The days have passed quickly – too quickly – on our honeymoon. We are naught but a day away from our return to Lithmore now, I believe.
Marisa sleeps peacefully behind me, curled in the blankets. We hardly need them, truth be told; she has never been one to stint on luxury, and the braziers banish even the hint of chill from the air. It smells of spices, sweet and sharp at turns.
I do not sleep so much, myself. The rocking of the ship is peaceful, and reminds me of dim memories spent in my Maman’s arms. But it speaks in a thousand strange voices: the groans of oiled planks, the grinding of small patches of ice churned under the prow, even just the whispers of the currents we part. I have lived too long away from the sea and all its sounds have become foreign words I cannot understand. Where there are things I cannot understand, I cannot sleep easily. I drowse away hours in the dark, then awaken at once with my heart pounding readiness for battle.
And it is truly dark out here on the water, darker than it ever is in the city. The dark makes it worse. It’s funny how quickly my eyes re-adjusted to the light after Lien and Jei took me out of that place. Within days I could see again, when I thought it possible all light had gone out of the world. I used to find the dark soothing and comfortable; dark is a friend to the predator, after all. I guess it changed when I discovered there were greater predators than myself out there in the shadows.
When I wake up I sneak out of bed. (Carefully; you would be surprised how much nature aids and abets the trickery of those with two good legs. Those of us no longer so blessed must unlearn many things our bodies seemingly knew from birth in order to achieve the same results.) I go just far enough to light a candle, and I bring it back with me so I can watch her sleep in the candlelight. From that I drink in my own relaxation and calm. I am not suffering in some dark cave somewhere; I am floating down the river Bren with my wife. I blow out the candle, and sleep more soundly, for a while.
I am afraid. I am afraid for this water-born dream to end. I am afraid that this is all the peaceful bliss we have been alloted in this life and that the moment we step off this ship the end will begin. Slowly, but inexorably, dragging us into the depths. But I have always been afraid of so many things.
I must not let fear cloud my joy. I fought and suffered and killed to stand by her side at the altar of St. Aelwyn’s. The Lord has heard my prayers, and it has been enough. When we return, I must give Him my thanks. Someone might look at me (weary and aged before my time, white-haired and crippled, plagued by memories) and ask how I could still believe in the Lord, after all I’ve seen and done. But I would ask them, how can I not? He turned even a vessel so flawed as myself into an instrument of his will. The prices I have paid have been… large. But the rewards have been greater and sweeter still.
She sleeps peacefully. I think it time that I blow out the candle again.
