Helliconia Summer - Brian W. Aldiss [178]
For four hours, Batalix worried at the flank of Freyr, as a hound worries a bone. Only then was the brighter light entirely engulfed. All the early afternoon, steely shadow lay on the land. Not an insect stirred.
For three hours, Freyr was gone from the world, stolen from the day sky.
By sunset, it had only partially reappeared. Nobody could guarantee that it would ever be whole again. Thick cloud filled the sky from horizon to horizon. So the day died, and an alarming day it was. Whether child or adult, every human being in Oldorando took to bed in a state of apprehension.
Then a wind rose, dispelling the rain, increasing anxiety.
There had been three deaths in the old town, one a suicide, and some buildings had been burnt, or were still burning. Only the heavy rain had saved worse violence.
Light from one of the fires, woken by the wind, lit a sheet of rainwater outside the big tower. Its reflection cast patterns on the ceiling of the room in which Oyre lay sleepless on her couch. The wind blew, a shutter banged, sparks flew up into the chimney of the night.
Oyre was waiting. Mosquitoes troubled her; they had recently returned to Oldorando. Every week brought something that nobody had experienced before.
The flickering light from outside coalesced with the stains on the ceiling, to give her a glimpse of an old man with long ragged hair, dressed in a gown. She imagined she could not see his face, for his head was hidden by a raised shoulder. He was doing something. His legs moved with the ripples the wind raised on the puddle outside. He was silently walking among the stars.
Tiring of the game, she looked away, wondering about her father. When she looked again, she saw that she had been mistaken; the old man was peering over his shoulder at her. His face was blotched and seamed with age. He was walking faster now, and the shutter banged in time with his steps. He was marching across the world towards her. His body was covered with a poisonous rash.
Oyre roused herself and sat up. A mosquito buzzed by her ear. Scratching her head, she looked across at Dol, who was breathing heavily.
‘How goes it with you, girl?’
‘The pains are coming faster.’
Oyre climbed naked out of bed, put on a long cloak, and padded across to her friend, whose pale face she could dimly discern. ‘Shall I send for Ma Scantiom?’
‘Not yet. Let’s talk.’ Dol reached up a hand, and Oyre took it. ‘You’ve become a good friend to me, Oyre. I think of such funny things, lying here. You and Vry … I know what you think of me. You’re both kind, yet you’re so different – Vry so unsure of herself, you so sure always …’
‘You’ve got that quite the wrong way round.’
‘Well, I never knew much. People do fail each other most dreadfully, don’t they? I hope I don’t fail the child. I failed your father, I know. Now the scumb has failed me … Fancy not being with me, this night of all nights.’
The shutter banged again on the floor below. They crouched together. Oyre put a hand on her friend’s swollen belly.
‘I’m sure he has not gone off with Shay Tal, if that’s what you fear.’
Dol eased herself up on her elbows and said, turning her face from Oyre, ‘I sometimes can’t bear my own feelings – this pain’s welcome by comparison. I know I’m not half the woman she is. Still I said Yes and she said No, and that counts. I always said Yes, yet he’s not here with me … I don’t think he ever ever loved me …’ She suddenly started to weep so violently that tears sprang from her eyes. Oyre saw them glint in the flickering light as Dol turned and buried her face in Oyre’s broad breast.
The shutter slammed again as the wind gave a sullen howl.
‘Let me send the slave for Ma Scantiom, love,’ Oyre said. Ma Scantiom had taken over the duties of midwife since Dol’s mother had become too decrepit.
‘Not yet, not yet.’ Gradually, her tears subsided.