Light in the Darkness

by CJ Brightley

  She ran a little more hot water, then stepped into the bath and lowered herself into the water. Her breasts floated, the water surface closing and opening about them, and she gave the languorous stretch that she did when she woke up. He sucked in his breath again, and she smiled and picked up the sponge.

  “Face,” she said, holding his eyes. “I’m told it’s pretty. Looks very like my mother’s, and she was a famous beauty when she was my age, so I suppose it must be true. My eyes are too large,” she said, closing them to wash the lids, “and my nose is unremarkable. I have thin shoulders and arms.” As he had done, she washed each body part as she discussed it, without hurrying.

  “My breasts,” she said, “are uneven.”

  “What?”

  “One’s larger than the other, look? And they point in different directions. And this one has a mole. They’re not very big, either.” He nodded. It was all true, but he didn’t care. They were beautiful.

  “My belly sticks out. My legs are bony, not a very nice shape,” she continued, slowly, stretching the limbs in question out and sticking them out of the water to soap them with the sponge. “My womanly parts are a monthly inconvenience, and have never really been of any positive use to me, so far. My hips are fat. My backside is overlarge and an ugly shape,” she added, lifting herself up in the water on one arm to wash it with the other, a sight he found delightful. “And my back is, as you said, a part of myself I’ve never seen, and I have no particular feelings about it.”

  “My turn?” he said, as she put down the sponge.

  “Your turn,” she said, lying back and closing her eyes.

  “You,” he said, “are gorgeous. Your face is not pretty, it’s beautiful, and your eyes are the most beautiful part of it. Your nose is delightful. Your chin and cheeks are symmetrical and in perfect balance.”

  A smile was slowly spreading on her lips, and he added, “Your lips are wonderful, especially when you smile. And when you kiss me.” Her smile came to full flower.

  “Your breasts are glorious. I’m obviously no expert, but I cannot imagine any more beautiful, even if they are not perfectly alike, and they are exactly the right size for you. I’m going to name them, once I think of names, and change my favourite every day.”

  She made a pleased “mm” noise. “And will you play with them?” she said. The dark nipples at the tips of the breasts in question were hardening as he spoke.

  “I will play with them with great delight, for as long as you’ll let me,” he answered.

  “They like you too,” she said, and stretched to give him the full effect. He swallowed.

  “Stop that. I’m talking,” he said. She chuckled. “Your belly,” he continued, “is delightful, and I will rest my head on it and kiss it and rub it. Your legs are magnificent, long and graceful and beautifully shaped. If I ever carve anything as, as luscious as your buttocks I will give up carving forever, because my life’s work will be completed.” He paused.

  “And my womanly parts?” she said, through a broad grin, in a flirtatious cadence.

  “I look forward greatly to making their close, intimate and long-standing acquaintance,” he said. “Repeatedly.”

  “Well,” she said, “I’m in favour of that. So, in summary, you rather like my body?”

  “In summary, I think your body is the most beautiful thing I ever saw.”

  She opened her eyes. “Good,” she said. “Are we finished?”

  “Yes,” he said, and watched her stand, running his eyes unconcealedly up and down her curves. She was not a large woman, but she was definitely the right shape. She smiled at him, and stretched as she dried herself, showing her body off to his appreciative gaze, then dressed slowly, lower half first. He sighed as her breasts disappeared behind her shirt.

  “You’ll see them again soon,” she said.

  “Glory and Splendour,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Those are their names. Glory and Splendour.”

  “Which is which?”

  “Glory has the mole.”

  “The right one.”

  “Yes,” he said, after mentally reversing her body to figure out left and right from her perspective.

  She moved forward and kissed him briefly. “They look forward to making your closer acquaintance,” she said. “But for now, we must be good.”

  “I suppose we must,” he said, and sighed. “Don’t want to trigger you.”

  “Well, think how far we’ve come already,” she said. “I couldn’t even kiss you, what, six or seven shift-rounds ago? And we’ve just been naked in front of each other.” She took his arm, and led him out of the bathroom.

  “Yes,” he said, “I’m in no danger of forgetting that any time soon.”

  “You really like how I look that much?”

  “I really do. You really like how you look so little?”

  “I could probably be persuaded round to your way of thinking. Eventually. With the right techniques.” She smiled up at him.

  “I shall make it one of my life goals.”

  11

  Oathbond Discussions

  They went for another walk by the river. Hand in hand, they watched the ducks in silence, and then Patient said, “Hope.”

  “Yes?”

  “Are we going to get oathbound?”

  “I hope so.”

  “You want to?”

  “I do. But… don’t ask me yet.”

  “Why not?”

  She turned and looked him in the eyes. “My love, I’m a long way from cured yet. We made big strides, but… I’m not willing to take that step, or even promise to, until I know that won’t be a problem.”

  “Why not?”

  “What do you mean, why not? I can’t ask you to bind yourself to me if we don’t even know if we can be intimate together.”

  “Again, why not?”

  “Patient, listen to yourself. Are you seriously suggesting that you’d oathbind to a woman you couldn’t even…”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I won’t let you.”

