Drums of Autumn - Diana Gabaldon [151]
“No, would you?” I twisted my head to look at him. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, still amused at the question.
“Aye, well, perhaps. I’ve come close to death by hanging, and I didna like the waiting a bit. I’ve nearly been killed in battle a few times; I canna say I was much concerned about the dying then, though, bein’ too busy to think of it. And then I’ve nearly died of wounds and fever, and that was misery enough that I was looking forward verra keenly to being dead. But on the whole, given my choice about it, I think perhaps I wouldna mind dying in my sleep, no.”
He leaned over and kissed me lightly. “Preferably in bed, next to you. At a verra advanced age, mind.” He touched his tongue delicately to my lips, then rose to his feet, brushing dried oak leaves from his breeks.
“Best make a fire while there’s light enough to strike a flint,” he said. “Ye’ll fetch the wee fish?”
I left him to deal with flints and kindling while I went down the little hill to the stream, where we had left the fresh-caught trout dangling from stringers in the icy current. As I came back up the hill it had grown dark enough that I could see him only in outline, crouched over a tiny pile of smoldering kindling. A wisp of smoke rose up like incense, pale between his hands.
I set the gutted fish down in the long grass and sat back on my heels beside him, watching as he laid fresh sticks on the fire, building it patiently, a barricade against the coming night.
“What do you think it will be like?” I asked suddenly. “To die.”
He stared into the fire, thinking. A burning twig snapped with heat, spurting sparks into the air, which drifted down, blinking out before they touched the ground.
“ ‘Man is like the grass that withers and is thrown into the fire; he is like the sparks that fly upward … and his place will know him no more,’ ” I quoted softly. “Is there nothing after, do you think?”
He shook his head, looking into the fire. I saw his eyes shift beyond it, to where the cool bright sparks of the fireflies blinked in and out among the dark stems.
“I canna say,” he said at last, softly. His shoulder touched mine and I leaned my head toward him. “There’s what the Church says, but—” His eyes were still fixed on the fireflies, winking through the grass stems, their light unquenchable. “No, I canna say. But I think it will maybe be all right.”
He tilted his head, pressing his cheek against my hair for a moment, then stood up, reaching for his dirk.
“The fire’s well started now.”
The heavy air of the afternoon had lifted with the coming of twilight, and a soft evening breeze blew the damp tendrils of hair off my face. I sat with my face lifted, eyes closed, enjoying the coolness after the sweaty heat of the day.
I could hear Jamie rustling around the fire, and the quick, soft whisht of his knife as he skinned green oak twigs for broiling the fish.
I think it will maybe be all right. I thought so, too. There was no telling what lay on the other side of life, but I had sat many times through an hour where time stops, empty of thought, soothed of soul, looking into … what? Into something that had neither name nor face, but which seemed good to me, and full of peace. If death lay there …
Jamie’s hand touched my shoulder lightly in passing, and I smiled, not opening my eyes.
“Ouch!” he muttered, on the other side of the fire. “Nicked myself, clumsy clot.”
I opened my eyes. He was a good eight feet away, head bent as he sucked a small cut on the knuckle of his thumb. A ripple of gooseflesh rose straight up my back.
“Jamie,” I said. My voice sounded peculiar, even to me. I felt a small round cold spot, centered like a target on the back of my neck.
“Aye?”
“Is there—” I swallowed, feeling the hair rise on my forearms. “Jamie, is there … someone … behind me?”
His eyes shifted to the shadows over my shoulder, and sprang wide. I didn’t wait to look round, but flung myself flat on the ground, an action that likely saved my life.
There was a loud whuff! and a sudden strong smell of ammonia and fish. Something struck me in the back