Stalking Darkness

Alec and Illia fussing over the child.
    “I’ll leave it to you, then,” Kari said, catching another glimpse of the desperate unhappiness she’d sensed in him on the road.
    Lying close to Micum that night, she listened in silence as he slowly explained the manner of Nysander’s sacrifice and death.
    “No wonder Seregil’s so lost,” she whispered, stroking her husband’s strong, freckled arm. “How could Nysander have demanded such a thing of him?”
    “I don’t completely understand it all myself,” Micum admitted sadly. “But I do believe Nysander was right in thinking that no one but Seregil would have the heart to strike him down when the time came. I couldn’t have done it, and I don’t think Alec could have, either.”
    “We forget sometimes how cruel the gods can be!” Kari said bitterly. “To turn love to murder like that.”
    “You’d have to have been there,” Micum said, staring up into the shadows cast by the fire on the hearth. “If you could have seen Nysander’s face—It wasn’t murder. It was an act of mercy, and love.”
    •  •  •
    During the weeks that followed mixed reports came of the war; for the time being the Plenimaran army was held back in eastern Mycena, but their black ships ruled the seas, raiding the eastern coast of Skala as far north as Cirna, though they hadn’t yet won control of the Canal.
    Except for the absence of the young men who’d gone off to war, life at Watermead continued on largely unchanged. Gorathin followed Nythin, and then Shemin, bringing with it the lushness of high summer. Gentle morning rains nourished the fields and strong spring lambs and colts bounded after their dams in the meadows.
    Kari flourished with the land and her great belly swayed proudly before her as she went briskly about her daily work and the welcome tasks of summer. But she continued to worry about Seregil, though the only outward sign of trouble was his unusual quietness. She knew Micum and Alec felt the same concern, yet none of them could see a way to help him.
    He sought no solace from any of them, to be sure, but kept himself busy around the estate. Micum had made it clear that he and Alec were welcome to live at Watermead for as long as they wished, and Seregil seemed content to do so. From Alec, Kari learned that he’d sworn never to set foot in Rhíminee again.
    If he’d been morose or self-pitying, she might have tried to cajole him out of it, but he wasn’t. When asked, he would tell tales and play the harp. He worked with the horses, helped build a new stable, and spent his evenings devising clever devices to help Micum cope with his crippled leg, including a specially designed stirrup that let him ride again. Of late he’d even been able to bring himself to hold Luthas again, but left to himself he sank again into that inner stillness.
    Alec, who’d endured the most abuse of any of them, was the quickest to recover. Farm labor agreed with him and he quickly grew brown and cheerful again. Kari saw him watching Seregil, however, trying to gauge the inner turmoil that underlay his friend’s long silences and distant eyes.
    At night they shared the bed in the guest chamber, but Kari could tell that no comfort was being found there either.
    •  •  •
    One morning in mid-Shemin Kari awoke just before dawn, too uncomfortable to sleep. No matter how she turned, her back ached. Not wanting to wake Micum, she threw a shawl on over her shift, checked Luthas, who lay asleep in the cradle by their bed, then went off to the kitchen to make tea. To her surprise, the kettle was on the hook over the fire already. A moment later Alec came in carrying a basket of pears from the tree in the backyard.
    “You’re up early,” he said, offering her the fruit.
    “It’s this wretched child.” She frowned comically, kneading her lower back. “He kicks his mother and puts his knees and elbows in all the wrong places. What woke you so early?”
    “Seregil was tossing around in his sleep again. I thought maybe I’d go hunting.”
    “Sit with me a moment, won’t you? It’s so peaceful this time of the day.” Kari sat on the hearth bench to warm her back while Alec made the tea. “Seregil isn’t getting any better, is he?”
    “You and Micum both see it, too, don’t you?” he said wearily, pulling up a stool beside her. He held out one tanned, callused hand. “He hasn’t once told me to wear gloves. He was always after me about it. Before.”
    He