  “You won’t?”

  “No, I won’t. My parents… I saw their relationship. I’m as certain as I can reasonably be that they don’t ever… I mean, they must have once, obviously, or I wouldn’t be here. But it’s no way for a couple to live.”

  “That’s a bit different. You said yourself they dislike each other. It’s not like us.”

  “Dislike is a bit weak, actually. Mother bullies Father unmercifully. She despises him.”

  “Well, then. Completely different.”

  “Not completely, if we can’t… look, Patient, there’s some mystery about my parents’ oathbond. Why did they oathbind in the first place if they hate each other? Until I get to the bottom of that and figure out whether it’s going to affect us, I’m not going to commit to anything with you.”

  “Not to anything? This morning seemed like something.”

  “You know what I mean. I’m not going to commit to oathbinding until I’m sure it’s going to be… fair to you.”

  They stared hard into each other’s eyes. The determination he saw there was unwavering.

  “All right,” he said. “But just so you know, I’d oathbind to you regardless.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “But… you do understand?”

  “I think so. I understand it’s important to you, at least, and I’ll wait for you to be ready.”

  “That’s all I can ask for.”

  “Can I ask you to talk to your parents and put your mind at rest?” he said.

  “I’m not sure that ‘at rest’ is where my mind will be after that discussion. But yes, I’ll talk to them.”

  She slept in the following morning, so it wasn’t until midmorning that she called her father from the lab.

  “Hope!” he said. “I’m just about to go into my regular Oneday meeting with the Countygold.”

  “Did you move the time?” she said. For as long as she could remember, her father an
d the Countygold had met first thing on Onedays to plan the shift-round.

  “No, it’s the usual time,” he said, puzzled.

  “But it’s only… oh, that’s right, you’re far enough west that the time is different. Doesn’t matter. Can you call me back afterwards?”

  “Of course.”

  She puttered round the lab, achieving very little. Dignified and Rosie were deep in a mechanical discussion that involved a lot of gesturing and pointing at diagrams. Rosie’s voice was taking on the patient-impatient tone of someone who has explained their point several times and still doesn’t think the other person understands. Eventually, Hope gave in to the inevitable and sat down with Bucket in his little kitchen with a cup of tea.

  “How are they doing?” she asked, gesturing out to the main lab. Rosie’s frustrated voice was still audible, occasionally punctuated by Dignified’s deeper tones as he made one of his abbreviated answers.

  “Not so well,” said Bucket. “They’re not… there’s something odd between them.”

  “Odd how?” she asked.

  “Well, it’s nothing I can scratch a glyph on. They’re odd people, and neither of them is very good at talking in the ordinary way of things. But they seem to be… not avoiding each other exactly, because they work together constantly, but…”

  “You think they’ve had some kind of argument?”

  “Could be that.”

  “Does she have any friends, do you know?” said Hope.

  “Not that I’m aware of. She’s never mentioned anyone apart from her family. I try to get her to take breaks, you know, talk to her over a cup of tea, but she’s not a chatter.”

  “Mmm. I get the impression she doesn’t like me much, or I’d try to say something to her myself.”

  They sat in silence together for several moments, and then looked up simultaneously at each other and chorused, “Briar!”

  “Briar can get anyone to talk to her,” said Hope.

  “And everyone likes her,” added Bucket.

  “Tell you what,” said Hope. “We’ll send a note to her office and you two can meet for lunch and strategise. I can’t, I have to work on this wretched article. The editor’s sending me curt notes.”

  “Sounds good,” said Bucket.

  Hope’s father called her back on her personal farspeaker not long afterwards, and she hurried to a back corner where she could have some privacy and tuned a farviewer to the Western Isles code. She wanted to see his face when she asked him the questions she had in mind.

  When the image was stabilised, she pulled up a lab stool and regarded him. He smiled at her, but the smile looked forced.

  “What did you want to ask me, Hope?” he said.

  “Well, you know my young man? Patient?”

  “The one you mentioned last time?”

  “Yes. We’re… well, things are becoming more serious between us, and… Father, before I make any more commitments to him, I want to know what’s wrong with your and Mother’s oathbond.”

  He winced. “Sorry,” she said, “that came out blunter than I intended.”

  “No, no, it’s all right. I don’t think any of us need to pretend, or even can pretend, that everything’s wonderful between us. Or that anything is.” His face turned sad.

  “What went wrong, Father? Can you tell me?”

  He bit his lip. “I don’t know that I can, Hope. It’s your mother’s story too, and she’d want her side to be known. But I don’t know if she’ll be able to bring herself to tell it to you.”

  “Come on, Father. I need something. I need to know if there’s some… if there’s a problem that…”

  “Hope,” he said, in his serious voice, the one he used when he wanted her to pay attention, “what happened between your mother and me is… your situation is completely different. You’re older, for one thing. I’m glad you waited until now to become involved.” Hope twitched inwardly, but kept her reaction off her face. “And… how does he treat you? Is he a good man?”

  “He’s the kindest man I ever met. Gentle, considerate.”

