Original Story
Title: To Everything There Is A Season
Rating: G
Word count: 3937
Notes: Rather nervous about this one, because technically, it's original stuff. During the 14th century, a young woman finds she has an unexpected gift.
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1. A Time To Kill
It was a fight. Or a riot. She never asked, and the adults never spoke about it in front of her. She was just a young girl, after all, and people had died.
Still, the day of the chaos in the town’s streets stuck in Helena’s mind. It was the first time she saw the man. Tall and dark as any other man in their land, and wearing red. She always remembered the red. He had laughed, while others cursed and fought.
He had known she was watching, somehow, and he turned, looking right at her, even from the other side of the courtyard, up to the balcony where she was hiding, peeking between the rails. She should have backed down and hidden, but something in his eyes made her meet his gaze. Her heart raced. She saw the challenge in his eyes and she scowled at him.
He laughed at her, or with her. She was never sure, but then he was lost in the crowd, and she thought she would never see him, the mad stranger, again.
2. A Time To Mourn
He wasn’t a man, after all.
Or at least, she had thought he was, until he had appeared in her dying mother’s bedroom.
She thought she had fallen asleep by mama’s bedside, and that he had snuck in when she had her eyes closed, but the door was jammed closed to keep the arguing outside, so a dying woman wouldn’t be disturbed.
Through an eye half-closed, she had watched him bend over mama. She had been resting on the floor beside the bed, and her hand found the metal rod she used for stirring the fire. The man looked like he was going to kiss her mama. Helena hit him on the head with the poker.
He swore and fell backwards, landing on the floor.
“You leave her alone!” she cried, getting to her feet and waving the poker threateningly.
“Have to do my duty,” the man replied, getting up and moving towards mama again.
She tried to swing the poker. It stopped in mid-air. The man bent down and kissed mama, and then, there was a shiver in the air, a shape of light that could have been mama standing there, and then it was gone.
The poker fell from her hand and she knelt beside the bed, reaching for her mama’s wasted hand. “Mama?”
“She’s gone,” the man murmured. He was still standing there. Just standing. Like a man, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t be.
“What did you do?” she whispered. Her cheeks felt wet and she was shaking. Outside, papa and her aunts were arguing. Probably about her little sisters. “Why did you kill my mama?”
“I didn’t,” the man said quietly. He was watching her, as if she was interesting. She looked away, rubbing her face. “Too many children. Her body was weakened by it.”
“So what are you?” She wondered how she could sound so calm. Her insides felt like they were shaking. With anger. With fear. With despair. “You’re an angel? An angel of mercy?”
Dark eyes were still watching her. “No angel,” he replied. “I’m Death.”
Helena’s laughter had been shrill, sharp, painful to her own ears. “Death!” she exclaimed. “I hit you with a poker and you kiss my mama and then you say you’re Death? I’m dreaming!” Tears were streaming down her face. “I must be having a dream of all of this, because you’re not Death! No one sees death! No one sees their mama taken!”
Suddenly he was beside her, and he was warm and strong and holding her like she meant something to him. She struck his chest again, and again, sobbing. And he held her and murmured words that meant nothing, until she had no tears left.
Then, he spoke to her. Not like a child, or a girl, or a fool. He talked and she talked until things started to make sense, and he wiped the tears off her cheeks, and held her in his arms, until the shouting had stopped outside the room.
When she got up to go to the door, she turned to ask him why, but he was already gone.
3. A Time To Be Born
It was that night which changed all things for her.
She remembered every word. She was gifted, that was what he had said, seeing beyond sight and knowing beyond knowledge, and it frightened her. She didn’t breathe a word of it to anyone, knowing that fear would make even her own family turn on her. It had happened before, the deaths of those seen as cursed.
But he had never said it was a curse. It was a gift, and only one gave such gifts.
Kneeling before the Priest in the chapel, she gave herself in gratitude for those gifts, trusting Him to use her for His purposes, to guide her in trust and love to those who needed her. Her name was changed that day, and she rose Maria Augusta.
She saw him that day, leaning against the doorframe of the chapel, sunlight pouring behind him though he cast no shadow. He gave her a smile and a nod when she saw him, but she found herself wondering why his smile was so sad.
4. A Time To Keep Silence
From time to time, she saw him, though only in passing. She sat by the bedside of the sick, and the dying, soothing them and praying with them, then holding their hands as he bent over them to help them find rest.
