Summer's Song(Ch. 4)

The Great Hall was vast, covered in dusty old tapestries and a colourful rug on the floor stretching from the dais to the door among the rushes on the floor to its sides. Cobwebs covered the rafters and stone arches. Light came through narrow windows set in stain glass. On the table were candles, their tapers just lit by the look of the pooling wax. Peering through the closing door, Hezia saw the sun was setting. She would never be able to get home when dark came and, even if she left now, night would settle upon her. Might as well enjoy a little supper then, she thought cheerlessly. She would obviously have to find a place to stay the night after supper.

The lord sat at the head of the table, his wife to his right and Tarin to his left. Hezia shyly sat down in the chair Tarin pulled out for her next to him. He could tell she was nervous, though he didn’t voice it so.

When everyone was seated, Phillip waved his hand, signalling for the first course to be brought forth. As they ate their meal, men-at-arms and other staff came and sat at the lesser tables below the dais, waiting for their food as well. Hezia wondered why she was seated with the lords. Shouldn’t she be down at the lower tables? Or, she thought bitterly, at home, sitting by the door and looking out among the trees.

The meal was joyous, Phillip and Tarin talking again about the good old days and Maybeth trying to chat with Hezia. But she was quiet, listening with half an ear and only making one or two word comments. This was another reason she wished to avoid being known royalty. Socializing wasn’t really fit for her. Oh, one person was fine, but more usually overwhelmed her. The crowds pressing in gave her nightmares.

Her hand crept up to her chest as she waited for her wine goblet to be refilled. It stilled on the familiar shape hidden beneath the cloth. A pendant of a heart, small with tiny green leaves and a white flower painted on the gold. On the back a jewel-like tear drop. It had been her mother’s and she kept it with her always, sometimes taking it off the chain to hold for comfort.

One jewelled spot to the supper that surprised her came to pass during the sweets course. This included the usual honeyed nuts and dried berries as well as dainty pastry pouches topped with glazed brown sugar and filled with a creamy substance. Then a kitchen lass smiled sweetly as she walked up the aisle of tables. Everyone grew quiet, anticipating what creation was upon the costly plate and covered with silk. She approached the dais and bowed her head at the nobles. Carefully, she set the covered plate in front of Tarin. She excused herself quietly and ran back down the aisle way.

Tarin looked at Phillip a moment, then to the plate. Hezia leaned forward, curious. He gave her a smooth smile and flung away the silk. Those who could see it gasped.

“She’s done it again!” exclaimed Lord Phillip. “Mariana is one of the best artists you can find. Well done!” he called to the door, which closed with a slam.

Sitting on the plate was a single rose. Made of glazed white sugar, which the lord probably kept for important guest, it was colored a translucent red for the bloom. Each petal was painfully crafted to perpaction, including the tiny creases on the curve. The stem was dark green and studded with slightly lighter thorns. Tarin put his finger to one to pull away instantly.

“’Tis sharp, my friend,” he remarked. “Did that lass turn the real rose to glass?”

They all laughed except Hezia, who still marvelled at its beauty. She reached to touch it, only to think better of it. It was Tarin’s, not hers, and she shouldn’t even be here anyway.

Tarin caught her staring and gently broke off a ruby petal. He handed it to her with one of his lazy smiles, pushing it into her hand while she shook her head.

She thought to keep it, but the fragile thing broke when he lifted his hand away. She had a feeling he broke it on purpose but he gave her an innocent look and turned to take a petal of his own while she stuck a few chips into her mouth.

Finally, as the meal came toward an end, a servant whispered into Maybeth’s ear. She frowned and looked at Hezia. “I’m sorry,” she said hesitantly, “but I’m afraid no rooms are available other than the one fixed for Lord Tarin.” She looked away for an instant. “If we had known he would bring others, we might have had time to prepare a room for you. Unless you were to share a room. As it is…”

“That’s fine, my lady. I’ll have no trouble finding a place to stay ‘til morning. I shall leave you all at rest.” Hezia began to stand up, when a hand encircled her arm.

