There is still time to run from her, I hope that you realise. We have to keep moving. You cannot let her keep you held back.
As always, Melanie didn't justify her spirit with a spoken response. She never did. It was something she had decided early on, once she'd managed to get an agreement that it wouldn't ever speak the prophet's tongue. She felt at it instead. It could feel her emotions so it would have to guess what she was thinking.
She thought of Celeste. She thought of all of her love for the other woman. She remembered the first time she'd seen her face, and pictured it bathed in morning sunlight, and smiling without a care.
I get it. But you know that giving in to emotions makes you weak.
Melanie did want to tell it to shut up, or tell it anything rude really, but she didn't. A few villagers were passing in the opposite direction. She didn't want them thinking she was a man woman who muttered to herself in foreign tongues. Instead, she gave them a pleasant smile which they returned.
“Good morning,” They said politely.
It sounded polite to Melanie anyway, though she was yet to get good at identifying tone in Itospasarian. She responded in kind and they all continued on their own ways.
Anyway, she thought to her spirit despite its inability to hear her, if I let Celeste go off on her own, I'm more likely to be consumed. Even taking her emotions out of the equation, which she didn't want to, it was dangerous. If one of them was consumed they both would be.
They had twice the capacity they once did as well. Provided the other didn't use any magic. Melanie had little interest in magic now. It was profane, but she had accepted using it to free her people from the Ofprovians. Though that was still her ultimate goal, she wouldn't be returning home for a long time. Not until she was ready with a real plan and way to help. She didn't know how long that would be.
She focused on the moment, in the here and now. The river gently rushing beside her. Old man talking quietly as their fishing rods bobbed in the cool current. She could hear children laughing and running about somewhere in the village. Children, there were plenty of. Young men, there were not.
She considered the river. It was the same one that Teodor had got their spirit from, she believed, though they must have been bound further up. Where it turned to rapids. She wasn't sure where the river began. In the mountain range Tricapon sat in, she suspected. It seemed they couldn't escape the shadow of that institution.
Teodor might return here, one day, she supposed. Celeste had told her all about the last time she'd seen their classmate. Melanie missed them greatly. For a while, they had been the only students of the same age at the school. It was their presence that made her work on learning Itsopasarian, something which she was now very grateful for.
She finally reached her destination. It was at the far side of the village from where she and Celeste were now living. The door of the squat building hung invitingly open. She strode in, giving the man behind the counter a small smile. He was an unassuming man, bright-faced and calm looking.
“Good morning,” He said in a singing voice.
“Good morning,” Melanie replied simply. “Has there been any mail for the name al-Masri?”
“Yes, I do believe there has. Mail for the al-Masris,” He said to himself as he turned to check the cubbies behind him where various letters were tucked away. “The two new arrivals.”
“Just al-Masri. We don't...It's not our shared name,” She sputtered out, not confident how to say 'family name' in the language.
“Right. Just al-Masri.” He corrected himself as he went back to looking.
It might not have been the safest idea to keep using their own names. But the only mail they were expecting would be coming from within Itsopasar, so it wasn't going through the countries that wanted them dead. Although, they had been fighting a war against them until very recently. Melanie tried not to worry about it.
They ought to figure out a family name for Celeste, she felt. Maybe sheep, or shepherd. She thought of the words in a few of the languages she knew, trying to decide which one would sound nicest, which would work with Celeste's name the best. Or maybe it would be simplest if she just took on Melanie's family name.
Melanie burned with embracement at the thought. That was something only married people did, or adoptees. It was awfully forward to consider something like that, never mind actually suggest it to Celeste.
Calm down. Her spirit said in its tired voice.
Melanie distracted herself by looking at a newspaper resting on the counter. 'Negotiations end at long last! Peace achieved!' it read. She spun it around so she could read the smaller text.
“Here we go. Just one letter,” The mailman said. “A thick one too. People must have a lot to say to you.”
She looked up and smiled. “I can't help our popularity,” She said, aiming for a joke. She took the envelope gratefully and cracked the wax, checking inside. There was a single sheet of paper signed by Tesni along with four other substantially longer letters. She placed a coin on the counter for the postage cost. “Excellent. Thank you very much. Do you might if I keep this?” She asked, picking up the newspaper.
“Go right ahead. It is wonderful news to read,” He said, a widening smile on his face.
“Indeed. Did this village send many men to the war?” She asked. It was hard to keep the guilt out of her voice.