He always found a smile for her and as time went on, when they were alone in the moments after the soul had dispersed, she would find a smile for him. It made his smile brighter for the few seconds before he vanished.
By the time she had moved from novice to Sister, she found that the thought of him and his cheerful expression made her smile unexpectedly. It was the most foolish thing she’d heard of, but that did nothing to stop her thinking of him and smiling as she did so.
It came as a surprise, though, when he chose to visit for no reason at all. She and the sisters were at prayers in the chapel, six rows four deep of them praying in silence for the soldiers sent to fight, once more, against the Moors who held the south.
Despite herself, Helena found her mind wandering, the prayers tripping off her lips by rote. It was only obedience to the Mother Superior that had her here, kneeling in the suffocating heat, while those she tended were still sick and dying.
“There are more practical ways to help, you know...”
An unfamiliar male voice should have caused a stir among the Sisters, but none of the others made a sound, and the voice was familiar despite almost a decade passing since she had last heard it. She clasped her prayer beads more firmly, as emphasis that she was occupied, even though she wondered if he might be looking into her mind and speaking her thoughts.
“I can see the face you would like to make at me,” he said conversationally, his voice close to her ear. “Like the first time you saw me. Your nose wrinkled, pretending to be annoyed.”
She resolutely ignored him.
In the empty spot next to her, someone knelt down. She heard the movement of cloth. “So, what do I do now?” he asked, nudging her with his elbow.
She was praying, quietly, calmly, piously.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Her elbow jerked just enough to jab him in the side and he laughed.
“You know, there’s a Sister on the end of the front row who is about as convincing as you are.” The beads clicked between her fingers. “Oh, wait, she’s asleep.” Outside of the chapel, a cart creaked passed. “Oh, she’s tipping... tipping... tipping...”
From two rows ahead, there was the sound of several bodies tumbling.
He laughed again. “And she took the whole row with her,” he said, giving her an amused look when she opened her eyes and glared at him. “Knew you’d make that face.” He nodded towards the front row and the tangle of Sisters, habits and prayer beads. “Now tell me you wish you’d seen that.”
Despite herself, her lips twitched at the sight of the aloof and proper Sister Maria Aurelia hopping desperately up and down on one foot, her other caught in one of the ropes of beads, and knotted in her habit.
“Knew you’d only pretend to be annoyed.”
She turned to glare at him again, but he was gone.
5. A Time To Laugh
There were times when her duties brought her to tears. Faith was a shelter, but even that could not blind her when the children starved. Her own belly had gone empty to save even one little one, but that was not enough.
And yet, amid the sadness as she watched the young lives burn bright as a candle flame for such a short time then snuff out, he could draw a smile to her lips, even when he barely noticed she was there.
Children shone that moment longer in death, and they seemed to dote on him, and he them. He would lift them onto his back and let them ride there until they faded. He would let them force him to skip with them. He would tickle their delicate spirits and they would laugh, weakness, pain and hunger forgotten.
Could one such as he have a child? She had wondered that often. He treated every child as if they were his own beloved infant. He treated so many with that same kindness, but children seemed to love him and respond so much more.
She watched him, one night, as he sat by the side of a child, a boy of barely six years, burning with fever. It should have lasted days longer, but he reached down and the brilliance of a young soul leapt to him, pinning him on the bed and giggling. He laughed too, swinging the child’s soul away from his broken, empty shell and tossed him in the air, catching him easily.
Hidden in the doorway, she laughed quietly too.
6. A Time To Embrace
He could incite her to foolishness.
She had been in the order for nearly twenty years, novice, Sister, and whispers said soon to be Mother, and yet, as the rest of the convent slept, she was sitting on a moonlit hillside with a man whom she knew to be Death.
Years before, she had asked him for his name, and he had given it to her with her oath she would never voice it nor use it. It felt strange, knowing he had a name, and that to him, she would eternally be Helena, the stubborn child who was never afraid of him.
The stubborn child now a woman, and the woman now watching the moonlight on the sea off the Northern coast. They were sitting on the grass, close, but not touching.
“Why?”
He looked at her. “Why what?”
“Why me?” she asked, watching him, his dark eyes. “I would hardly say I am anything remarkable.”
He laughed quietly. “More fool you, then,” he said. He nodded to the being standing several yards from them. It flashed him a smile and vanished.
“Your companion?”
