[piosenniel]

Giledhel


Giledhel stook shakily, holding onto Gorgu’s hand. What did he mean he could help her? Of course, she would hold Malris in her arms, just as she always did. He was her husband. He was coming home soon. He would dance with her at the party. He would . . .

Her hazy gaze fixed on the man wielding the sword who stood in her bedroom. She rubbed at them with her fists, wondering how this had come to be. She was just going to work on her weaving, she remembered, and someone had been about to enter. Then the birds had come, the awful birds and she had fled. Leaning on Gorgu’s arm she walked closer to the warrior.

It was Malris!

His back was to her as he swung at the ravens. Giledhel reached out her hand to touch him, and gasped as her hand passed through him. She called his name then, and he did not seem to hear her. ‘What is this? What is this?’ she asked in a strangled voice, her hand now clenched on tight to Gorgu’s arm.

And then she recalled that her three protectors had spoken of this to her before. Had spoken gently to her of what had happened. But they had not pressed her to believe, and she had not believed . . . until this very moment.

Beyond Malris was Tasa, the air about her thick with the battering birds. Giledhel’s eyes glowed with hatred at this interloper. ‘Help me,’ she ordered Gorgu. ‘Show me how.’

She stood close to Tasa, watching her for a moment. ‘Yaxë! Cow!’ she murmured. Giledhel stepped closer, and yet again closer, pressing her focused will against the woman.

Let me in, let me in . . . he’s mine . . .