The wolf of winter by Volsky Paula

Author:Volsky, Paula [Volsky, Paula]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bantam Spectra
Published: 1993-08-04T13:06:49+00:00

There was more, but Shalindra’s eyes were already blurred with tears. Curious. She was quite numb, as if some anesthesia blocked full knowledge from her mind. But her body comprehended well enough; her tears, tremors, and racing heart bespoke her body’s awareness. She stuffed the printed sheets into her pocket. Her hand flew by instinct to the locket, which she drew from beneath her blouse. Her mother’s locket. Her dead mother, her frozen mother, her tortured and libeled mother … She stared at the ornament. Flash of gold, glitter of gems, sinister luster of the dark central diamond—Mother’s locket, Mother’s favorite, Mother handing the jewel to Cerrov as a remembrance—Cerrov’s portrait inside, but Cerrov himself gone now—remembrance—everyone gone‍—

The gemmed gold casing was wet now, and her face was wet, and her breath was all but stopped in her throat. Unable to sit still any longer, she rose, but there was nowhere to go but on around the esplanade, or else back into the library, Crypt of all books, or else back down to the quay where the Lakelily rested … The boat, free to leave this rock, free. No good, any of them‍—

She stumbled on, head bent and shoulders hunched, pressure crushing her heart; seat of sympathetic humors, someone (Dr. Treluna?) had once told her. He must have been right. The pain in her chest was real as a knife wound.

She didn’t know how long she continued to walk, how many times she circled the library. Eventually, her feet started to ache, and the shadow on the sundial told her that the hour of her appointment with the under librarian (authority on Chorkan Variations) had come and gone long ago. Ridiculous thing to think of now.

Her face was tight and salt-crusted, her eyes swollen, but dry. The first storm of grief had exhausted itself, and what was left now, but to go back inside, into the library, (Crypt of all books) back to the reading room, her advisor’s office, her own bleak chamber? She should tell someone in authority what had happened, she supposed. She should tell Jevuni, or one of the under librarians.

But what use? What could any of them do?

They’re grown-ups, they’re supposed to do something.

Almost blindly she turned, feet carrying her toward the entrance, and disgust verging on nausea swamped her, and her muscles stiffened in refusal, and the thought came, Not this, I don’t want to be in this place. Not this, not this, not this.

The tears had started up again. She didn’t want to be out here in the open. She didn’t want to see anyone, talk to anyone. Best go hide in her own little room. Lock the door, and never come out; petrify in there like Olisi playing Hidden Statues. Hide somewhere, anywhere away from people. Away from the Lakelily crewmen, who, burdened with crates, now toiled their way up the stairs from the quay; away, even, from Captain Brunule, who led them.

Flattening herself against the building, Shalindra peeked around the corner to watch Brunule and his subordinates file through the main entrance.

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