“Some people would call it my servant, but I prefer to think of it as a friend,” he replied. His hand moved on the cool grass and his fingers brushed against hers. She looked down at their hands, then up at his face, but he made no move to withdraw his touch.
“You never do what I expect,” she said. “I’ve watched you for years.”
“I never expected you to agree to come here with me.”
Helena laughed quietly. “I was curious.”
“About what?” His hand moved a little more, but it was her who tilted her hand and let her fingers curl around his.
“You,” she replied.
It was improper, temptation and everything she had never known when he leaned closer to her and kissed her. His hand was warm and strong around hers and his other arm slipped around her waist and for a moment, she could hardly breathe. Her eyes closed of their own will and she trembled.
He spoke to her then, whispered against her lips, words she never thought she would hear from any man, even a man who was no man at all.
For long moments, she could not even think to move, letting him hold her, letting herself be held, just for a moment, just until she could accept that this was all she could allow herself, more than she should allow herself.
They lay together then on the grass, his arms about her, and her body close to his, but this was all they could have. They both knew that he had his duty and she had her faith, and those things were greater for both of them than even a shared emotion.
For a little while, that would be enough.
7. A Time To Weep
Age came hard to her, though she would never voice it aloud. When pain took root in her belly, she knew it was only testing. She knew there were those who suffered more and who needed peace and comfort, so she gave what she could.
Her monthly flow had grown worse from her thirtieth year on. Sometimes it came weekly. Sometimes not at all for weeks, only to burst forth, dark, clotted and stinking. Then, without warning it was gone, leaving in its place only pain.
None of the sisters knew. They only presumed that their Mother was aging, and she allowed them to think so. It would not do to draw their attention from those who needed them. If she limped, she would excuse it with thorns from the garden. If she wanted to cry out in her wakefulness, she would grip her rosary until her fingers bled.
It should have remained so, but it seemed that the Almighty did not wish it.
Fifteen years of a pain constant and familiar and private were broken by the screams of a novice during prayers. She turned in tired reproof to see a stream of dark blood running from beneath her own habit, seeping between the flagstones, darker and more forbidding than any flow she had seen before.
She struggled to rise, and it was like a tide and the pain brought her to the floor.
It was only hours later that she allowed herself to weep. They left her to rest on her order only once the bleeding had ceased, and she had assured them she was well, praying silently for forgiveness for such a lie.
On her narrow bed, her hands pressing against the hardened swell in the centre of her stomach, that mockery of the blessed Madonna, she let tears come. Why she called out for him by his secret name, she did not know, not at once, but when he was there, and when his arms fitted around her and she could weep, she understood.
His hand wiped her cheek and his words were soft, comforting, as he soothed her, until she could speak. In roughened whispers, she told him of what had happened, and that hand moved and touched her belly.
“You’re dying,” he said quietly.
“We are all dying,” she replied just as quietly, her head on his shoulder. “From the moment we are born. Some simply last a little longer than others.”
“I could take you now,” he said. His voice was steady, but she could feel his hand tremble. “I know it’s not your time, but I could take you. Stop the pain.”
“You know you cannot,” Helena said quietly. “There is a season for all things. I will die when I’m appointed to die. The Almighty holds my life in His hands. How could I refuse to follow His will now?”
“Now?” Death stared at her. “Now, when he’s the one who leaves you in agony, bleeding and dying slowly from the inside out? How can you keep on saying that this is his plan? Why would he want to hurt you? Why wouldn’t he heal you?”
Her eyes had fallen closed, but she opened them slowly to gaze at him. “Don’t test me,” she whispered imploringly. “Not you.”
He kissed her forehead and stroked her cheek again.
“You understand why?”
He nodded. “And you know why I want to,” he said quietly. She nodded in response. She knew and he knew. There were words that could not be said, but they both understood. That was why she had called him, and that was why he would follow her wishes rather than his own. “When the day comes...”
“Tell me on the day. Then I will know.”
“On the day,” he agreed.
“No surprises.” She laid her head on his shoulder again. “Simply tell me.”
“As if I would ever try to surprise you,” he said and kissed her forehead again. She smiled quietly, her hand resting over the place where his heart should beat. “You get some rest.”
“You’ll stay?”
He pulled her close. “As long as you’ll have me.” His breath was cool on her brow. “Forever.”
In his embrace, as she closed her eyes, she wished for a moment that things were different, that the words he offered her were hers to give him.