“A dozen of them,” He said with a sombre nod. “And a few young women signed up as nurses near the front. I am fortunate enough that I don't yet have a son old enough to fight.”
“If you ever do,” Melanie said. “Teach him well and don't let him throw his life away for people who care nothing for him.”
He nodded in response, looking a little confused. “If I do. It will be nice to see them back.”
Melanie didn't want to ask how many of them would be coming back. It was possible every one of them survived. It was equally possible that none of them would return. In all likelihood, some would and others wouldn't, and those who did return would not be the boys that had left.
“And I'm sure they'll be surprised to see you two,” He continued with a little laugh.
“What do you mean?” Melanie asked, growing nervous.
“Well, I don't mean to intrude, but I mean, everyone knows who you are. It's the talk of the village.” As he spoke, he leant closer, taking on a conspiratorial tone.
“I don't...” Melanie began.
“Sorry, no, I don't want to put pressure on you. But I just mean, we haven't had a wizard living here for a long while now. And two? Me and some of the others have been thinking to ask you if you'd be up for helping around the village a bit. Not that we're trying to put pressure on you or anything.” He added quickly, throwing his arms up and leaning back.
Melanie smiled. That was far less of a scary conversation than she had been worried it would be. “We would be happy to help out. I'm not sure how exactly we can, magic is...” She guessed like most people he wouldn't know much about it and she could give a simple explanation rather than the more complicated, personal explanation. “Rather complex, you understand. But we will seek to help out in whatever ways we can.”
“Of course, of course. As I said, we don't want to put any pressure on you. That old cottage was paid for in full, you have no obligation for anything.”
No, they didn't have any real obligations. None they could tell the villagers about. “We are happy to help. We don't want to be strangers on the edge of the village.”
“That is very pleasing to hear,” The mailman said, breaking back into his bright smile.
“We will discuss it. Thank you for the newspaper,” She said, picking up the folded sheet.
“Have a good day!” He called as she stepped out of the door.
“To you too!” She replied, waving with the paper.
She read as she walked back to the cottage. The spring sun beat down on her, but she relished its warmth. It was better than the biting cold they'd travelled through for so long, and better than the wet mud they'd fought through.
As the paper relayed, in the end it wasn't the assassination of a king that had brought an end to the war. The Laocienans had already crowned his eight-year-old son within the week. That child was not likely to have an easy or happy life, but if he made it to adulthood he was likely to be as much of a tyrant as his father.
No, in the end, it had been the true cause of the war that had been its end; food. Although the changing of the war had meant the Ofprovians had access to more food through their ally, it had been prioritised for the soldiers. So much farmland had been destroyed. Nothing was left to go to the cities where workers had been producing guns and bullets and shells and uniforms for years.
They didn't simply put down tools. They held tighter to them, and used them to smash government buildings and attack the military police that tried to put down the riots. The position of the Ofprovians had become untenable. The Laocienan leadership similarly realised they would have no luck alone with their weaponry.
And so the peace seemed to be a good won for the Itsopasarians. Their enemies had to concede a lot for they couldn't do much to threaten any longer.
Still, Melanie dreaded what this might mean for her homeland. With expansionist hopes to the south dashed, it was possible they would look east to recoup their debts. Maybe there would be an uprising there as well. Maybe she wouldn't even be needed in the end. She could just spend the rest of her life here, in this quiet little village in the middle of nowhere, with the woman she adored.
She finally reached their cottage. It was a humble abode; two rooms and an outhouse. It was enclosed by a low wooden fence that also trapped in a small area of shrubs. Celeste had been talking about digging it up and planting some herbs or flowers. They had yet to get round to that.
Melanie swung open the gate and bent to close it behind her, before going through the front door. She stepped into the small kitchen room. In the middle was a plain table and chairs, on the left wall the stove and a door into the next room.
“I'm back!” She called, dropping the letters and newspaper onto the table, and undoing her jacket. She hung it up and headed through to the other room with the letters in hand.
The door opened into the corner of a bright room. Celeste had removed the shutters of the back windows and left the door wide open. The sun shone into the room. The double bed, the chairs. A few trinkets of their homelands sat around, but otherwise, it was a starkly decorated room. Celeste was sat in the far corner staring out of the windows.
She slowly turned to face Melanie. Her smile was as warm as the sunlight and a thousand times more brilliant. Melanie watched the scars on her face twist with her smile, in love with her all the more every time she saw her.
“Letters from Tesni. It looks like he got to all of them,” Melanie explained, holding up the letters.
