The Bronze Bow - Elizabeth George Speare [83]
He had gone only a short way when he heard her voice. Looking back, he saw her running between the rows of vines, the white veil floating behind her. She came to a stop a little distance from him, out of breath, with color flaming in her cheeks.
"Why did you leave?" she cried.
"You know why," he answered. "I was a fool to come."
"I invited you."
"You did me no kindness."
He saw the quick hurt that leaped, like the mark of a blow, into her face. "I know you meant to be kind," he stammered. "I'm glad I saw you dance. Now I can tell Leah."
"Is that the only reason you came—to tell Leah?"
He stared at her miserably. "You should go back to your friends," he said. "You belong with them."
Thacia moved forward, slowly, until she stood quite close to him. "Do you still think I am just a pretty child, Daniel?"
He flushed wretchedly. So she had remembered. As he stared at her, the lips that spoke the words trembled, and the dark eyes had a bright sheen of tears.
"No!" he blurted, the truth wrenched out of him in a headlong need to make amends. "I did not mean it even then. That day—when I woke in the passage—it was a woman's face I saw. The one face I will always remember—as long as I live."
Thacia did not speak. She stood, straight and proud, with her face lifted to his, and did not try to hide from him what his words had done. The deep shining happiness was like a lighted lamp, glowing brighter till it threatened to blind him.
"Don't, Thacia!" he choked. "I never meant you to know."
"Why not?"
"Because it's no use. I ask only one thing of life. I have no right to the things other people have."
"Is this thing worth so much? Are you sure, Daniel?"
"I have taken an oath."
He watched the light waver and die down.
"I took the vow too," she said. "We vowed to live and die for God's Victory. There is more than one way of fighting. Joel sees that now."
"I only know one way to fight," he said. "I don't have words like Joel's. I have only my two hands."
Her voice broke. "Will there never be an end to it—the hate and the killing?"
"Thacia!" he burst out. "Don't torment me! I have to see it through alone. There's no room for anyone else."
She did not speak again. She stood still, taking this truth as she had taken the other, with her head lifted, not trying to hide the hurt any more than she had hidden the happiness, wrapped in a sort of pride that made the ordinary pride of women seem silly.
"Let me go now, Thacia."
She nodded. "God go with you," she said. "Whatever you do."
He looked back once and saw her still standing on the slope, looking after him.
He walked the miles back to the village as he had come, aloof from the others, protected behind his dark scowl.
He was weary and sore in spirit, and he did not want to talk about the festival, but the moment he saw Leah he knew he could not escape. She waited like a good child, her hands folded in her lap, her blue eyes eager.
"What was it like? Did Thacia look pretty? What did she wear?"
"Some sort of white thing," Daniel answered indifferently. Then, looking at his sister, he felt through his own hurt a fresh pain at the thought of her waiting here in this dingy room while the other girls danced in the sunlight. The least he could do was tell her.
"They had flowers in their hair," he began with an effort. Then, on an impulse, he stepped outside the door and pulled up a handful of cockle blossoms that had sprung up by the house, looped them into a garland and set them on the golden hair. "Like this," he said. Enchanted, Leah put up her hands to touch the flowers.
"Then they formed in a long line and danced."
"This way?"