8. A Time To Dance
He visited often, more often than he should have, but she had never been happier to see his face.
Before those around her, she could pretend she was recovering and that it was only age that wearied her, but he needed no masks. While the sisters slept, she would sit with him on the step of the convent in the cool night air and they would talk.
He had seen so many things and told her of things he would show her if he could. In an act of selfishness, she took his hand and asked him to let her see.
They walked together when she had strength enough, and he carried her when she allowed it. He let her smell the scent of the ripening oranges in the moonlit groves, helped her walk in the seas she had not seen for decades, laughed with her and offered her some happiness beyond the pain inside her.
Despite their time, neither of them ever spoke of nor denied the fact that she was growing weaker and more weary.
Her sisters prayed for her, though she bade them not to, and often she heard them weeping for her. All her assurances did little to comfort them or ease their sorrows, though they bowed to her whims, and when she asked for solitude, it was granted at once.
It was rare for him to come to her in the halls of the convent, where only women would tread, but he came as she sat and gazed blindly at her hands.
His broad hands covered hers, thin and wasted and old.
Looking up at him, she hid a tired smile. "You know you should never enter here," she chastised mildly. "If another can see you, they will take fright at the sight of such a big, ugly brute."
He brushed a kiss across her lips. "And what would they think of that?" he asked, then bent and slipped an arm under her legs and another behind her back, sweeping her up easily.
"Sinful," she replied quietly, setting her head on his shoulder as he spun in a circle on the sun-spotted tiles of the floor. "Very sinful."
He laughed. "I pride myself on being naughty," he said. "You shouldn't be lying around. It's a glorious day. There's a blue sky, brilliant sunlight, and such a lovely little group of musicians playing in the village square. We should go and dance."
"Dance?" she echoed, laughing. "I believe to do that, you should be able to keep to your feet."
"Common mistake," he replied, twirling her again. He looked down at her and his spinning slowed, then stopped. "It's a good day."
"A good day?" His face was uncharacteristically serious. "That day?" He nodded and she brought up her hand to touch his face, gazing at him. "Will it hurt?"
His eyes moved to something on the far side of the room. "I don't know," he replied, and she turned to follow his gaze: a woman, thin and frail, little more than a wisp of flesh and bone, seemed to be slumbering in her chair. "Did it?"
She turned to stare at him and he set her down, his expression apologetic.
"I didn't want you to worry," he said simply.
"You promised me no surprises," she accused, looking at her hands, which were once more healthy and full. It meant she did not have to look at him, to know the choice that he would place before her. "That was a surprise."
"A belated one," he said quietly. "Helena..."
She looked then, forced herself. Her hands moved and she touched his chest. She was trembling, she noticed. Without a body, and yet she trembled. "You know what my answer will be," she said quietly. "My soul belongs to Him."
"Body and soul." There was sadness in his voice as he touched her hair. It was dark again. It felt heavy and thick as it once had. His fingers ran through it slowly. She closed her eyes and she felt his lips on her forehead. "Did you ever...?"
Truth or lie, it would hurt him.
"I did," she answered in an honest whisper. "You were the dearest to me in all my life."
For a moment, she thought he would laugh in derision or speak out in bitterness, but he only drew back and gazed at her with such sorrowful understanding. Bending, he kissed her once more and she allowed herself to return that kiss with all the love that she wished she could grant him.
For a long while, he held her, as if that was the end of things. His cheek was cool against her hair, or perhaps it was her hair against his cheek. His arms were around her and she felt the sigh against her brow.
"You have a journey in front of you," he said, drawing back, his fingers slipping down her arm to cradle hers. "I shouldn't keep you here."
Helena looked up at him. "This is goodbye?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"You can only go in one direction," he replied quietly, looking at their joined hands. "No coming back."
She lifted his hand to her cheek, pressing his palm against it, fighting down tears. "If I could take anything with me," she said softly. "It would be you."
His brow touched hers and his laugh was quiet. "I don't think they'd appreciate that," he said. Her other hand caught the back of his head and she kissed him, fiercely, tenderly, with every bit of her that he had ever loved.
"Never forget I love you," she whispered.
Dark eyes met hers and he smiled. "Never thought you'd say it," he said softly. "Be happy."
It seemed he was fading under her touch. Or perhaps it was her. It may have been both of them, but their hands seemed to pass, light as air, each through the other's, and as he faded from her sight, despite her sadness, there was peace.
