The Towers of the Sunset - L. E. Modesitt [152]
He does not look at Megaera, who stares as though frozen at the sea.
In time, Creslin begins to sing, for what else is there? He can say nothing, nor can he hold her, nor can he take back the pain that he has inflicted on her. Yet he must do something, and the song is old.
. . . down by the seashore, where the waters foam white,
hang your head over; hear the wind’s flight.
The east wind loves sunshine,
and the west wind loves night.
The north blows alone, dear,
and I fear the light.
You’ve taken my heart, dear,
beyond the winds’ night.
The fires you have kindled
last longer than light.
. . . last longer than light, dear, when the waters foam
white;
hang your head over; hear the wind’s flight.
The fires you have kindled
will last out my night.
Soon I will die, dear,
on the mountains’ cold height.
The steel wind blows truth, dear,
beyond my blade’s might.
. . . beyond my blade’s might, dear, where the waters
foam white;
hang your head over; hear the wind’s flight.
I told you the truth, dear,
right from the start.
I wanted your love, dear,
with all of my heart.
Sometimes you hurt me,
and sometimes we fought,
but now that you’ve left me,
my life’s been for naught.
My life’s been for naught, dear, when the waters foam
white;
so hand your head over, and hear the wind’s flight.
So hang your head over, and hear the wind’s flight.
After the song, Creslin is silent. His hands remain knotted around the bleached gray stone.
How long he stands there, he does not know, and though the clouds thicken above, he has not called the winds. Nor has Megaera, although he knows now that she could, for she knows all that he knows, and more.
“No . . . there is one thing I don’t know.” Her voice is soft, but he does not move.
Finally he swallows. He does not ask the question, hoping only that she will answer.
“Why you never struck back at me.”
“Because . . .” Because you love me . . .
He nods. Impossibly, unwisely, he loves Megaera. And he can never touch her, never even hold her.
“You may hold me, best-beloved.”
. . . best-beloved . . .
Creslin is not aware that she has moved until she stands beside him.
Why?
Because you love me. And because I could love no other. Sister dear, damn and praise her soul, was right.
“You deserve to love someone, not just to be loved.” The words are hard, for he knows that he may be pushing her away, but he must be fair, no matter what it may cost. Especially now, for he has not been fair, though he thought he had been.
“Hold me. Please.” . . . always fight you. . . but you know that already. Hold me. . .
He turns toward her, and there is a lump in his throat. He cannot see past the rekindled burning in his eyes.
“Are you sure?”
This time she is the one to say nothing, but her arms go around his neck, and her head is on his shoulder, and her silent sobs rack them both.
So hard to love. . . “Just keep . . . holding me.” The words come like sobs themselves. . . . keep holding me. . .
“Always . . .”
Always. . .
The sea hisses, and the waves ebb and flow.
In time, a man and a woman walk northeast along the white beach toward the towers of the sunset. Neither speaks as they are enfolded in the blackness that only they and few others can see. A single ray of sunlight strikes the sand before them, then retreats from their oncoming steps.
The storms in the western sky dwarf the towers of the sunset. Holding those towers in their place, the storms form a black arch toward which the two walk, soul in soul, hand in hand.
III.
ORDER-MASTER
C
CRESLIN TRUDGES UP the sandy slope under the makeshift yoke balanced by a bucket of saltwater at each end. This is his second trip, though the sun has barely cleared the Eastern Ocean.
He eases the yoke down until the buckets rest on the black stone pavement and stands by one bucket, concentrating. The water swirls, and a pile of dirty white grains appears on the stones beside the wooden bucket. After repeating