  “Tell me more about him.”

  “Well, we met in a queue when we were waiting to be honoured by the Realmgold. He was in the military, a village warden, and got drafted to the war. He was injured, so he’s had to leave the service.”

  “Injured?”

  “Yes, his leg. He walks with a cane.”

  “But he still works?” said Father with a frown.

  “Oh, yes, he was only a part-time warden. His trade is woodcarving, I think I said.”

  “Yes, you did,” her father said. “So… you say he’s a gentle man? Has he…” He looked away from her, clearly embarrassed. “Has he… pressed you at all, for… has he, um, taken liberties of any kind, ah, with, with your person?”

  “Father!” said Hope.

  “Well, I have to ask.”

  “No, he has not. Quite the opposite, if anything. He is a perfect gentleman,” she said, with Realmgold-like dignity.

  “Oh, good. Well, Hope, you know, not every man is like that.”

  “I do know that, yes.”

  “And in fact…” he rubbed the back of his neck, “um, in my youth, ah…” he appeared to be fascinated by something out of the frame.

  “You took liberties with Mother’s person?”

  “You could put it like that, yes.”

  “I don’t imagine she took that well.”

  “No.”

  “Oh,” said Hope. “That explains rather a lot. Though not why you became oathbound.”

  “Well, as to that… um, do you know the date of our oathbond ceremony?”

  “No, I don’t. You never celebrated it.”

  “Quite. Well, it was the first of Late Growing One in the year 522.”

  Hope’s birthday was the fifth of Late Fallow One, 523. She did the standard calculation of five half-seasons, a shift-cycle and a shift-round in her head, and came up with the approximate date of her conception: the twelfth of Late Sowing Two. About 70 days prior to her parents’ ceremony.

  “I see,” she said. “That explains even more. Including why Mother has always seemed to resent me.” Her stomach sank and tightened.

  “Yes,” said her father, very quietly.

  “Well,” said Hope. “That’s given me rather a lot to think about. Thank you, Father.”

  “I’m sorry, Hope.”

  “I’m sorry too. But at least… Well, I have some prospect of improving on your history.”

  “I don’t see how you could do worse.”

  “No. I… I need to go now.”

  “Of course,” he said. “Take care, Hope.”

  “You too,” she said, and broke the sympathy between the devices.

  Bucket had gone out — his hat was missing — and Dignified and Rosie were working on adjacent benches in a thick silence. Hope walked home, stumbling every so often as she turned over the new information again and again.

  She remembered her first time with Faithful. He had got her drunk and then pressed her, over her objections, saying that he loved her and that if she loved him she would let him. She had given in. Was that how it was with Father and Mother? It was hard to imagine weak, worried Father talking Mother into anything she didn’t want to do, but perhaps they had changed. Perhaps she had become angry, and he had become weak and worried, since then. Perhaps he had got her so drunk she couldn’t say no.

  I am the result of a loveless union, she thought. Well, she had always known that, more or less. My mother resents me because she never wanted me. Again, not really that new an idea, more a confirmation than anything.

  So why did she feel so hollow and unanchored?

  She lay on her bed when she got home and had a cry. She cried at the fall of a leaf since hitting her head, it was like her tear valve had broken and was leaking at the slightest thing. When she finished, her head felt stuffed with rags and she couldn’t concentrate enough even to get up and fetch her papers, let alone work on them. She l
ay there, her thoughts going round and round in a whirlpool of doubts and fears.

  Eventually, she slept, and woke groggy and itchy. Washing her face and eating and drinking gave her enough alertness to fiddle with some papers, but she made little progress on her article. Her mind kept lurching back to the pit that had opened in her image of her own life.

  12

  A Friend for Rosie

  Bucket met Briar for lunch near her office. “How are you, Bucket?” she asked.

  “Well enough in myself,” he said. “But I’m worried about the Master. Well, more about Mistress Rosie, actually.” He laid out the situation as he’d explained it to Hope.

  “We wondered if you could talk to her,” he said. “You’re good at that.”

  Briar smiled and nodded to acknowledge the compliment. “When does she work until?” she asked.

  “Until I make her stop, usually. Late. You know what the Master’s like.”

  “I do. So if I dropped in around dinner time, I might be able to invite her?”

  “I suppose. Would you?”

  “Of course. I remember what it’s like to not know anyone. You want to come along?”

  “She might not talk if I’m there,” said the gnome.

  “How about I turn up and invite you, and you say no, but suggest that she goes instead?”

  “That sounds like it might work. She’s innocent as a moth, she won’t think for a moment that we might have planned it.”

  “Good.”

  Sure enough, Rosie seemed to suspect nothing when Briar asked her to dinner instead of Bucket, though she did take a little convincing.

  “Don’t worry, Mistress,” said Bucket, “I’ll vouch for her, you won’t end up on the plate.” He grinned, and so did Briar, and Rosie, after an uncertain look between them, agreed.

  Briar took her to the nearest decent sit-down eatery, a place called Cedarwood which was, indeed, built and furnished entirely out of cedar.