I Am Stretched On Your Grave (Flashback)

[Sondra]

Flashback: Late Fall 507 AV and Pieces of Winter in 502 AV “It is not proper you be here still, K’Sondra.” K’Sondra lifted her head. Her face was gray as the stones of the cairn she leaned against. It moved Vera to pity, but she would not leave K’Sondra where she lay. “You ought to leave. Men of the hold whisper treachery despite my vows for you.” “Treachery?” K’Sondra said bitterly, “They don’t know the meaning of the word.” Vera mourned for her Konti sister. Her brow was heavy with the pain of empathy, but she could not let K’Sondra linger longer. The White Witch had been at vigil since the breaking of the frozen earth for Gregoire’s grave. Her robes and furs were turning the ashen colors of the soil and trampled snow. She smelled of the sharp frost and her ivory hair had degraded to cords from the damp. “Oh Vera, was I wrong? Was I wrong? Did I see amiss?” K’Sondra began to shake. “But if it was my choosing, it was the last thing I would crave to see.” The Konti began to wilt nearer the earth and keen for the loss of all. Of the man she loved, of the fellowship she craved, of the redemption of her terrible gift. If they were in her hands again, they would leave only by breaking her fingers. “The gift gave you a vision, sister.” Vera touched K’Sondra’s curled shoulder. “To keep you safe for some future purpose.” “Another purpose?” Sondra spat the word, “I don’t think I can bear any more.” “If that were true, you would be under your own hill of stones, K’Sondra.” K’Sondra did not let Vera know she had wondered if that would have been a fairer ending to the tale. Let the dreary White Witch and her ghastly memories be buried and the adored son live.

[Sondra]

“So that is her gift? She must be a woman of great fortitude.” They were the first words Gregoire had said in her presence. His mother was presenting K’Sondra to him. The Konti had her head bowed respectfully and her hands folded. Her eyes lifted slightly at this unexpected praise. Most curled their lip or held their breath when told what the Konti could discern. “I have enough, milord,” she answered, “And it is all at your service.” “A Konti is a great and rare gift,” he answered slowly. Turning to his mother he asked, “Are you certain she is for me? My elder brother has better standing and resources.” His old mother admiringly stroked the Konti’s waist-length hair. “No, son. She is meant for you.” He smiled, his handsome Vantha eyes shifting in color. “Then I am blessed by Avalis and Morwen, the ladies fair.” Fearlessly, he took K’Sondra’s hand, bowing over it. “Welcome to Avanthal, my own White Lady.” For his sin, she saw only a childish offense against his sister. K’Sondra felt a bloom opening within. Here knelt a good man. As he rose he fit her hand in the warm crook of his arm and began to gallantly lead her. “The pale city becomes you, K’Sondra. You will be happy here.” She dared to open her breast to hope.

[Sondra]

K’Sondra looked upward to Vera and the milk gray sky. “Join hands with me a moment. I aim to pray and need goodness greater than mine to not feel a wretch.” Vera frowned but clasped her Konti sister’s fingers. The gesture lacked the dread of years before when she had been compelled to take those cold fingers and be judged. “Dear Lady and Mother Avalis,” K’Sondra began her prayer over the grave. “You who see and therefore understand, I ask your favor on a man who was a hundred times more true than false. Watch over him where he now treads. Give him clarity and let his spirit know another grieves for what wrong it has done against him.“ K’Sondra made a reverent gesture passing from her eyes to her heart. “May Dira be soft and Lhex kind. May Tanroa give him more time in the years of his next life. And Priskil follow his steps. “ *** “What is this, milord?” Gregoire looked up from his letters to see Sondra looking at a box from all different angles. “Hm? Oh!” His eyes brightened with a touch of excitement and he smiled. “It is a present Sondra, to celebrate the homecoming of Morwen.” Sondra made a mildly confused face. “What would a goddess do with presents?” Gregoire grinned, “For a Konti, you’re a bit thick. It’s for you, not the goddess.” Sondra smiled back, “I suppose that would explain why it was in my room and not her palace.” She dared to laugh and shed the austere mystery she wrapped around herself. “I have gotten a present before, I promise. My upbringing was orderly but not entirely terrible.” She lightly shook the box, guessing the contents. “But I am still growing used to the culture of Avanthal.” “Well,” Gregoire urged, “You don’t have to shake it if you want to know what’s in it. Open it.” As Sondra began to untie the cords around it, Gregoire made apologies. “It’s only a small thing I thought you might like. I’m sorry, but we are not the wealthiest Arvinta of the hold…” “Stop,” Sondra interrupted, her eyes were a little moist, “Don’t apologize. They’re beautiful.” Gloves, not the rough unwieldy things made for the snowy climes, but supple leather and silk made for indoors. By looking at the fingers, she could tell they were made for a Konti’s webbed hands. “My grandmother never let me wear gloves. She said my sight should never be dampened. I wanted them so much.” A soft pleasure covered Gregoire’s face. “I’m glad you like them. It gets brisk here, not like your island. And…” Gregoire stumbled a bit here, “…and it doesn’t seem right. To always bear such things. Your grandmother is wise no doubt, but I do not require it of you. We are all more than our duties, and should be able to leave them at times.” “Thank you, milord,” she held the box and its contents to her heart involuntarily. It was the first of many pairs to follow. All were soft, some were embroidered, others lined with fur, each varied in color, but it was the first pair K’Sondra held dearest. The small token marked when she first felt the pangs of love for Gregoire.

[Sondra]

“Was my past life one that brought dread or joy?” the Konti asked the hill of stones. “I often wonder if this one is a penance or reward.” K’Sondra laughed without mirth. “Or knowing Lhex, a cosmic jest.” Vera could say nothing to this, only bid, “Go, K’Sondra, go and do not come back.” She crouched close to whisper in the White Witch’s ear, “There is nothing for you here. Nothing under or over the stones. Avanthal is empty.” K’Sondra raised her head and beheld Vera with red-rimmed eyes. Grief was being seared by anger. “He had hatred in his eyes when he died. All of it for me.” The Konti bowed in the snow resting her forehead on the ice, her hands made fists, clawing earth and cold into her palms. “Yet I will weep for him ‘til I find my own hill of stones,” it was said through clenched teeth. K’Sondra rose, letting the dirt and snow fall from her hands. “The world is not just, Vera.” Pulling her cloak over her head, K’Sondra turned her back on the cairn and all of Avanthal. “And men are wickeder than even I know.”