This is a post-FiN story.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Turning the Wheel

by Mary Morgan

Part III

Several days later, they reached the edge of the blight. Gabrielle hauled on the reins, studied the trail up ahead. Here it was sunny, but two paces further would plunge them in shadow. It loomed like a wall which cut off the country beyond. She'd seen it coming for miles, a crust of grey cloud getting closer and closer, a veil of dun air underneath. From this point, it even looked thicker. Bile rose in her throat as she pictured it clogging their lungs.

Their lungs. The girl was still with her. She frowned and felt half regret, half relief. She'd told the girl, after they'd eaten, "I think things will be bad up ahead. I want you to stay with Jennah for a while. The lady I helped," she'd explained. "I'll come for you later. I won't leave you alone." Perhaps her words had rung hollow, she couldn't tell. But when she woke the next morning, the girl had already gone, her blanket was cold. Gabrielle wasn't surprised when, late in the evening, she turned up again. Jennah and safety were miles away by then. She'd sat down cross-legged, head bowed and in shadow, wolfing the food Gabrielle passed her.

"Oh, kid," the small woman had said. "Okay. But you do what I say." She'd waited. When nothing happened, she'd added, "You'll stay out of danger. Yes? Deal?" The girl had just turned her back, settled down on her blanket and fallen asleep.

All the same, she seemed to have listened. She never strayed far, but kept out of sight when strangers approached. This happened quite often. Every day, refugees passed them, fleeing the lands to the west. When they were clear of the forest and farmland spread out all around them, it was mostly deserted. The holdings were empty, doors barred, windows shuttered. Only stray dogs moved in the yards or roamed village greens. Not all dwellings were vacant, however. Gabrielle sensed eyes looking out as they passed, belonging to those far too old or too sick to move out, at a guess. Folk left behind, left to cower in terror.

Abandoned. The thought made her shiver, made her rage rise. No one should be left so utterly alone. I have to do something about this. She stood in her stirrups, scanning the sombre landscape ahead. Long, slack folds of it stretched out under the shadow, mud-coloured and silent. But what? What could cause this? Something welled up in her heart, far too familiar. That's whatever is out there at work. I can fight this part at least. She had lived with this feeling for over eleven years. She knew its name and how to move through it: despair.

Now the girl emerged and stood by her, gripping a strand of Plato's black mane. Gabrielle watched her knuckles turn white. She shifted forwards in the saddle and leaned down, placing her hand over the girl's. "Climb aboard," she said softly, loosening one foot from a stirrup. "He won't mind." The girl did not reply, but Gabrielle felt her shiver. "Come on now," she repeated, "Just put your foot in the stirrup and hop. I'll do the rest." This time the girl moved. She looked up at Plato's broad rump. Then she sighed and moved forwards, let Gabrielle grasp her under her arm and lever her up. Gabrielle clicked her tongue. "Walk on, Plato." Slowly, he did, and took them into the shadow.

The girl continued to shiver. When she patted the hands clasping her waist, Gabrielle frowned at their chill. "Hey," she said, "I never told you how I got Plato, did I?" She felt the girl's head shake. "Well, I found him. Yes, really," she said, as if the girl had answered. "It was a long way to the south of here."

In Thrace, just after I left Amphipolis for the last time. Just after I left her ashes and chakram in Lyceus' tomb. Gabrielle clamped down on the pain, kept on talking to distract herself. "I heard this terrible noise up ahead. It sounded like an elephant sitting on a donkey, all trumpeting and braying." She paused. "You won't have seen an elephant. They're really huge creatures, big as a barn, with long noses and big ears and they live in hot countries way to the south." She paused again, considering what she wanted to say, the promise it implied. She said it anyway. "Perhaps one day I'll take you to see one.

"Anyway, how I met Plato. Where was I? Oh yes, hearing that strange noise. Well, I decided to take a look." Of course, she sneered at herself. Such a hero. "It was this poor, scraggy heap of a horse. Oops, sorry, Plato, but you were." She leaned forward, scratched the old horse on his head, then rubbed his neck fondly.

"I suppose his last owner must have got tired of him," she went on. "He'd been tied up to a tree and just left there. Cast off. It must have been days beforehand, but he was too darned mean to die." Gabrielle smiled at the thought. Tough old nut. Good for him. Her affection coloured her voice as she continued. "In fact he was so darned mean that when I tried to untie him he nearly kicked my head in. He did manage to bite me. I've still got the scar." She had, a small, raised white ring on her arm, which itched sometimes, even now. "And I had a lump on my leg for months after. Just there," Gabrielle pointed at the place, sticking her left leg out so that she could do so. "You should have seen the colours.