Rating: G
Word count: 3937
Notes: Rather nervous about this one, because technically, it's original stuff. During the 14th century, a young woman finds she has an unexpected gift.
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1. A Time To Kill
It was a fight. Or a riot. She never asked, and the adults never spoke about it in front of her. She was just a young girl, after all, and people had died.
Still, the day of the chaos in the town’s streets stuck in Helena’s mind. It was the first time she saw the man. Tall and dark as any other man in their land, and wearing red. She always remembered the red. He had laughed, while others cursed and fought.
He had known she was watching, somehow, and he turned, looking right at her, even from the other side of the courtyard, up to the balcony where she was hiding, peeking between the rails. She should have backed down and hidden, but something in his eyes made her meet his gaze. Her heart raced. She saw the challenge in his eyes and she scowled at him.
He laughed at her, or with her. She was never sure, but then he was lost in the crowd, and she thought she would never see him, the mad stranger, again.
2. A Time To Mourn
He wasn’t a man, after all.
Or at least, she had thought he was, until he had appeared in her dying mother’s bedroom.
She thought she had fallen asleep by mama’s bedside, and that he had snuck in when she had her eyes closed, but the door was jammed closed to keep the arguing outside, so a dying woman wouldn’t be disturbed.
Through an eye half-closed, she had watched him bend over mama. She had been resting on the floor beside the bed, and her hand found the metal rod she used for stirring the fire. The man looked like he was going to kiss her mama. Helena hit him on the head with the poker.
He swore and fell backwards, landing on the floor.
“You leave her alone!” she cried, getting to her feet and waving the poker threateningly.
“Have to do my duty,” the man replied, getting up and moving towards mama again.
She tried to swing the poker. It stopped in mid-air. The man bent down and kissed mama, and then, there was a shiver in the air, a shape of light that could have been mama standing there, and then it was gone.
The poker fell from her hand and she knelt beside the bed, reaching for her mama’s wasted hand. “Mama?”
“She’s gone,” the man murmured. He was still standing there. Just standing. Like a man, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t be.
“What did you do?” she whispered. Her cheeks felt wet and she was shaking. Outside, papa and her aunts were arguing. Probably about her little sisters. “Why did you kill my mama?”
“I didn’t,” the man said quietly. He was watching her, as if she was interesting. She looked away, rubbing her face. “Too many children. Her body was weakened by it.”
“So what are you?” She wondered how she could sound so calm. Her insides felt like they were shaking. With anger. With fear. With despair. “You’re an angel? An angel of mercy?”
Dark eyes were still watching her. “No angel,” he replied. “I’m Death.”
Helena’s laughter had been shrill, sharp, painful to her own ears. “Death!” she exclaimed. “I hit you with a poker and you kiss my mama and then you say you’re Death? I’m dreaming!” Tears were streaming down her face. “I must be having a dream of all of this, because you’re not Death! No one sees death! No one sees their mama taken!”
Suddenly he was beside her, and he was warm and strong and holding her like she meant something to him. She struck his chest again, and again, sobbing. And he held her and murmured words that meant nothing, until she had no tears left.
Then, he spoke to her. Not like a child, or a girl, or a fool. He talked and she talked until things started to make sense, and he wiped the tears off her cheeks, and held her in his arms, until the shouting had stopped outside the room.
When she got up to go to the door, she turned to ask him why, but he was already gone.
3. A Time To Be Born
It was that night which changed all things for her.
She remembered every word. She was gifted, that was what he had said, seeing beyond sight and knowing beyond knowledge, and it frightened her. She didn’t breathe a word of it to anyone, knowing that fear would make even her own family turn on her. It had happened before, the deaths of those seen as cursed.
But he had never said it was a curse. It was a gift, and only one gave such gifts.
Kneeling before the Priest in the chapel, she gave herself in gratitude for those gifts, trusting Him to use her for His purposes, to guide her in trust and love to those who needed her. Her name was changed that day, and she rose Maria Augusta.
She saw him that day, leaning against the doorframe of the chapel, sunlight pouring behind him though he cast no shadow. He gave her a smile and a nod when she saw him, but she found herself wondering why his smile was so sad.
4. A Time To Keep Silence
From time to time, she saw him, though only in passing. She sat by the bedside of the sick, and the dying, soothing them and praying with them, then holding their hands as he bent over them to help them find rest.