“Nay,” denied Tarin. “You have saved my life. Who are you to be shunned with sleeping out, under the stars?”

“A mere peasant not worth your time or concern,” she answered back spitefully. “Besides, a room at an inn will suit just fine. I have no need to sleep outside.”

“Ah, but there you lie,” he countered, not wanting to be put down easily. He grinned. She wished him to be a simpleton instead of someone who could piece together facts. She listened on still, curious of his reasoning. “What money have you to buy board when even food was scarce to you as you travelled? And then, why would you call yourself a peasant when you speak as an equal? Answer me that and I shall be satisfied.”

She thought for a few seconds, her great, clever mind working out a worthy lie. Then she spoke an amazing thing. “I have the money you have yet to give me, and what little I posses of my own. I’ve not been to town for many a day and cannot purchase food out on some back road. And I am a peasant. As I have told you, I spoke often with the lady of the keep in which I lived. Accents and manner tend to rub off onto a person after long engagements. What say you to that my lord?”

“How can you find board when such an inn doesn’t exist around here for nearly twenty a mile?” She had no answer for that; who could to such a question? He continued, “I propose to give up my room to you. ‘Tis the least I can do.”

“And where might you sleep my lord?” Maybeth interrupted when she saw Hezia open her mouth with an answer.

“My bed roll will do just fine. I shall sleep in the hall if I must. It matters not to me where I shall lie.” He turned back to Hezia. “Besides, I’ve yet to thank you.”

“That matters not to me, my lord.”

“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” exclaimed Phillip, hitting the table with his fist on the table. He rubbed his temple impaitiantly. “What has she done to deserve your thanks? You have yet to tell me of your arm, and why is it you needed a guide and were two days in coming here? I want answers.”

“I as well,” put in Maybeth meekly.

Hezia slumped back into her chair. She knew they wouldn’t let her leave before they told them of their travels. She put a hand to her face in frustration. Tarin told the story, Hezia only telling behind her hand of the parts he was unconscious. But Tarin told none of the first night’s visitors.

When done, Phillip and Maybeth were silent. Finally the lord of the keep said, “Well that explains a lot.” Maybeth hastily agreed.

“Then I say we retreat to our rooms. Hezia,” Tarin’s gaze flickered to her, waiting for a protest; none came, “shall sleep in my room and as for I, I will be outside in the hall. That settles it.”

Normalcy came upon them again. Maybeth began to ask questions of her welfare. “Do you wish a maid?” or “Would you have a bath?” and “Have you a wish for clothing for your journey back?” Rather than be looked down on for denying she just nodded and prepared for the worst as she headed for her room. She had enough time to look at the spacious room before an expressionless maid knocked at the door.

“I’m Maria, my lady,” said the servant. Maria was solemn and her voice showed little use, coming out weak and rusty. “Do you wish me to help you undress when the bathwater comes?”

“Aye, what ever you like.” Footmen entered, carrying buckets of warm water and a lovely ivory tub. She relaxed just looking at it.

The maid helped her best she could, though a tunic and leggings took little effort to remove. Then she laid a nightgown and simple dress upon the side table.

Sinking into the warm water after Maria left, Hezia sighed. It had been quite a while since she’d enjoyed a warm bath. The water lapped at her shoulders as she leaned back. I should rescue lords more often, she thought candidly. It would be worth it. She relaxed and then sat up, alert. Rustlings and voices could be heard outside. The men were bringing a pallet and bedding for Tarin, she guessed. She listened, just at the edge of falling out of the tub, trying to hear their words outside the thick oak door, ignoring the water dripping from her side to the floor.

“Aye,” said a gruff man. “There was a fire, not far from ‘ere. Out in them woods.”

“Not the ones in front of the keep, are they?” asked another.

“Aye, about five a mile from ‘ere,” answered the same gruff man. “Didn’t catch on trees though, they say.”

“What then, Bareth?”

“A cottage, in the woods. They could just see the chimney from the tower afore it caught.”

“Anyone livin’ their?”

“Not that I know of.” The voices began to fade away as they left.

