[Nomz] Sceadu

Alyssum. My love. My heart. My dēorling. I only wish you had heeded my warning or that I had listened to the whispers of the angels on my shoulders. I let my body drag me down the path of teaching you the blade and I failed you by not arriving onto your home in a timely fashion.

Oh, Alyssum. They found you in the guise of a man and ruined your beauty, your delicate flower. I had thought to feel rage, but all there was to find was emptiness and an unending denial.

My sweet Alyssum. I carried you into the forest, over hills and across fields. We traveled in sun and night and rain until the crimson stains on your skirt were but memory. We continued until I found her, my heart, the old wicce that the village elders warned us to avoid. It is her instruction that leads us to the bank of this secluded pond, high in the mountains.

I lay you down in the water, Alyssum, with the blade that slew you across your chest and a wooden coin from her purse on your tongue. The wicce told me to carry you out until the water is over my head. She thinks I do not know, that I understand not the price I pay for this. A life for a life. I will see you again.

Alyssum. My love. My heart. My dēorling.

Not a soul knows where she came from, only that she dragged herself out from the shadow of the widu before swimming across the ǣ. The armor she bore was beyond the wealth of the area and the sweord on her hip was an older design. The lady asked for a place to stay, claiming to be able to earn her keep in three days time.

I do not hold the town elders at fault for not believing such a claim and she was refused entrance. There was something in her eyes, bright like the sky and as determined as a hunter looking for enough to feed his kin. I believed her, she had my faith. We watched as she waded back across the river, creating a camp for herself out there.

Whispers among the people led the elders to the conclusion that something must be done about this silent watcher. On the fourth morning, they would set out to chase her further away from the settlement and take her long shadows with her. When dawn came, the town was full of shrill screams and we rushed out to see what was amiss.

There, laid upon our side of the ǣ bank and not but a stone's throw from our homes, were the bodies of ten wolves. Their bodies were thin, clearly driven closer to us in their starving state and damp from crossing the wæter. Though the boys crossed to the other side, we never laid eyes upon the knight who slew those beasts in the night.

Take a collection of salted meats and the finest mead. Gather your courage and your wits before crossing the river. Few dare to make this journey and fewer still come back.

Keep your despair and fear tucked under your skirts. Let the wind and the moon's glow guide your feet. This is now your journey and only you can bring yourself back.

Deep in the wood and below the snow cap is a pond surrounded in gnarled roots. Approach the water with all the weary of dealing with a starving dog. Set your gifts, your payment upon the stone set to the side of the pond.

Kneel on the water, but not in it. Bring the water to your lips, but do not drink. Sing your prayer for the Lady of the Widu and, if your courage and wit and payment are enough, she will answer your heart's question.

When she turns you away, go in the direction she aims you and fly true. Gather your courage and your wits before traveling down the mountain. Few dare to make this journey and fewer still come back.

Come back.

I wish we had been better. Kinder. Had more faith.

My mother's mother's mother often told tales of the Lady of the Widu and my father's father's father's mother knew the tales of the Knight of Widu. We had everything stacked in our favor and yet-

When she came down from the woods in armor nearly archaic and dropping a sword made with forgotten techniques on the far side of the bank, we ignored her warnings. Worst, some of us out right laughed at her. I will always remember those blue eyes falling on me, bright like the sky and older than even the earth under our feet. She was scared for us.

I wish we had been better.

When her cries of warning were too great to bear, a group of men lifted her, dragging her to the water's edge. Her heels kicked and dug, and she begged. Our Lady, our knight, did not beg for her life. She begged for mine and my sisters. For our mother and our aunts. She pleaded even as they forced her head under the water, screaming that she was a witch. A curse. A blighted devil worshiper.

I wish we had been kinder.

They left her body to be carried away in the current without goodbye or prayer or word. Good riddance they thought. My mother tucked us into our beds that night with soft assurances and a kiss each. They came for us in the night. Men in armor and with blades and angry voices.

My sister and I slipped into a gap in the floorboards under the carpet, our mother covering us and pleading for her life as our door crashed open. My sister and I held each other, silent and shivering long past the sounds of the men rejoicing. I remember the pale gray of dawn and the shouts going up all around us.

I do not know how long the battle lasted. All I remember is the sound of worn leather boots on the floor above us. The groaning of the hinges as the hidden door opened up and sky blue eyes. The chill of her pale hands. The haunted look in her eyes.

I wish we had more faith.

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