He always found a smile for her and as time went on, when they were alone in the moments after the soul had dispersed, she would find a smile for him. It made his smile brighter for the few seconds before he vanished.
By the time she had moved from novice to Sister, she found that the thought of him and his cheerful expression made her smile unexpectedly. It was the most foolish thing she’d heard of, but that did nothing to stop her thinking of him and smiling as she did so.
It came as a surprise, though, when he chose to visit for no reason at all. She and the sisters were at prayers in the chapel, six rows four deep of them praying in silence for the soldiers sent to fight, once more, against the Moors who held the south.
Despite herself, Helena found her mind wandering, the prayers tripping off her lips by rote. It was only obedience to the Mother Superior that had her here, kneeling in the suffocating heat, while those she tended were still sick and dying.
“There are more practical ways to help, you know...”
An unfamiliar male voice should have caused a stir among the Sisters, but none of the others made a sound, and the voice was familiar despite almost a decade passing since she had last heard it. She clasped her prayer beads more firmly, as emphasis that she was occupied, even though she wondered if he might be looking into her mind and speaking her thoughts.
“I can see the face you would like to make at me,” he said conversationally, his voice close to her ear. “Like the first time you saw me. Your nose wrinkled, pretending to be annoyed.”
She resolutely ignored him.
In the empty spot next to her, someone knelt down. She heard the movement of cloth. “So, what do I do now?” he asked, nudging her with his elbow.
She was praying, quietly, calmly, piously.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Her elbow jerked just enough to jab him in the side and he laughed.
“You know, there’s a Sister on the end of the front row who is about as convincing as you are.” The beads clicked between her fingers. “Oh, wait, she’s asleep.” Outside of the chapel, a cart creaked passed. “Oh, she’s tipping... tipping... tipping...”
From two rows ahead, there was the sound of several bodies tumbling.
He laughed again. “And she took the whole row with her,” he said, giving her an amused look when she opened her eyes and glared at him. “Knew you’d make that face.” He nodded towards the front row and the tangle of Sisters, habits and prayer beads. “Now tell me you wish you’d seen that.”
Despite herself, her lips twitched at the sight of the aloof and proper Sister Maria Aurelia hopping desperately up and down on one foot, her other caught in one of the ropes of beads, and knotted in her habit.
“Knew you’d only pretend to be annoyed.”
She turned to glare at him again, but he was gone.
5. A Time To Laugh
There were times when her duties brought her to tears. Faith was a shelter, but even that could not blind her when the children starved. Her own belly had gone empty to save even one little one, but that was not enough.
And yet, amid the sadness as she watched the young lives burn bright as a candle flame for such a short time then snuff out, he could draw a smile to her lips, even when he barely noticed she was there.
Children shone that moment longer in death, and they seemed to dote on him, and he them. He would lift them onto his back and let them ride there until they faded. He would let them force him to skip with them. He would tickle their delicate spirits and they would laugh, weakness, pain and hunger forgotten.
Could one such as he have a child? She had wondered that often. He treated every child as if they were his own beloved infant. He treated so many with that same kindness, but children seemed to love him and respond so much more.
She watched him, one night, as he sat by the side of a child, a boy of barely six years, burning with fever. It should have lasted days longer, but he reached down and the brilliance of a young soul leapt to him, pinning him on the bed and giggling. He laughed too, swinging the child’s soul away from his broken, empty shell and tossed him in the air, catching him easily.
Hidden in the doorway, she laughed quietly too.
6. A Time To Embrace
He could incite her to foolishness.
She had been in the order for nearly twenty years, novice, Sister, and whispers said soon to be Mother, and yet, as the rest of the convent slept, she was sitting on a moonlit hillside with a man whom she knew to be Death.
Years before, she had asked him for his name, and he had given it to her with her oath she would never voice it nor use it. It felt strange, knowing he had a name, and that to him, she would eternally be Helena, the stubborn child who was never afraid of him.
The stubborn child now a woman, and the woman now watching the moonlight on the sea off the Northern coast. They were sitting on the grass, close, but not touching.
“Why?”
He looked at her. “Why what?”
“Why me?” she asked, watching him, his dark eyes. “I would hardly say I am anything remarkable.”
He laughed quietly. “More fool you, then,” he said. He nodded to the being standing several yards from them. It flashed him a smile and vanished.
“Your companion?”
