Leda

Chapter Three: Two Deaths

"Hal, I can't breathe. You're crushing me!"

Hal stirred, moaned and rolled onto her back. Her nightmare had left her hot and feverish: the bedclothes were drenched with sweat. Red lines barred the pale skin of Meracad's upper arm where Hal had clawed at her in her sleep. She stared at the fading impressions of her fingers, her mind heady and drained, nausea curdling in the pit of her stomach.

"I'm sorry," she said at last.

"You were calling out: begging for air. Hal, what's going on in there?" Raising herself on one elbow, Meracad tapped Hal's forehead. "Let me in."

"I'm fine. It was just a dream. Go back to sleep." She swung herself out of bed and crossed to the wash basin, rinsing her face with cold water. Milky light pushed at the windows. Hal peered out at the forest. Wisps of mist shrouded the treetops, but it seemed a dry day at least: something she hadn't witnessed in weeks.

She pulled on her shirt, trousers, boots and coat.

"Where are you going? It's barely dawn!" Meracad watched her as she dressed.

"Out." She left, gently closing the door behind her, keen to avoid another interrogation. In truth, she understood the roots of Meracad's fears and longed to put her mind at rest. But the words just would not come. They stuck in her throat. Her confidence had deserted her: that sense that life was a succession of easy steps, occasionally of longer leaps and jumps. That its risks were to be embraced, enjoyed even: that the past was an entertaining story and the future another waiting to be told. All of these certainties had left her and what lay before appeared a treacherous, unnavigable road. And the greatest horror of all was that, in turning to Meracad for help, they might both sink down together into that dark place from which there seemed no escape. So she kept her silence, refusing to speak of her fears or nightmares. Better that they fester within than infect Meracad too.

She choked down a goblet of water in the great hall, surveying the sleeping forms of the tenants before heading out. The morning was brisk, but brighter than she had seen for days. Guards stalked the ramparts of Hannac, although to what purpose now she could not remember or imagine. Hunger was not an enemy to be kept at bay with swords. Still, the sense that nothing had changed was important: an illusion of security, if nothing else.

Seeing Arec atop the north east tower, she clambered up to him. He nodded to her as she approached.

"Early."

"Couldn't sleep." She leant on the wall and peered down into the forest below, the mist now peeling away to reveal the moorland beyond.

"Or you slept too deeply," Arec said without looking at her.

She winced, but did not reply.

"Here..." he dug into the pocket of his coat and produced an apple. She stared at it. The ghost of a smile flecked his lips. "I won't tell anyone."

Hal took the fruit from him and bit. It tasted earthy and sour.

"You're no good to us starving, Hal. If Franc were here now, he'd..."

"Well he isn't," she snapped.

She gnawed at the apple in bitter silence, throwing the core into the forest below. A jay screamed out in a spray of autumn leaves, its blue wings flashing briefly against gold.

Arec smirked. "Good shot."

Hal put her finger to her lips. "Ssh!"

"What?" He peered over the rampart wall.

"Can't you hear? Someone's coming."

They stood in silence. A faint clip clop of hooves carried up from the forest, accompanied by the grind of carriage wheels. Arec frowned. "Fools."