"And even after all that, he wouldn't let me look after him, not at first." It had taken at least three days, Gabrielle recalled, after she had realised she couldn't just leave him alone. Three days of thinking of nothing but getting on the right side of the stubborn beast, of feeding and watering him, of cautiously tending the sores and galls on his hide, of slowly, very slowly, getting him to trust her. "It was discovering that he likes stale bread, of all things, that made the difference." He saved my life, the crusty old grouch. Took my mind off everything else.

"So in the end he decided to give me a chance and came with me. But, as you may have noticed, his temper hasn't really improved," she finished.

By now she could feel the girl had relaxed. She kept talking though, telling stories, as much to hear her own voice break the silence as for any other reason. At length they came to wood. The trees looked lifeless, their bark galled and scurfy, though when Gabrielle looked closer she could see the tight, shiny buds of leaves which had never burst. Under their branches, the air felt still danker and heavier, and the girl tightened her grip round her waist. The silence grew stronger; even Plato's hoof beats were muffled by the layers of last year's leaves, lying sodden and slimy on the ground.

Gabrielle was about to begin a new story when the wood suddenly opened up ahead. She reined in Plato and looked round, blinking her eyes to get used to the change in the light. At the same time, she felt that she was, on the contrary, about to plunge into darkness. She beat back a shudder. Narrowing her eyes, she could make out the scene at last. There was water in their way. A lake, murkily reflecting back the banks of lichen-encrusted trees all around. She urged Plato forwards and looked more closely. The surface was completely still, dark brown rather than black. Silt, it's nearly choked with the stuff.

She looked across the lake, and realised that they were not alone. There was a wagon over there, in a small, bare patch between the track and the edge of the surrounding trees. A horse pulled at meagre blades of grass nearby. Two people were sitting beside the lake, a man and a woman, staring into it. She clicked her tongue and urged Plato on, already dreading what she might learn. They were motionless, intent, unresponsive her approach.

"Hey," she hailed them quietly as she drew up alongside. "Is anything wrong?" When they did not answer, Gabrielle gestured for the girl to get down, then dismounted herself, handing Plato's reins to her companion. "Stay here, okay? I want to check this out." The girl stared at the reins, and Gabrielle sighed, pushing back gold- brindled, chestnut hair so she could briefly touch her cheek. "I can't ride on by, you know. It'll be all right. Look after Plato; let him eat some grass." She noticed a corner of the girl's mouth pucker, and her own twitched too. As if either of us could stop him snacking when and where he wants to.

A little heartened, she braced herself and walked up to the couple. "My name's Gabrielle," she said, squatting down beside them. "Do you need help?"

It was the woman who spoke, not looking at her, not giving a reply so much as making a statement. "You're too late. Nothing can help." Her voice was lifeless, leeched of expression. Beside her, her husband seemed to hunch himself more deeply into the shell of his silence.

"Tell me," Gabrielle insisted, though already she had guessed. She stayed where she was and waited.

At last the woman said, "She's in there, our daughter. Our Taina, in that horrible water." She looked at Gabrielle. Her eyes were bloodshot in a tallow-coloured face.

"When?" Gabrielle leaned forwards, put her hands on the woman's shoulders, held her gaze. "Where?"

The woman shook her off. "Yesterday evening. Somewhere there." She pointed to her left, where a bed of reeds straggled along the bank. She shot Gabrielle a glance which seemed to defy her to help them.

Gabrielle sank back on her heels again. She rubbed her hands over her face. She wished she knew what to do. Once I would have told them a story, I suppose, she mocked herself. Found words I believed in, then, to tell them that love never dies, put together a pretty fable with the moral that their daughter will live in their hearts forever. She fought back the bitter laugh which rose inside her. That was when I believed in the power of love, of course.

After a moment she got up and went to the girl. "We'll stay here with them for a while," she explained. "Can you gather some dry wood? We need to make a fire."

