Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Blue Star by Fletcher Pratt (best ebook reader under 100 .TXT) 📖
- Author: Fletcher Pratt
Book online «The Blue Star by Fletcher Pratt (best ebook reader under 100 .TXT) 📖». Author Fletcher Pratt
He stood up in the circle of her arms; her head tilted back, the long lashes lying on her cheek over veiled eyes. (Mistake, he thought, a sudden rivulet of cold running down his spine. It cannot be true, you were hating me a moment ago; I think I see your plan now.)
He held her off with rough hands on her shoulders. “You are Cleudi’s mistress,” he said.
The liquid flesh changed to brass, the eyes snapped open as she shook herself free. “Yes, I am Cleudi’s mistress,” she cried. “And whose fault is it? I was a good girl once; I would have given you everything and remained good, no matter what I did for you. You did not want me.”
She was down in the chair again, crying through her fingers. “You are too much like him,” she said, and he (wrung by the thought of that fair neck delivered to the executioner) laid a hand on her shoulder and said; “I will do what I can.” Now kronzlar Escholl must be persuaded, if possible, that though there had been treason, it was treason done for love and could be passed over.
IIIRodvard came in late, and had had no supper save some bread and cheese caught at an inn with the two people’s guards who accompanied him, Demadé Slair having left long before. Lalette was arranging her hair before the mirror, with a candle on either side, and did not turn round. (At the sight of her lifted graceful arms, a wave of tenderness swept over him.) “Lalette,” he said, almost lilting the word.
“Good evening.” She still did not turn, and the voice was formal.
He hurried across the room in long steps and turned her around. “What has happened?”
There was an impatient movement. “Don’t. You will spoil my hair. Nothing.”
“Lalette, there is something. Tell me.”
She kept her eyes away from him. “Nothing,” and then, as he merely stood, waiting in burning intensity; “A small thing, truly. You need not be troubled. Only I know now who it was you were unfaithful to me with.”
(He was hot and cold together.) “Who says I was unfaithful?”
“‘Will you come with me now?’” she quoted. “Rodvard, you may be able to read some of my thoughts, but do not forget why. Is she a witch, too? She must be, or my Blue Star that I lent you would be dead. Or did she give you another before you shared her with Count Cleudi?” (She wanted to hurt him as she had been hurt, to make him regret and feel that no regret in any fashion could replace what had been lost.)
“Shared her with Count Cleudi?” (He could feel honest indignation now.) “Lalette, who are you talking about?”
“I am glad you saved her life,” said she, still not looking at him. “It is a pity my hair is dark and my skin muddy. When these troubles are over, you can have a good time with her on the estate. It is in ’Zada, isn’t it?”
(The indignation no longer needed to be pushed; all he could think of was how he had rejected the shell of that Maritzl once desired.) He said; “Lalette, I swear to you that I have never been with Maritzl of Stojenrosek, if that is the one you mean. I swear that I never will, I don’t even want her.”
(The accent of sincerity was making her doubt, but the bitterness persisted beneath, she had only lost the line somewhere, and was not yet ready to release him.) “If you are really in love with her, you may go. Only I’ll not be one of your—casual contacts.”
(He was invaded by despair of making her understand, with or without the fullest tale of the maid Damaris and the witch of Kazmerga.) “Why,” he cried, “it would seem to me that it is asked of any pair who live together to protect each other from casual contacts by one means or another. But this is merely not true. Will you listen to every talebearer who tries to split us apart for reasons of his own?”
She lowered her head (melting a little, knowing he knew of Demadé Slair’s desire, if not of her own temptation). “There are some tales you might have borne to me yourself instead of letting me learn them by hazard. Why did you betray me by telling Mathurin of the child of Dyolana, Tuolén’s heiress?”
Now he took her strongly by the shoulders. “Lalette,” he said; “I never told him. You accuse me of being liar and betrayer, do you think I am a fool as well? If Mathurin knows of her, he has learned it through some other source; you are the only one I told.”
(Suddenly and dreadfully, she knew where that other source was—that night in the garden, when she herself told Demadé Slair, Mathurin’s voice and sword.) She moved close, putting both arms around him in a convulsive gesture. “Oh, Rodvard,” she said, “I am afraid. He is having her brought here, and will make her a witch himself—that little girl.”
She began to cry then. That night, as they sought and received from each other whatever comfort passion could give, she touched him and said; “It is true. I am a witch and your partner. The great marriage.”
29NO AND YES
“You helped me so much before,” said Lalette.
The widow Domijaiek contemplated her tranquilly from among the husks of characters who never lived. “Yet you are again in need of help.”
“The Myonessae. I could not—”
“You could not give up the desires of this false, material world for the God of love. However, it is not necessary to agree with everything that is done under the rule of the Prophet, and when the mattern and the diaconals tried to force you to an advancement for which you were not ready, they were also submitting to the rule of Evil. It is asked only to take steps we are prepared for.”
“Yes,” said Lalette.
“I do not know whether I can help you. Let us examine circumstance. Are you still stricken by lack of money?”
“I had not thought of it. Rodvard touches the fees of the court where he is writer. Our needs are small.”