Back, on the other side of the door, Hezia sat, unmoving. It could only be her cottage. Unless it was on the other side of the keep? The keep had four sides. Maybe it was one of those. She held on to that thought, not wanting to think the worst. Maybe it was the fire that had killed those two lads and that girl? But that was wrong; they’d taken a week to reach from the time they died.

After drying off and slipping on a borrowed nightgown, she settled into the large bed as she heard Tarin do the same outside. She hoped to put her mind at rest as she lay back on the soft bed and snuggled in.



Tarin lay asleep upon the pallet stuffed with straw that kept poking his back when he awoke to the same feeling as the night before. It had irked and amazed him when he had heard of fire that had broken out a week ago. The village’s cobbler, along with his younger brother and sister, had died in the flames. Phillip had bragged of how much help he was and while he explained his looks, Tarin set a mental picture in his mind of the ghost. Though the colours had been blurry, he knew the figures to be the same. Now he sat up expectantly.

But no ghosts walked the halls; none could be seen entering seen or unseen doorways. Determined, he climbed out of his blanket, despite the cold. He crept a few yards to Hezia’s door. It was freezing to the touch. He had chosen to sleep close just in case such a thing happened again. And he didn’t trust her. What ever had happened when she had sewn him and her blood hit his, no one probably knew.

Stealthily, he drew the door open a tad and gazed inside. Hezia laid sprawled underneath the bed covers, deep in sleep. Then two pallid figures walked through the wall. Tarin had heard earlier from the lord of the keep that ghosts were in residence here, though it was considered a blunt myth past on throughout the village. He had seen a painting out in the hall of the former owners two centuries back. Now he saw them again.

Lady Lilly wore a gown that draped to her feet and fell out in a bell-like shape, petty-coats peeking out from underneath. Lord Thomas was garbed in a tunic of what looked like fine quality cloth from a distance, his black hair smoothed back and tied.

They approached the bed. Tarin, unthinking, sprang from his crouch at the door and rushed toward the bed. He blocked the bed from their view, protecting Hezia. For some reason, he felt it important to protect her, a little tug at his heart. He hadn’t felt such this way in a long time. He stared down the ghosts. They continued their advancement, unnerved.

Then they walked through him. For a moment, Tarin felt an artic chill course through his body. Goosebumps raised on his arms. Then warmth fled back to him, thawing him. He turned to find them standing over Hezia. The woman spoke to her husband as they stared down at her.

“So young,” she stated in a wispy, cold and breezy voice.

“Much will befall her before her memories are as well past on,” the man added in a voice that sounded like the tossing of a coin.

The lady approached with the man and simultaneously, and then leaned down to kiss her brow. After bowing and curtsying, they held on to each other and faded like dust in the wind. The woman’s voice entered Tarin’s mind for a moment. “Protect her.” Then the man’s. “For she holds the gateway to true freedom.” Then it was silent.

The voices still ringing in his ears, he turned to Hezia. She rolled over and the blanket shifted, exposing a slightly tanned shoulder, oblivious with what had just happened. She shivered. Tarin, reacting without thinking, pulled the blanket up. She looked so lovely, so at peace. Mayhap she knew not what is happening. This thought troubled him. Gently, he skimmed his lips on her brow, surprised to find not coldness, but joyous warmth and a feeling of satisfaction. She sighed. Abruptly, he left.



The day was hot by the time Hezia and Tarin set out on their way back. After a small argument, he had been able to sway her into accepting a horse he bought her. “Your payment,” he had said, to which she responded, “I’d rather have coin in my pocket.” But in the end, she thought it better to have one to carry winter supplies, or firewood and those sorts of things she would think about as fall came.

Soon they came to the wood where the bandits had attacked. She warily looked around and turned her horse toward Tarin’s. “I guess this is where we must part. Can you find your way back to the keep?” She looked at him skilfully, knowing full well he would never admit to not knowing the way back. Men were all alike to her, always too proud to say they’re wrong.

“Aye,” he answered with truth shining in his eyes. He had carefully taken Phillip’s instructions from that morning, legibly written them down, and stowed the piece of parchment in his saddlebag. “And, since I am a man of my word, here’s the rest of your pay.” He held out five carnas.