When that was burning, she boiled water, made tea for the parents, left the girl with instructions to feed the fire, stir the soup she had left to heat over it. A small part of her noticed how the girl seemed to be listening, how she seemed to want to help. She pushed back the observation for later, carried over the mugs of tea. The woman took hers without thinking, but Gabrielle had to unclench the man's hands and wrap his fingers round the one she handed him. She watched him till he started to sip at it, then settled beside them and waited again.

"We thought this would be a good place to camp." Once again it was the mother who broke the silence. "I let Taina play while I prepared our supper. Erik was mending a broken harness." The man had stopped sipping. His fingers curved round the mug like claws. "We could hear her. She had her doll with her. She was chattering to it, about why we were going, about seeing her sisters again, about the cousins she was going to see. She sounded just close by." The woman fell silent. Gabrielle wondered if the calm was going to break, if she was going to cry at last. But she did not. Instead she went on, "Then we heard the splash. Not a loud one. As if a fish had risen, broken the surface and sunk back into the mere. Quiet. So quiet. We thought nothing of it." She stopped again. A tremor seemed to run through her, and tea slopped over the edge of her mug. Then she controlled herself again.

"We looked for Taina though, and saw she'd gone. I remember, my head felt so light. As though I didn't have a body at all. I think I knew straight away..." Gabrielle leaned over to take her mug, her own hands shaking slightly. "We were by the water so quickly, just beside where the doll was floating, but we couldn't see Taina. Not bubbles, not even a ripple. She was just - gone."

The woman's shoulders shook now. A strange sound came out of her. A throaty groan. Another. Gabrielle put the mug down, wrapped her hands round those of the woman. When she howled and sagged forwards, Gabrielle pulled her into her embrace, held her tightly, rocking her, saying nothing. Beside them, she became aware that the man was sobbing too. He had dropped his mug and his hands lay slack and open, empty of anything but air.

"I tried. I tried," he repeated, again and again. Gabrielle guessed he had sat there all night, in clothes which had dried slowly on him.

"She's still down there. In that cold water. Our little girl," the woman moaned, breaking out of Gabrielle's hold, turning towards her husband, demanding, "Why couldn't you find her?" She beat on him weakly, then suddenly grabbed hold of him and gathered him into her arms. They wept together.

Gabrielle stood up and backed away, wondering what would be best to do. She looked at the dark surface of the lake and knew. Walking over to the fire, she checked the soup. "Good girl," she said, and smiled reassuringly at the girl. "Just keep stirring it, 'kay? Oh, and watch my clothes. I don't want Plato nibbling at them." She pulled a face and broadened her smile to a grin as she pulled off her boots, then stripped down to her shirt and briefs, folding her jerkin and breeches neatly and laying them on the ground beside their pack. "I'll be back before you know it," she said to the hank of hair hanging over the girl's face. She watched two long-fingered hands knot themselves together. "Don't worry. I won't leave you alone."

The water was cold, even though it was near midsummer. Gabrielle shook her wet hand, watched droplets fall and make fat, sluggish ripples, studied the lake's surface looking for currents. Then she waded in, feeling an insidious pull deeper down. Under her feet, the slimy mud slithered. It was easy to see how the child had lost her footing and been dragged under. She kept her balance only with effort, and was relieved when she was able to begin swimming.

Gripping her knife firmly in one hand, she began her first dive. It was too dark to see anything down there, she quickly discovered. She bobbed up, shook the hair out of her eyes. The parents were both looking out towards her, she saw, their faces slack and bewildered. By the fire, the girl was sitting with her knees pulled up, her head hidden behind them. I'm sorry, kid. But this is the only thing I can think to do. Helplessly, she sent the thought in her direction, then seized her knife between her teeth and dived again.

Using her hands, she felt her way through the murk, making dive after dive, working her way grimly along the line of the reed bank. Twice she became entangled in weeds, which tightened round her legs and chest and had to be hacked away. The second time she was under long enough for red spots to float behind her closed eyes and a dreamy sense seize her that this way it would be easier, that this way she could find the peace others had sought for so desperately. That she had craved for so cruelly. Red filled Gabrielle's vision, the colour of sunset, was rimmed with black which rapidly closed in around it. But the memory of the girl and the parents, even of Plato, drove her to slash exhaustedly at the bonds which tied her and, just in time, free herself.