The widow’s smile was approving. “That is an element of progress. But he receives these fees because he uses the witchery of the Blue Star, does he not?”
“Yes.”
“Then that is an element contrary to progress and very dangerous.”
Lalette looked at the floor. “I know. Everything seems to be a danger. I am so afraid of Mathurin. He keeps those guards around Rodvard, but I think they are more like jailers.”
“One thing you must not do is let fear enter your heart; for it will breed fearful things. Remember that all in this false material world is only the reflection of your thoughts. Have you any word from your mother?”
“Yes. A man brought a note. She wants me to escape and join her at the court.”
“Do you wish to go?”
“I would like to see her again. . . .” Lalette looked up to see Dame Domijaiek watching her attentively, though she remained very quiet, and under the pressure of that silent scrutiny, the girl moved. “She is under Count Cleudi’s protection. And I told you about Demadé; he is very kind and gay, and I think he is in love with me, but—”
“Go on.”
“He told Mathurin about the little girl, the heiress.”
“He was also trying to do the best for you, in his own way. Do you want to go? Or would you rather stay with Rodvard?”
In a small voice, Lalette said; “I think I would rather stay with him. Is it wrong?”
“Not if it is done in love and good will, rather than for any hope of gain. Have you asked him to take you away from the city?”
“No. This—regency is so much to him.”
The widow stirred. “You will find help, child. Come to me again when he makes a plan.”
She stood up, but before the words of farewell could be pronounced, the door was flung open and the boy Laduis burst in, crying; “Mother! I was at the market, and—”
“Laduis, we have a guest.”
He looked embarrassed and made to Lalette the bow of a miniature courtier. “Oh, I remember you,” he said. “You are the Princess Sunimaa, only you are not cold any more. I am glad to see you.” He turned again. “Mother, everybody at the market is excited. They say there has been a battle in the Ragged Mountains, and Prince Pavinius has beaten the Tritulaccans and taken three of their generals, and the rest of them are all running away.”
IIShe had gone quietly to sleep; Rodvard had to rouse her with the finger-touch behind the right ear that wakens without shock. Even then, she tried for a moment to draw him close until he whispered; “We must hurry.”
Beyond the window there was only cold wintry starshine and little enough of that; but Rodvard had hoped for snow or rain. Lalette gathered her smallest of bundles; he led along the balcony three windows down, to where the trellis was, and stepped off backward into night, resting a moment on each step before taking the next. Lalette’s dresses almost made her stumble on the last steps; she sank into his arms with a little gasp at the bottom. They had carefully worked out the matter of getting over the garden-wall, from the barrel to the shed-roof, the shed-roof to the wall itself.
It was too late for the bracket-torch on the back street to have remained alight. As soon as she was down, they dodged shivering past the plane-trees, across, around a corner and into the appointed alley. Something jingled; the man said; “Are you the travellers?”
“Dame Domijaiek’s travellers,” said Rodvard, as agreed, and; “Here is your horse and your let-pass,” the other.
Rodvard got up first; the man, whose features remained indistinguishable, helped Lalette up behind and gave them a farewell in tones not unfriendly. Rodvard had seldom followed the maze of streets toward the northwest quarter, but it was fairly easy to maintain direction, and there was only one gate leading to the Archer’s Highroad. The horse walked, and Lalette felt so sleepy that it was almost agony to keep her place.
There was no one moving on any street and hardly a light at any window. Once a wrong turn led into a blind alley, but that did not hold them back long, and now they were in the shadow of the gate, with a sentry barring the path with a pike and another holding up a lantern.
“This is a fine hour to be leaving the city,” grumbled the first.
“All hours are fine when one must go,” said Rodvard, and produced his paper; this was the moment of test.
The sentry puzzled over it a moment, looked back at them, to the paper again, and said; “Pass friends.” As he turned back to the sentry-cachet with his pike-bearing companion, Rodvard caught a fragment of words “. . . won’t be too glad to see that couple,” and wondered what the paper had said.
As they reached the far end of the bridge, where the ancient stone leopard stands, he urged his mount to trot, but the pace was too fast for Lalette, she had to beg him not to. They moved for a long time through a space without figures until, like a conjurer’s trick, trees and houses began to appear in grey outline around them, and then slowly to take on color. The road turned leftward, and the river was beyond, with ice on it. Lalette said; “Rodvard.”
He did not turn his head. “What will you have?”
“Can you forgive me?”
“For what?”
“Taking you away from—everything. Your new day, the work.”
“There is nothing to forgive. I had to go.”
They were silent again, and in that silence the sun grew behind streaked clouds. Lalette was so tired and sore that she felt she must say something about it, but just before endurance reached its limit, they came to the famous bridge of boats at Gogau, with its inn on the opposite bank, and Rodvard said; “Let us rest here and take refreshment.”
He helped her down and inside to a seat, still without words, and a round-cheeked innkeeper came to them with a good morning. After he had gone, Rodvard said:
“No . . . I do not know quite what I wished or what I wish now; but I am sure it is not to be compelled to use all I have in Mathurin’s way. . . .”
He stared across the room away from her, and she (grateful that he was not looking to read her thought with the Blue Star) said;
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