“But the horse is much more than enough. I cannot take such money.” Her head swam. Five carnas, enough to buy food for the cottage for two years, with some left over. But, persistent, he shoved the money toward her.

“Nay, my lord, keep it.” She wheeled her horse around and catered into the wood, slowing to at fast trot, as the trees grew dense, and finally a walk as rocks and roots choked the ground.

Tarin nearly slid off his saddle. No one could deny so much money! But he should have guessed. It took forever to get her to agree to a horse. The gods’ mercy, she had even picked the cheapest one and was about to punch him as he had bought that healthy palomino mare fit for a king instead.

Silently cursing, he sat there, wondering if he should follow her, to try to tell her he was sorry. That would be stupid. He knew he would just get yelled at and ran off for deceiving her as to knowing where she lived. That was when he heard the scream. Blood-curling, it caused the birds to fly from the treetops. He steered his horse at a dead run.

The vegetation soon took his speed as well as his memory. Coming looked much different from going. Seeing where she had broken the tree limbs with her mount and the hoof prints in the dry earth, he did his best to reach her. Then Garson stumbled into the charred clearing.

No cottage stood in the center of it. No firewood was stacked in a pile. Only a stone well sat at the edge, its cover burned off. Hezia was on her knees, in the middle of the wreckage. She peered through unseeing eyes at the ground. The gown she had received from Maybeth, as a hospitality gift as well as a thank you gift, was covered in soot from the knees down, covering the dark brown material. Then Hezia began to mutter.

Knowing she was going into hysterics, he dropped down to the ground and went to her. As he neared, he heard parts of her whispers. “They know”, “’ave to go”, “’ow”, “Everythin’s gone” and finally, “Nay, ‘tisn’t real, just another memory.” She was talking like a peasant. Strange, compared to her usual accent. Tarin went down on his knees and put an arm around her shoulders. Her face was covered in tears. She put her head to his chest and wept, not caring who was there.

Tarin shushed, her, trying to calm her down, all the while stroking her hair. It was again worn loose, feeling like silk under his fingertips. Gently he placed a kiss to her tresses. “’Tis all gone,” Hezia repeated over and over again.

“Do you know who would do this?” Tarin asked, though it wasn’t really a questioned he wanted the answer to. He knew he would kill the culprit as soon as he saw him.

“They know,” she sobbed. “They know, they know!’ She became frustrated, pounding on his back like a child. He pulled her back as she hit his arm, wincing in pain.

Her eyes were closed, tears pouring down like rain. She crinkled up in a ball, her arms around her knees, her head down. He laid his hands on her shoulders. “Do you have anywhere you can stay ‘til you find another home?”

Her head shot up when he spoke with a strange face. Gods, she didn’t even know who he was. He must have startled her. Slowly, she shook her head no at his question. This was a dilemma. He couldn’t possible go back to Fargo Keep and dump her on his friend and wife. And she had saved his life. Now it was time to return the favour. “Come on then.” His hand fell on hers, but as he tried to pull her up, she resisted. She wouldn’t budge an inch.

“Come on now. The person who did this might yet still be around. Who knows what they will do if you stay here.” Again he pulled and this time she came up, shaky on her legs.

“I lost it all,” she muttered again as Tarin led her to Honeysuckle, Hezia’s mare. The palfrey had calmly stood its ground as its mistress had broken down. By the way the saddle looked he knew the lass had stumbled from it upon entering the clearing. He settled the saddle, helped her scramble on, and mounted Garson. Soon they reached the road. He looked to the sky. Plenty of time left. He headed west toward his keep.

Glancing over at Hezia, he saw her again murmuring thoughtless things, her eyes glass. Soon, though, they began to clear and she fell silent, staring at the road ahead and what she would have to face next. He shook his head and tried to sort his thoughts. Why had her cottage burned down? Who could have done it, and why? What was she running from? And what had she meant by just another memory? Questions only Hezia could answer surrounded him, and he couldn’t even ask her for relief from the building ache in his head. Or his heart. Why had he thought that? Another question with no answer.