“Some people would call it my servant, but I prefer to think of it as a friend,” he replied. His hand moved on the cool grass and his fingers brushed against hers. She looked down at their hands, then up at his face, but he made no move to withdraw his touch.
“You never do what I expect,” she said. “I’ve watched you for years.”
“I never expected you to agree to come here with me.”
Helena laughed quietly. “I was curious.”
“About what?” His hand moved a little more, but it was her who tilted her hand and let her fingers curl around his.
“You,” she replied.
It was improper, temptation and everything she had never known when he leaned closer to her and kissed her. His hand was warm and strong around hers and his other arm slipped around her waist and for a moment, she could hardly breathe. Her eyes closed of their own will and she trembled.
He spoke to her then, whispered against her lips, words she never thought she would hear from any man, even a man who was no man at all.
For long moments, she could not even think to move, letting him hold her, letting herself be held, just for a moment, just until she could accept that this was all she could allow herself, more than she should allow herself.
They lay together then on the grass, his arms about her, and her body close to his, but this was all they could have. They both knew that he had his duty and she had her faith, and those things were greater for both of them than even a shared emotion.
For a little while, that would be enough.
7. A Time To Weep
Age came hard to her, though she would never voice it aloud. When pain took root in her belly, she knew it was only testing. She knew there were those who suffered more and who needed peace and comfort, so she gave what she could.
Her monthly flow had grown worse from her thirtieth year on. Sometimes it came weekly. Sometimes not at all for weeks, only to burst forth, dark, clotted and stinking. Then, without warning it was gone, leaving in its place only pain.
None of the sisters knew. They only presumed that their Mother was aging, and she allowed them to think so. It would not do to draw their attention from those who needed them. If she limped, she would excuse it with thorns from the garden. If she wanted to cry out in her wakefulness, she would grip her rosary until her fingers bled.
It should have remained so, but it seemed that the Almighty did not wish it.
Fifteen years of a pain constant and familiar and private were broken by the screams of a novice during prayers. She turned in tired reproof to see a stream of dark blood running from beneath her own habit, seeping between the flagstones, darker and more forbidding than any flow she had seen before.
She struggled to rise, and it was like a tide and the pain brought her to the floor.
It was only hours later that she allowed herself to weep. They left her to rest on her order only once the bleeding had ceased, and she had assured them she was well, praying silently for forgiveness for such a lie.
On her narrow bed, her hands pressing against the hardened swell in the centre of her stomach, that mockery of the blessed Madonna, she let tears come. Why she called out for him by his secret name, she did not know, not at once, but when he was there, and when his arms fitted around her and she could weep, she understood.
His hand wiped her cheek and his words were soft, comforting, as he soothed her, until she could speak. In roughened whispers, she told him of what had happened, and that hand moved and touched her belly.
“You’re dying,” he said quietly.
“We are all dying,” she replied just as quietly, her head on his shoulder. “From the moment we are born. Some simply last a little longer than others.”
“I could take you now,” he said. His voice was steady, but she could feel his hand tremble. “I know it’s not your time, but I could take you. Stop the pain.”
“You know you cannot,” Helena said quietly. “There is a season for all things. I will die when I’m appointed to die. The Almighty holds my life in His hands. How could I refuse to follow His will now?”
“Now?” Death stared at her. “Now, when he’s the one who leaves you in agony, bleeding and dying slowly from the inside out? How can you keep on saying that this is his plan? Why would he want to hurt you? Why wouldn’t he heal you?”
Her eyes had fallen closed, but she opened them slowly to gaze at him. “Don’t test me,” she whispered imploringly. “Not you.”
He kissed her forehead and stroked her cheek again.
“You understand why?”
He nodded. “And you know why I want to,” he said quietly. She nodded in response. She knew and he knew. There were words that could not be said, but they both understood. That was why she had called him, and that was why he would follow her wishes rather than his own. “When the day comes...”
“Tell me on the day. Then I will know.”
“On the day,” he agreed.
“No surprises.” She laid her head on his shoulder again. “Simply tell me.”
“As if I would ever try to surprise you,” he said and kissed her forehead again. She smiled quietly, her hand resting over the place where his heart should beat. “You get some rest.”
“You’ll stay?”
He pulled her close. “As long as you’ll have me.” His breath was cool on her brow. “Forever.”
In his embrace, as she closed her eyes, she wished for a moment that things were different, that the words he offered her were hers to give him.
