Post by kevna on Apr 27, 2021 0:50:51 GMT -5
Siorreya - Benden Weyr
“Do-Don’t come-“ Coughing racked the body of the small woman, and no matter how quickly she wiped them after, the small girl saw red coloring them. “Don’t come closer Sio. It’s not safe.” The words were weak, and unnecessary, as the girl never listened well anyway, and approached closer. Her mother was too exhausted to say anything else and shivered violently her eyes shutting tightly with pain. Bright blue eyes watched the ill woman, brows furrowed with confusion. Darkness encompassed them, and small hands took a cold rag and placed it on the older woman’s forehead. The normally chatty girl had seen the way sounds and light only caused the woman more pain. She wanted to tell her about the candidates that had come to play with them that morning, about the new game she had learned. Instead, she just sat on the edge of the cot, wet cloth in hand. Another violent shiver racked the woman, shaking the bed, and the small child felt every vibration from the cot move through her body.
She didn’t look any better. But just yesterday her mother had smiled and told her that she was feeling better all ready. That soon enough she would be up and walking, and they could go stargazing again. Her mother would point out constellations and stars and tell stories, weaving the stars and words into one large reality. She had promised they would go stargazing again.
Blue eyes opened and met smaller blue eyes. “My love, you have dirt on your face.” Her mother whispered, and she wiped at different places on the child’s face, as if there were flecks of dirt on it. “Spots. Just spots.” The haggard voice said confused, as she had multiple times. The repetitive phrase had occurred multiple times throughout the days of illness. Others had said it as well, she had heard them; the illness had run through this area of Benden Weyr carried by a careless greenrider, or so she had overheard. She was small and even though she was normally loud, she did know how to be quiet, especially when others were talking. Interesting bits of conversation normally turned into interesting information she could use one way or another. Yet here, she did not know what to do with the information. There was no use, she had nothing she could do.
The cold weak hand fell from her cheek, and the ragged breathing slowed in what she recognized as sleep. The child stood and backed away. Others had died, but when the illness had taken her mother, the woman had promised it would not take her away from her. She held on to those words with desperation. Promises were important. Her mother had never broken a promise to her. Not ever.
She’ll get better. She has to. The words were a chant in her head, confident, unwavering.
She slipped from the small weyr that was designated for those who were sick, and as she passed, she saw the current headwoman and a few of the other kitchen ladies who had offered their assistance with the sick. She stayed in the shadows, just out of sight, listening. “Watch those who are still coughing-I’m afraid they may have caught another illness on top of the firehead… I don’t believe they have too much longer.” The young girl flinched. They were wrong. Surely, they were wrong. Her mother would. She had promised. Her mother had taught her the importance of keeping her promises. The tiny girl continued her exit, stealthy as she could be.
Siorreya returned some time later, she had gone back to the creche in order to play some more. But her concern had brought her small feet back. The headwoman stood near the door, her face grave. She was speaking to some of the kitchen ladies who were departing, probably to start the afternoon meal, but the older woman’s eyes caught sight of her, and she ushered them away, turning her attention on the child. Sio had never had such focus placed upon her by another adult and gave a small nervous smile.
“Soreya, right?”
The little girl almost rolled her eyes, then remembered who was before her.
“Siorreya, miss.” She said politely enough, at least for a girl of seven.
“Matresse is your mother?”
“Yes.” There was silence, and the eyes looked down at her sadly. The woman opened her mouth, then closed it. Sio started to get a little uncomfortable, though she wasn’t sure why. She didn’t know what to say to the sadness in those eyes, so instead, she just waited, her hands fidgeting. She bit her lip when she felt ready to burst.
“How old are you dear?” The woman said, and there was a catch in her throat. Siorreya’s eyebrows drew in, confused. “Seven, miss.” The headwoman’s eyes watered and she nodded, and her mouth opened again, and again no words came out. “I’m just here to visit my mother.” She was becoming impatient. She looked through the slightly ajar door into the sickroom.
“Siorreya… I am so sorry, but she didn’t make it.” The girl blinked, her eyebrows descending farther. Didn’t make it? Didn’t make it where? She shook her head, even as the more logical side of her brain tried to tell her what the woman meant. It didn’t make sense, her mother had promised. “What?” The word came out breathy, wavering, unsure. There was panic flooding through her limbs.
“Matresse died a little while ago.” The headwoman was standing right in front of her, yet the words seemed so far away. Blonde hair flew around her face as she shook her head more aggressively, her young mind denying them. “No-no, I was just here.” Her voice didn’t sound like her voice, and the words barely escaped her throat. She could barely breathe. Pity lengthened the older woman’s face, and she put her arms out as if to hold the girl. She ducked under them, into the room. Her feet were faster then the headwoman’s, and she could hear her call after her, though it was a distant hum. She approached the bed, but could barely see it as tears slipped down her face. Her hands came up to rest on the woman, and instead of the hot sensation she had felt each time she had touched her mother, she felt coolness. Unnatural coolness.
A sob caught in her throat and she fell to her knees, her head falling on the side of the bed, nestled against the arm of her mother. “But-but you promised. You said promised meant something.” The words left hoarsely, ripped from thick throat. A hand fell on her shoulder, pulling her back. Words were said in an effort to comfort her, but she brushed them and the hand off, unwilling to move. She had left her to play games. She hadn’t been gone long. And she had promised.
“Please Siorreya, it’s really not safe to be in here.” Again, the hand tried to pull her back. She allowed herself to be pulled back, and she looked up with tear filled eyes at the concerned and sympathetic woman.
“I thought promises meant something.” She whispered, confused, pleading for clarity. The woman’s face crumpled. “Every loved one must pass on at some point, dear. She couldn’t have known this was her time.”
“But she promised.” Anger was suddenly replacing the sobs, and the girl clenched her hands into fists.
“Some promises are made with the best intentions… But sometimes they.. Well, they just can’t be kept.” The woman continued speaking, but Siorreya’s mind had wandered. Why had she promised something she couldn’t know? How could she lie? ‘Every loved one must pass on at some point, dear.’ The sympathetic words echoed in her mind and she felt the fear come next. Every loved one? Pass on? Did she mean they always died, or did she mean they sometimes left of their own accord? Suddenly her mind through her back, and her mother was holding her laughing.
‘I love you Siorreya.’
“Mama, what is love?”
‘It’s the best kind of promise. The promise to never be alone, my love.’
But here she was, and she was alone. Two broken promises. What was the point of love if it ‘passed’ on? Could love not be kept? Her seven year old brain raced, trying to understand, and falling short. She swallowed back the uncontrollable sobs, only the tears couldn't be restrained. Is this what it felt like every time love passed?
