

The wind is a constant feature of life in Dalasor and this song sums up all its various moods--the chill wind of winter, the warm breath of summer, the violent storms that rage above the open grasslands and those oh so rare moments of stillness when it takes one a moment to realize what is missing. Power so mighty that moves stealthy, never seen Stream that is ceaseless yet water has never been, Always it passes yet will remain last of all. Weakest will bend and live, strongest will broken fall, Searching and scouring and merciless stripping bare, Yet both concealing and blowing away all care. A howl in the darkness with no tongue to make the sound, Yet biting the bone and the dry flesh split all round, The cold and the cruel drives sunshine far from the heights Till moons bring their pity to soften the shrinking nights, Moist kindly kisses and healing touch to all ills, Bringing the glory of flower crowned rolling hills. Storm raging fury and rain lashing naked back, Twisting and turning and washing out every track, Senses bemused and all courage fled long ago, Calm bringing wisdom and bidding the heart to slow, Respite from fear and true knowledge of self alone, Peace for reflection and innermost secrets known. --?-- Othilfess, 4th of Aft Summer The long slate table was bare, a body laid out on the cold stone, wrapped to the neck in white linen. A cowl of the same cloth hid the hair but a few wisps escaped, dull with smears of rusty blood. An insidious hint of decay hovered in the air like an unwelcome truth. The lonely flames of candles set at head and foot held back the darkness as evening fell outside, leaving the rest of the room in disregarded gloom as the fire sank to a sullen red heap of cinders. Aritane watched the three women weeping as they began stitching the corpse into a shaped shroud of stiff leather. "I see no reason for salting the body," she remarked coldly. "I could perform the charnel rites at once, if you would only let me." Ismenia bent to kiss the marble white brow before closing the folds over Teiriol's face, hands deft and gentle; Eirys and Theilyn were barely able to hold their needles, let alone sew, their fingers shook so much. The old woman looked up. "I'll have Sheltya who remain true to their oaths lay my son under the sky for Misaen to judge and the ravens to reclaim," she said calmly. "Get out." The girls both froze, trickling tears their only movement. Aritane's chin came up on an indignant intake of breath. "You owe me the courtesy of my calling and I'll thank you for it. You would not have his bones at all, were it not for Sheltya bringing him home." Ismenia's eyes flickered to her daughters. "Please leave us to mourn our dead," she said in more temperate tones. "Mourning is all well and good.

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