Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [43]
She had ceased her work. Standing straight, she regarded us from beneath the broad brim of her hat. In figure and stature, she was the twin of her mother, of medium build, graceful in her movements. That she was accustomed to physical labor showed in the well-defined muscles of her bare arms and legs, her upright stance and posture. I could not see her face, which was hidden by the shadow of the hat. She came no closer, but stood where she was.
She is afraid, I thought, and who can blame her? Having grown up apart, isolated, alone.
Gwendolyn had taken a step back, out of Saryon’s arms, though not out of his hold, to gaze fondly at him and he at her.
“Father, it is good to see you again! How well you look!”
“For an old man,” said Saryon, smiling down on her. “And you are lovely as ever, Gwen. Or lovelier, if that is possible. For now you are happy.”
“Yes,” she said, glancing behind her at her daughter, “yes, I am happy, Father. We are happy.” She laid emphasis on the word.
A shadow crossed her face. Her grip on Saryon tightened. She looked back up at him, with earnest pleading. “And that is why you must leave, Father. Go quickly. I thank you for coming. Joram and I have often wondered what became of you. He was worried. You had suffered much for his sake and he feared it might have damaged your health. Now I can give him ease, tell him you are well and prospering. Thank you for coming, but go quickly, now.”
“Pulled the welcome mat right out from under him, didn’t she?” said Simkin.
I gave the knapsack a whack.
“Where is Joram?” Saryon asked.
“Out tending the sheep.”
A muffled, derisive snort came from the knapsack. Gwen heard it. Glancing at me, she frowned and said defiantly, “Yes, he is a shepherd now. And he is happy, Father. Happy and content. For the first time in his life! And though he loves and honors you, Father Saryon, you are from the past, you are from the dark and unhappy times. Like that dreadful man who came here before, you will bring those terrible times back to us!”
She meant that we would bring the memory to them. I saw, by the pain in Saryon’s face, that he gave her words another meaning, a truer meaning. It was not the memory we were bringing to them, but the reality.
He swallowed. His hands on her arms trembled. His eyes grew moist. He tried several times to speak, before the words finally came out. “Gwen, I stayed away from Joram all these years for this very reason. Much as I longed to see him, much as I longed to know he was well and happy, I feared I would only disturb his tranquillity. I would not have come now, Gwen, but that I have no choice. I must see Joram,” Saryon said gently, and now his voice was firm. “I must talk to him and to you together. There is no help for it. I am sorry.”
Gwen gazed long into his face. She saw the pain, the sadness, the understanding. She saw the resolution.
“Do you . . . have you come for the Darksword? He won’t give it up, not even to you, Father.”
Saryon was shaking his head. “I have not come for the Dark-sword. I have come for Joram, for you and your daughter.”
Gwen kept fast hold of him, for support. When she let go, it was only to lift her hand, to wipe her eyes.
I had been so intent on their conversation that I had forgotten the daughter. At the sight of her mother’s distress, she dropped the hoe and ran toward us, moving with long, free strides. She pushed back the hat, to see better, and I realized that I had misjudged her. She hadn’t been afraid of us. She had been pausing to consider us, to study us and to study herself, to determine how she felt about us.
I paused to consider her. My life paused, at that moment, to consider her. When life resumed, a second later, it would never be the same. If I never saw her again, from that moment on I would see her forever.
Thick, black, and unruly hair fell in disordered curls from a central part, glistened in luxuriant clusters about her shoulders.