Kiema sat at the library once again, pouring over pages in books about possession on the right hand of her and a stack of other books, some laying open about fevers and illnesses to her left. The smaller pile further down was the few tombs she had gathered from several different archives that had mentioned, even in brief, the time of the Sedlaral whether in poem or prose, fact or fiction.
What she needed most, though, was Ewan back in town so she could discuss the possibilities with him and explore his experience. The very thought that what she had done was compared in a poem to drinking a person?s soul made her ill. Bile rose in her throat again at the thought. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the table to close her eyes and still mind while she soothed the gurgling sickness of her stomach.
When she lifted her head again, feeling more at ease, Kiema started to close up the books and put them aside to view again another time. She had researched all she could at this point without Ewan?s assistance. There were other reasons he had to return and soon, but she would not dwell on the misfortune of Storm?s heart. Kiema felt a strange sense of pity for her and some guilt.
It was songs of minstrels and bards, all manner of musicians, that made people believe that love was worth every sacrifice to self. That if one did not give everything they had for another then they did not love enough. ?Ridiculous,? Kiema muttered. ?The concept of spiritual metaphor completely lost upon souls these days,? she grumbled and stacked the books at the end of the table.
?Pardon?? a passerby stopped in confusion that she might have been speaking to him.
Kiema turned to apologize for the error and stopped short. Though she could not feel or sense anything of him, the manner of attire and the look of him was unmistakable. ?Have we not met before??
He smiled and bowed, ?I think perhaps we have.? Here, in Rhydin, in the library, was merchant man she had run into in Seansloe that day.
The alarms sounded in her head as much as a clamor of bells on holy days. In casual offer of a departing nod, she bid him a pleasant day and left to make her way in unhurried grace to stop by the Inn on her way to the manor. She could not trust safety at the Guild Hall. There was something wrong and its sensation crept up her spine and sent her flesh to crawling like an unshakable chill.
What she needed most, though, was Ewan back in town so she could discuss the possibilities with him and explore his experience. The very thought that what she had done was compared in a poem to drinking a person?s soul made her ill. Bile rose in her throat again at the thought. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the table to close her eyes and still mind while she soothed the gurgling sickness of her stomach.
When she lifted her head again, feeling more at ease, Kiema started to close up the books and put them aside to view again another time. She had researched all she could at this point without Ewan?s assistance. There were other reasons he had to return and soon, but she would not dwell on the misfortune of Storm?s heart. Kiema felt a strange sense of pity for her and some guilt.
It was songs of minstrels and bards, all manner of musicians, that made people believe that love was worth every sacrifice to self. That if one did not give everything they had for another then they did not love enough. ?Ridiculous,? Kiema muttered. ?The concept of spiritual metaphor completely lost upon souls these days,? she grumbled and stacked the books at the end of the table.
?Pardon?? a passerby stopped in confusion that she might have been speaking to him.
Kiema turned to apologize for the error and stopped short. Though she could not feel or sense anything of him, the manner of attire and the look of him was unmistakable. ?Have we not met before??
He smiled and bowed, ?I think perhaps we have.? Here, in Rhydin, in the library, was merchant man she had run into in Seansloe that day.
The alarms sounded in her head as much as a clamor of bells on holy days. In casual offer of a departing nod, she bid him a pleasant day and left to make her way in unhurried grace to stop by the Inn on her way to the manor. She could not trust safety at the Guild Hall. There was something wrong and its sensation crept up her spine and sent her flesh to crawling like an unshakable chill.