Surfacing, she pulled air into her aching chest, coughed up foul-tasting water, thought of making her way back to the bank. She suddenly felt eyes were on her, looked up and saw the parents' glassy stare, Plato grazing nose to tail with their solidly-built draught horse, the girl, sitting by the bank herself now, hair hiding her face as usual. Just once more. The thought floated across her mind. Suppose she's just there. Suppose you just missed her. Her head felt clearer, her limbs less heavy. Once more then. She took a deep breath, ducked down and almost at once felt something smooth and rounded, something cold and limp and clothed.

She had been a pretty child, Gabrielle saw as she surfaced for the last time, the body in her arms. Ash blond hair, blue eyes, a sturdy toddler with a rose bud mouth. She looked towards the parents, hitched the body so it was cradled against her, walked towards them. When she reached them, Gabrielle waited for the woman to reach out. Then she eased Taina into her mother's embrace and watched as she smoothed the pale hair, murmured her name, dropped tears onto the still face. When the father enfolded his wife in his arms, Gabrielle moved away, noticing that they were well into the long twilight. It was black under the trees, and the green of the grass was taking on a strange, pallid glow. She went back to the fire, slowly, feeling exhausted.

The girl had kept it burning well. Beside it, stretched over a log to keep it off the damp ground, a drying cloth hung. Gabrielle took it gratefully, rubbed herself over briskly, hung her undergarments close to the fire to dry, then got dressed in her outer clothes again. Sitting down on the log, she sighed with relief, and became aware of someone standing in front of her. The girl. She held out a mug, shyly. It was filled with soup, and Gabrielle drank it down, surprised to find how much better the warmth made her feel. "Thank you," she said, and then, impulsively, touched the girl's hand. "You were very good. I'm so proud of you," she said. She found she was smiling at the girl, naturally, with an ease she had almost forgotten. That warmed her too.

After she had made sure the girl had her share of the food, Gabrielle told her, "There's more to do here. Will you put yourself to bed?" She waited till the girl nodded, then carried mugs of soup over to the parents, who had carried the child to their wagon and laid her on its bed. She hunkered down near them, patiently waited for them to notice her. When they had drunk down their soup Gabrielle asked, hesitantly, "Do you want to take her home?"

They both stared at her blankly. Then the mother said, "No. We can't go back there. We can't."

"Where are you going, then?"

"To my sister. She lives 10 days travel east of here. My other children are already there." Her voice trailed off. She looked back at the wagon. "What shall we do?" She asked the question of no one in particular. "What shall we do?" she repeated, her voice rising.

"I don't know," the father said, his voice deep and thickened with grief.

When neither he nor the mother said anything more, Gabrielle suggested, softly, "You could bury her here. When the darkness goes, when summer comes back, it will be pretty here." I promise, she added silently, I'll find out what is causing this blight. I'll bring summer back. Even if I can't do more.

The father sucked in a deep breath. "Yes," he said, heavily, decisively. He placed his hands on his knees, levered himself up.

"Let me help," Gabrielle offered. She didn't wait for their answer, but walked over to where spades were tied to the sides of the wagon. Taking one, she waited for the father to select a place for the grave, then, with him, dug into the soil. When that was done, she went back to the mother and helped her wash the child, clothe her in her best dress, comb her hair free of snags. After the father laid Taina to rest, Gabrielle stood back, waiting for the parents to make their farewells before she filled the grave in for them, patting it smooth when she finished.

Full night had arrived, she realised. She looked towards the wagon and saw the parents had stretched out under it, lying in each other's arms. She hoped they had found sleep. The girl, at least, seemed deep in it. Gabrielle tweaked the blanket so it covered her shoulder and dropped a kiss on the peaceful face. She straightened, wincing as her muscles protested, feeling deathly tired but not sleepy at all. She sat by the lake instead, leaning against a log, listening to the water's stillness. The sky was overcast; there were no stars to reflect in its surface. Her eyes seemed to grow huge with the darkness. She felt as though her body were weighted down by its cold vastness. It was too easy to imagine they were all, the girl, the parents, Plato, at the bottom of the lake, drowned and at peace, with no need to move on. Not here, in the night, in this alien place, alone. Gabrielle became aware that her own tears had risen and were flowing. She did not bother to wipe them away, just hugged herself tight round the stone of her grief.

She must have dozed off, in the end. When she woke up, the sky to the east had turned a faint, pearly grey. There was a blanket draped over her shoulders and warmth at her back. She knew, without looking, that the girl was curled there, sleeping beside her. Something fragile and delicate unfolded within her. A tentative hope.

» Concluded in Part IV