Cassiolta - 2

It was Cassiolta. She broke it all.

I was wild with the jealousy only a child of not-quite-nine can know. I thought she was a conniving witch, a cunning seductress on a mission to steal his heart away from me. I fantasised about killing her, or at least about her falling from a cart and dying. I was certain that she cast him looks and made suggestions with her eyes. Though in truth, I think she hardly even noticed him.

Cassiolta was the daughter of a merchant, a man named Finduth. He was travelling, and had become unwell. He needed rest, a place to stay. And I suppose our farmhouse was just the first one he came to. He was well-to-do enough that he could offer us silver for our trouble. Enough silver to have my father and Dreok out there in the rain, converting the barn into a little house for the two of them. There was a firepit, and a few shelves, and my mother had found them a pot, but actually Cassiolta did little cooking, it was my mother – with me helping – who did most of the cooking, and who brought the meal out to the two of them.

I used to imagine poisoning it.

And Dreok. I noticed it almost at once. Something about him ignited when he saw her. The first day she arrived he was staring at her with eyes that stuck like honey to her back. He was fascinated. He’d lose concentration on whatever he was doing if he happened to see her walk past. I couldn’t see why. She was sixteen, slim, with hair that was an agreeable almond shade, but she was nothing very special. Maybe it was just that she was respectable, that she could prance on by in a coloured dress – lilac with ivory lace trim – with her hair in a bonnet, a twinkle of silver rings on her long, elegant fingers.

“How,” I asked him crossly, “is a farmhand like you supposed to court a girl like her? Why should she even look twice at you?”

“I know,” he said, “it’s foolish to dream.”

“Then stop it!”

“Well, I can’t.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Wait, Mondi, until you’re a few years older and you fall in love. You’ll know then what I mean.”

“You’re not in love!” I protested.

“But I think I may be.”

“You’re wrong.”

“It’s something you can only feel. If you feel it, you are it. You’ll see in time.”

I could have kicked him. I nearly did. See in time? How convenient, since I’d have to wait something like a decade just to be able to tell him he was wrong. And perhaps he wouldn’t even be around here by then. That was the moment that it hit me, the thought that perhaps Dreok would not stay with us forever, that he might, one day, actually leave. It made sense that he might, but in my head the possibility had never felt real. Until now.

“She’s stupid and snooty!” I declared.

“Mondi, what…?”

“She’s an over-fancy bitch, who’s no good for anything. Can’t you see that?!” And I stormed away before he’d have a chance to tell me otherwise.

#

I don’t think Dreok ever really knew that I was besotted with him. And I don’t think Cassiolta had any better idea that he’d set his sights on her. She was polite, and had a fresh, sun-catching smile, she would talk to him, and she’d let him walk with her, but I don’t think she really knew.

And since he said nothing, there was nothing to come of it.

And when Finduth had recovered his health, he presented my parents with another pouch of silver mardings, thanked them for their hospitality, and promised he would call again, that he would return on his way home with gifts.

And with that, he went away. Cassiolta riding behind him.

And Dreok moped.

There was no other word for it. He was deflated without her, paler and less sure of himself. He would sit and stare into the sky, distracted, lost – thinking about her the way I would sometimes think of him. There was so little to it, so little that he knew about her, so little she knew about him – by necessity, since he didn’t know that much about himself. What sort of future was there in that? But when I tried to reason with him, to distract or joke or tease him out of his melancholy, that just seemed to make him angry. He told me I didn’t understand, that I couldn’t. That he’d met his true partner. He finally felt whole in her presence. I was just a child and there was no possibility of my understanding.

More than you know, I thought darkly, and hoped that they’d both been attacked and eaten by wolves on the road to Ashelmarring.

That’s where they were going. Ashelmarring. And that’s where Dreok resolved to go too.

“So you’re just going to follow her like a sad little puppy dog?”

He pretended like he couldn’t hear my hurt or spite, he just said, “It’s not just her. I’ve been to that city before. I’m not sure how and why. But I’m sure I have. I think it might help me remember myself, put together who I am, where I’ve been.”

“Help you remember your sister?”

I’d meant that to hurt. And it did. I knew he feared for that half-forgotten girl, not knowing if he’d left her somewhere safe and happy or not.

“Or maybe you’ll forget about her, trying to woo the lovely Cassiolta?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I won’t. I’ll find her. But I have to find me first. You can see the logic in that.”

“If you’re not just lying.”

But, in the end, it was too painful, too real, and the last time I might ever see him – though he promised he would come back many times, visit often – too important a moment for it to be tainted with anger. I made do with throwing my arms around him and holding onto him like a plough team couldn’t tear me loose.

“Dream about me,” I made him promise.

“Of course.”

“Not nightmares. Dreams. Promise.”

“Of course. What would you have me dream?”

“That we travel the world together. Go on a sailing ship. See the desert. And the Land Made of Ice. And the Red-Gold Lake in Brulossia. That we sit together outside the cottage with the sun setting, and people walk past us and smile like we all know a secret. Do you think you can do that?”

“I can teach myself.”

“And I’ll do the same. I’ll have the same dream, when you do. And then we can look across the fields and it’ll be like we really see each other.”

“Like we’re there in person.”

When he finally pried me loose, he flicked away one of my tears with his little finger, and I imagined that it might freeze on his skin, that it would harden and crystallise, that it would sit there forever and ever, always reminding him of the time he had once been my friend.

But as he walked away, I knew that tear would dry. These months and memories would dry along with it. I tasted salt, but didn’t care. These tears were all I had left of him, and they would last only until they dried.

 

END

 

Picture credit/discredit: author's own work