She stepped over and handed them to Celeste. The other woman put the pocket watch that she'd been gently holding down into her lap and took the letters gratefully.
“Thank you. How was it out there?” She asked.
“It's quiet. Read them first,” Melanie encouraged, lowering herself onto the bed and loosening her headscarf.
She watched Celeste reading the letters. She tried not to, tried to focus on the forest and hills behind the house that Celeste had been watching. It was difficult though. She watched the other woman's intense eyes scanning the paper, tears forming occasionally. She blinked them away. Melanie examined her hair, the stripes of colour becoming more prominent as it grew out on the sides. She hadn't got round to shaving yet, and Melanie began to wonder if she would again.
It was difficult to watch because she felt the sensations Celeste did both through empathy and through their bond. They were both still adapting to the new sensations. Learning what exactly passed to the other. Melanie focused, clearing her own mind and trying to feel what it was Celeste did. Sadness, of course, but there was some joy at knowing the bodies had indeed been returned, at least she assumed so.
At long last Celeste folded the last letter and placed it in her lap. “Well, I am glad Tesni could find them all.”
“Who were the letters from?” Melanie asked softly.
“Family. All very grateful. I'm impressed he managed to find them all.”
“He did have his position at Tricapon for a reason,” Melanie said with a shrug. “I do wonder what will become of that place now. Losing a headmaster is something they can get over, of course. But when Tesni reports back to the others about everything...”
“At least he's the last person who can ever do that. I suppose we must be grateful that powers like that are unique.”
“I don't know. Libraries are getting more common. And cities are getting bigger. There's every chance someone might develop the same powers. We can only hope that whoever might do so is less power-hungry than he was.”
Celeste nodded, turning her head back to the garden. “I was thinking, maybe we should look at getting some chickens. Or a sheep or two maybe. It would be nice to have some more life here.”
“You have all sorts of plans for this place,” Melanie smiled as she spoke, and leant forwards so she could rest a hand on Celeste's knee.
“I want it to feel like home. I want this to be a home. With you.”
“The man in the mail office asked if we could help out at all, as wizards.”
“I think I felt that,” Celeste said quietly.
Melanie pulled back a little. “Really?”
“There were just a few moments where I felt conflicted and then guilty. But it didn't feel like it came from me.”
Melanie let out a snort of a laugh. “I guess that's something we're going to have to look out for. I said we would think about it, that magic was complicated. He seemed understanding.”
“Why were you feeling guilty?” Celeste asked.
Melanie paused for a moment, not quite wanting to break the news. “The war is...It's finally over. It was in the newspaper. The people from the village who went to fight will be coming back soon.”
“Ah. I'm not sure how we're going to face them.”
“We did our best to end the war.”
“After fighting for the other side for years. What if one of them recognises us? Chances are one of them will have heard of us.”
“Then we will be honest with them, and honest with the village if we need to be. And if we must, we can go far away again, find a new home.”
“I'm so tired,” Celeste said, resting her head in her hands. Melanie could feel it. “I can't stand the guilt. We should be tried for what we've done. Someone should pronounce our guilt.”
“There's nowhere that we would get a true trial for our crimes. The states around us want to kill us because we're traitors, because we killed a royal. They don't see the soldiers as anything more than the mud they slogged through.”
“You're right. You're right,” Celeste said, sitting up and wiping away her tears. “Do you think the guilt will ever go away?”
“I...” She took her time to consider that question. “I think we'll have to learn to manage it. Things won't get better unless we work at them.” She stood and rested a hand on Celeste's shoulder. “We were those soldiers too. We suffered through our fair share of mud and pain. It's....Bittersweet. Not, literally, as a description. I just mean, it is that same contrast. We suffered for a cause we were lied about, and we also inflicted so much suffering.”
“I suppose you're right.” Celeste brought her own hand up to rest on top of Melanie's. Their interlaced their fingers and held on tight to one another. “I don't think I could have made it this far without you. I love you.”
She spoke every word of that final phrase in Melanie's first language. To speak is to seek to be understood, but these women already understood each other perfectly, possibly better than anyone else alive. No, she used Melanie's own language, the sounds finally becoming comfortable on her tongue, as a show of love. A love they both felt, twice as strong. It wasn't the meaning of the words that truly mattered.
“I love you too,” Melanie responded, in fluent Laocienan.
The reciprocity of conversation demanded that she match the show of love. And her heart drove her to show nothing but the deep, pure love she felt for the other woman.