Oracles of Ice

Oracles of Ice 14

The shoreline was empty, as it had been the several times Aethelfrith had gone to wait for Gaielle before. He scooped a handful of small stones, tossing them one at a time in the foamy water. Each rock broke the surface and created a splash and ripples, distracting him from the frustration he carried around with him. The last time they'd spoken, Gaielle had left the rock and returned to Berth expecting an angry response from her family and perhaps a punishment. Aethelfrith had ventured through the pine only to be attacked by wolves and wake to a drenching rain. Upon return home he'd been interrogated as to why his clothing was in threads, and he had scrapes and bruises on his body. Three moons had passed, and Aethelfrith was worried. He had visited the shore on a regular basis, hoping to catch her, not knowing if his visits had been ill-timed, and he had missed her, or if she had not come at all.

Disenchanted, he sat down on the rock where he had last sat with her and smoothed his hand out across its cold surface. He had trudged through the pine in the snow, soaking his leathers and catching a fever twice in attempt to catch Gaielle on shore. Three nights he had slept there in that very spot, waiting on her to come, but she never came. His long journeys away from Stanburh had caused suspicion with Anya, who was growing sicker all the time. Aethelfrith had arranged for her to meet with Hazelle and Mek at the stables once every quarter-moon, which seemed to alleviate the worst of her symptoms, but they persisted.

Grief weighed down his shoulders like a pack on a mule. He lay back on the rock and stared up at the heavy clouds in the sky, floating overhead. Another snowstorm threatened the kingdoms, but he didn't retreat to his home. His heart was torn between his ailing wife and the sea, where his unborn child was hidden away with the woman who had stolen his heart. He thought the swirling waters were very much like his swirling thoughts, twisting and turning around rocks fixed to the seafloor. They danced around the certainties in his life, Anya, Mek, his throne, the colony. His desires played around his duty, causing confusion and frustration.

"Sire!" a voice shouted from the shore. Aethelfrith sat up and looked to where the call had come from, noticing a young guard. "Your wife. She is calling. She is not well, Sire." The young man had his hands cupped around his mouth. Two horses stood behind him, their reins lashed to his belt.

Aethelfrith closed his eyes and sighed, wishing he could have had a bit more time alone to process his thoughts. He rubbed the frustration from his forehead and stood, starting toward the guard. Each step felt like lead weighed down his leathers. The stone crunching under his feet reminded him of the day he had snuck up on Gaielle, and she told him of the pregnancy. He had held her in his arms, thinking that could remove her sorrow, and he had hidden his own true reaction. He had been elated to hear the news, and gob smacked at the same time. Now, he just wanted to see her, to know she was okay, that their child was okay.

"I came as soon as she called, Sire. She has had a coughing fit and called for the witch. Iseult should be there by the time we return. The horses are fresh—from the ranch to the north. I traded in our—"

"It is enough, boy," Aethelfrith snapped. He yanked the reins out of the boy's outstretched hand and thrust his foot into the stirrup before hoisting himself onto the beast and settling in for the ride across the hills. The path through the pine and across the foothills of the Simeon ridge would take half the time it had taken to walk there on foot, leaving very little time for thought. "Be on then," he ordered, nodding at the young guard.

The boy mounted his horse and kicked it to a cantor, disappearing into the pine ahead of Aethelfrith who prompted his horse to move forward. The animal headed off at a steady pace, the saddle shifting back and forth beneath Aethelfrith with each step. He looked over his shoulder at the water, hoping to catch a glimpse of Gaielle's electric blue hair, or the tip of her violet fin, but the shoreline was as lonely as the moon in the night sky. He dropped his chin to his chest and resolved himself to the fact that he would not see Gaielle that day, but he would return again, and soon. He may even bring a canoe and venture onto the waters.