8. A Time To Dance
He visited often, more often than he should have, but she had never been happier to see his face.
Before those around her, she could pretend she was recovering and that it was only age that wearied her, but he needed no masks. While the sisters slept, she would sit with him on the step of the convent in the cool night air and they would talk.
He had seen so many things and told her of things he would show her if he could. In an act of selfishness, she took his hand and asked him to let her see.
They walked together when she had strength enough, and he carried her when she allowed it. He let her smell the scent of the ripening oranges in the moonlit groves, helped her walk in the seas she had not seen for decades, laughed with her and offered her some happiness beyond the pain inside her.
Despite their time, neither of them ever spoke of nor denied the fact that she was growing weaker and more weary.
Her sisters prayed for her, though she bade them not to, and often she heard them weeping for her. All her assurances did little to comfort them or ease their sorrows, though they bowed to her whims, and when she asked for solitude, it was granted at once.
It was rare for him to come to her in the halls of the convent, where only women would tread, but he came as she sat and gazed blindly at her hands.
His broad hands covered hers, thin and wasted and old.
Looking up at him, she hid a tired smile. "You know you should never enter here," she chastised mildly. "If another can see you, they will take fright at the sight of such a big, ugly brute."
He brushed a kiss across her lips. "And what would they think of that?" he asked, then bent and slipped an arm under her legs and another behind her back, sweeping her up easily.
"Sinful," she replied quietly, setting her head on his shoulder as he spun in a circle on the sun-spotted tiles of the floor. "Very sinful."
He laughed. "I pride myself on being naughty," he said. "You shouldn't be lying around. It's a glorious day. There's a blue sky, brilliant sunlight, and such a lovely little group of musicians playing in the village square. We should go and dance."
"Dance?" she echoed, laughing. "I believe to do that, you should be able to keep to your feet."
"Common mistake," he replied, twirling her again. He looked down at her and his spinning slowed, then stopped. "It's a good day."
"A good day?" His face was uncharacteristically serious. "That day?" He nodded and she brought up her hand to touch his face, gazing at him. "Will it hurt?"
His eyes moved to something on the far side of the room. "I don't know," he replied, and she turned to follow his gaze: a woman, thin and frail, little more than a wisp of flesh and bone, seemed to be slumbering in her chair. "Did it?"
She turned to stare at him and he set her down, his expression apologetic.
"I didn't want you to worry," he said simply.
"You promised me no surprises," she accused, looking at her hands, which were once more healthy and full. It meant she did not have to look at him, to know the choice that he would place before her. "That was a surprise."
"A belated one," he said quietly. "Helena..."
She looked then, forced herself. Her hands moved and she touched his chest. She was trembling, she noticed. Without a body, and yet she trembled. "You know what my answer will be," she said quietly. "My soul belongs to Him."
"Body and soul." There was sadness in his voice as he touched her hair. It was dark again. It felt heavy and thick as it once had. His fingers ran through it slowly. She closed her eyes and she felt his lips on her forehead. "Did you ever...?"
Truth or lie, it would hurt him.
"I did," she answered in an honest whisper. "You were the dearest to me in all my life."
For a moment, she thought he would laugh in derision or speak out in bitterness, but he only drew back and gazed at her with such sorrowful understanding. Bending, he kissed her once more and she allowed herself to return that kiss with all the love that she wished she could grant him.
For a long while, he held her, as if that was the end of things. His cheek was cool against her hair, or perhaps it was her hair against his cheek. His arms were around her and she felt the sigh against her brow.
"You have a journey in front of you," he said, drawing back, his fingers slipping down her arm to cradle hers. "I shouldn't keep you here."
Helena looked up at him. "This is goodbye?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"You can only go in one direction," he replied quietly, looking at their joined hands. "No coming back."
She lifted his hand to her cheek, pressing his palm against it, fighting down tears. "If I could take anything with me," she said softly. "It would be you."
His brow touched hers and his laugh was quiet. "I don't think they'd appreciate that," he said. Her other hand caught the back of his head and she kissed him, fiercely, tenderly, with every bit of her that he had ever loved.
"Never forget I love you," she whispered.
Dark eyes met hers and he smiled. "Never thought you'd say it," he said softly. "Be happy."
It seemed he was fading under her touch. Or perhaps it was her. It may have been both of them, but their hands seemed to pass, light as air, each through the other's, and as he faded from her sight, despite her sadness, there was peace.