20 #2
But then it would be more difficult for her to escape, she thought, but it wasna??t a strong thought, merely a vague thought that went softly through her mind and was soon gone.
A cramp twisted inside her and she knew then she would die.
She couldna??t bear this sort of pain, no one could bear it.
It was beyond anything she could have imagined.
She was ill throughout the night. She was aware that Rorika??s mother was there, and she put a cup to her lips and told her to drink, that it was an herba??the root of the brawly busha??that would help settle her belly, that it would calm her.
She wondered if it were also poison that would make her sleep forever, but she didna??t care.
She drank it. It tasted sour, of old milk, but it did settle her belly, and she slept until the belly cramps woke her again.
Old Alna was beside her this time, wiping her face with a cool damp cloth, and it felt wonderful.
She spoke of the cheese making that would soon begin in earnest, of the growing crops that were flourishing with the rain that had fallen so heavily during the past days, of Sculla, so tall that he would walk amongst the rows of barley waving his arms, and surely this scared the birds and animals away.
Mirana listened and wondered why she should care. Surely she would die soon.
She awoke once and believed she was floating above herself, feeling light and insubstantial, as unfettered as a cloud or a western breeze.
She felt a strange emptiness and sought to fill herself with something that would give her meaning again, that would give her substance.
Then she was within her body again and she wanted to die at the twisting, roiling cramps.
And Rorik, he was always there, either lying beside her on the box bed or speaking softly to whoever was in the chamber with them.
He would hold her, lightly rubbing her back, massaging her belly, holding her when she retched and shuddered and fell against him in exhaustion, the spasms temporarily ended.
But they always came back and she knew she was growing too weak to fight the pain in her mind.
Her body would give up because her mind would have no more will to combat the pain.
Near dawn she fell into a deep sleep, her head lolling in near unconsciousness against Rorika??s chest. She slept until midday and awoke with no more cramping, no more pain.
She lay there, waiting, distrusting, too afraid to move, but she was as she had been.
Just so very weak. Her ribs hurt as did the muscles in her stomach.
She had no more strength, no more will. She felt like an old woman, surely older than Alna. She wanted only to sleep.
She opened her eyes at a sound from the doorway. There was Rorik, standing there, looking at her. He said, a??I have a bowl of broth for you, made by Utta. She said that her mother loved the broth and it was the only thing she could eat without vomiting before she died.a??
Mirana shoved herself up in the bed. It took all her strength. How, she wondered suddenly, now firmly back into her body and into the present with all its vast complications, would she and Entti escape now?
Rorik set the large wooden tray on her lap. Steam from the broth curled upward. It smelled delicious. a??Do you want me to feed you?a??
a??Nay,a?? she said, and took the spoon from him.
She managed one bite, then dropped it. Her hand was trembling and her forehead was damp with sweat.
Rorik took the spoon and pressed her back against the pillows.
She wondered at this new gentleness in him but said nothing.
Therea??d been none in him the previous night before shea??d become so ill.
a??Open your mouth.a??
She did. She ate the entire bowl of beef broth. It was the best broth shea??d ever tasted in her life. Her stomach felt bloated and very content.
a??Why didna??t you let me die?a??
a??You werena??t ready to die. Youa??re young and strong. Speak no more about dying, Mirana.a??
a??Was anyone else ill besides Asta and me?a??
He shook his head. He looked away.
a??How is Asta?a??
He was silent for a very long time. She felt panic well up. a??Asta! How is she?a??
a??She did not survive the night. She is dead.a??
a??No!a??
a??We will bury her this afternoon.a??
But Mirana was beyond understanding him now.
She was shaking her head back and forth, crying, jagged, ugly sounds from deep in her throat.
a??No,a?? she said over and over, not wanting to believe it, not willing to accept it.
Asta, dead, and just yesterday she had been laughing and teasing Old Alna about the blue gown, bragging about Gurd being hard in her bed, and Mirana had thought he didna??t deserve any kind words from Asta.
Just last night she had stayed close to Mirana, showing Rorika??s family that she felt loyalty to Mirana, that she wouldna??t scorn her.
Her laughter was so bright, her smile so natural.
Now she was dead. Just like that. Mirana couldna??t allow it to be true.
It was too much. She turned away from him onto her side, clutching her arms around her, becoming a ball, rocking back and forth.
a??No . . . no . . . she gave me her gown, Rorik.
She said it was very nice on me with my black hair.
She said my skin was whiter than her goata??s milk.
She always treated me well, even when you first brought me here, and last night, she smiled at me and stayed near me to show your family I wasna??t a vile person like Einar.
Not dead . . . not Asta. Please no, tell me it is a mistake.a??
Rorik rose. He stood there staring down at her.
He felt his own pain at their loss. Asta, so much a part of his life.
Gurd was blank and silent. The women were preparing Asta for burial, quickly, quickly, for the dead mustna??t be allowed to remain overlong around the living, for their ghosts would return as powerful monsters and destroy them.
At least Mirana had survived. But why were only the two women struck down?
Old Alna and Tora had tried to discover which dish the two of them had eaten that others hadna??t. It made no sense.
It scared him to death.
Mirana stood beside Rorik as all the people clustered about the cliff overlooking the small inlet.
They had buried Asta quickly, carrying her away from the longhouse feet first so her spirit couldna??t find its way back.
They buried her in a deep moss-lined grave, quickly covering her body with the rich black earth, quickly retreating once it was done.
Away from her now, safe from the threat of her ghost, they showed their grief openly, the women crying softly, the men standing behind the women, stiff and straight, their eyes fastened on the distant horizon.
Aslak stood over Gurd the blacksmith, his hand on his shoulder.
Gurd seemed beyond all of them, unwilling to believe his wife was dead.
Hea??d said nothing. Now he fell to his knees, not crying, no, never crying, showing nothing but a blank face to all as he prayed to the gods to lead his Asta over the mortala??s bridge to Heaven.
Mirana felt Rorika??s hand firmly under her elbow. She was weaving on her feet, so weak that every moment was a challenge to keep standing upright. But shea??d had to come. She owed it to Asta, to honor her, to grieve for her.
Before the last prayers to the gods for Astaa??s safe journey, Rorik led her back to the longhouse.