D. A. Houdek

Deb Houdek Rule

Web designer - Science Fiction author - Civil War historian - Genealogy researcher

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Of All the Western Stars

by Deb Houdek Rule

Chapter 30

It was fully dark in the bedchamber when Lisette slipped quietly from the bed. Her husband didn’t stir as she got up. He snored with soft, sighing sounds, spent both from his exertions and the curious, troubling emotional upset that he’d shown. She’d laid tense and unmoving, feigning sleep until she was certain he’d not reach for her again.

Feeling on the floor in the darkness for her silk chemise, Lisette’s hand came upon Baby. Her fingers closed on the small featureless shape and a flood of memories came over her, memories of Ashur’s touch and the yearning her body had known for his. Picking up the flat device she thought how that night with Ashur now seemed as if it were a thousand years ago.

Finding the chemise, she slipped the cool silk over her head. Despite the cloaking darkness of the room Lisette treasured the protected feeling of being covered that it gave her. With Baby clutched in her grasp, she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. What an evil woman she was, the thought whispered insistently through her mind as she listened to the sounds of her sleeping husband. Not but one night ago she’d wrongly tried to give herself to another man, saved from her sin only by his honorable behavior. Now she’d committed as great a sin for as her husband took her, consummating their marriage as was right and proper, her thoughts turned insistently to the touch of another… of Ashur’s touch.

Shivering at the unbidden thoughts, Lisette felt her way across the bedchamber to the door, her bare feet finding their way slowly over the uneven oak planks. The heavy door creaked as she pulled it open. Geraint stirred and she froze, holding still until his breathing evened out and she knew he was again deep in sleep. Once in the hallway she eased the door closed, wincing as the latch snapped into place.

The corridor was drafty but the night was mild and her thin silk wrapping was enough to keep her warm. Down the length of the hallway she slowly crept, guiding herself with her hand on the wall. She walked a little stiffly, to the stairs and down to the lower level of the cottage. Not until she was in the parlor, with the door closed, did she light a candle, blinking as the golden glow filled the room.

Taking several cushions she settled down on the floor in a corner on a fleecy sheepskin rug. She curled herself up, hugging her knees and stared at the ring of light cast by the lone candle. How small it was next to the great light Ashur’s tiny torch had made, and how little light this candle cast. How curious it was, she considered, to suddenly see one’s home, the things she’d known all her life, as suddenly unfamiliar.

"Light," she whispered aloud, closing her eyes and imagining the room filling with bright, flame-free light at her command. The musty smell would no longer make her nose twitch and clever devices made servants unneeded. Those devices wouldn’t complain or refuse to do their work. They’d not run off like Bess and Rufus. She opened her eyes but the room was still the same, stale rushes were scattered across the floor, ashes stirred in the fireplace as drafts fluttered down the chimney. Cobwebs decorated the dusty ceiling beams, lit only by the single tallow candle in its tarnished brass holder.

Outside the big oak creaked in the night breezes and a low rumble of distant thunder came to her ears. Did Ashur hear that thunder now, sharing some joining with her through this sound even though they were now forever parted? Or was he the very cause of this thunder, making it with the roar of his spaceship as it took him unimaginably further yet from her?

Lisette sighed. She must stop thinking so. The marriage that had been a mockery before was now a true thing before the eyes of God and man. She shifted uncomfortably, her most private of areas sore from her husband’s love making. Would it have been so with Ashur, she couldn’t help but wonder? Geraint had not been unkind, only insistent in the way of men who do not recognize that a woman may say "no". He’d eased his way at first with slow, careful movements, but her own traitorous body refused to cooperate, stiffly resisting, making the pain of his entry worse. She’d not been able to call up the same surging passion that had filled her with hot fluids at Ashur’s touch. Then, as his own passion grew, Geraint had moved faster and faster, frightening her with his intensity and roughness. She’d had to bite her lip to keep from crying out, had to clutch the sheets to keep from striking at him, lying still and tense until he’d spent himself and collapsed, hot and sweaty, upon her.

This was what it was to be hence forth, she considered, a cool passionless act of duty, a way to get children and to service the needs of her husband. Lisette bit her lip as again Ashur’s ghost touch whispered over her flesh.

"Blast it all," she cursed quietly, leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes. The image of a lifetime of empty days and hollow years stretched out before her. How could she live with this loveless marriage after having known the embrace of the man she truly loved? Yet she could not have that man, not in a thousand years.

At least she had something of him, she consoled herself. Before she’d known Ashur’s touch, this would have been the greatest gift she could imagine, now… now it gave but a shadow of comfort. With her fingers finding their way easily along the edge, Lisette snapped open Baby and prepared to lose herself in Ashur’s world.

Ashur, though not lost, remained firmly trapped in Lisette’s world. The same low rumble of thunder that had met her ears had come to his, along with the night sounds of the Buckholt Forest. He’d found his ship readily enough, creeping carefully near it, weapon in hand. Warily, he’d scouted around, wishing he still had Baby with him to check for surveillance monitors, traps or alarms. Not only for that reason did he wish Baby was with him now, but also because he feared what harm might come to Lisette should Baby’s seemingly magical abilities become known to others. He’d put her in unnecessary danger, but she’d so wanted the little device he couldn’t deny her this small pleasure.

Now, crouched in the brush, Ashur remained as he had for hours, silent and unmoving as he watched the clearing by his ship. Still enshrouded in branches as he’d left it, the only movement he’d seen before darkness came was a squirrel who seemed to have taken up residence in it. He longed to abandon his caution and go up to his ship, explore it for signs that someone had been there, but he didn’t dare. He’d have only once chance and he dare not risk losing it with impatience.

He’d seen no sign of any other ship, but it could be shielded in any of several ways that would hide it from his sight. Surrendering to the idea of a long vigil, he stared into the darkness and gave himself up to hopeless thoughts of Lisette.

The thunder rumbled again. He hoped it wouldn’t rain.

Lisette gasped in delight. Naught but two days before this sight would have terrified her, sending her to a priest seeking succor against what was clearly a conjuring of the devil. Now she was not afraid, only startled. She’d discovered a new feature of Baby’s seemingly endless supply of wonderments. Before her stood the ghost image of Ashur. The image, a "hologram" Baby told her it was, moved and looked as real as if Ashur had stood in the room with her. Her mouth open in wonder, she stood. The holo-Ashur shimmered slightly as she set Baby down on the floor, but quickly stabilized.

With amazement on her face she circled the image. "Sound off," she rasped quickly when the holo-Ashur seemed about to speak, afraid the sound might wake Geraint. Hand trembling, she reached toward the apparition. A soft whimper escaped her as her hand passed through the insubstantial thing. This was all there was to be, all there ever was or ever could be, she realized. She could never truly have Ashur, only the phantom of his presence, never to touch or be touched. Anguish at the loss gnawed into her as deeply as had the death of Alyce.

A crash startled her, coming from the darkness beyond the narrow windows. Her heart pounded rapidly for a moment but the sound diminished. Naught but a deer or such come to eat of the untrimmed foliage by the house, she told herself, trying to calm down.

She turned again to the Ashur-image, moving slowly around it, savoring even the sight of that form she craved. The apparition moved, his lips moving in unheard talk and laughter. She watched, entranced, as he reached up to brush his long hair back. Her own hand reached, wanting to do the same. She circled around him, her hands playing over the image, not quite trying to touch it. A smile grew on her lips as the holo-Ashur turned and looked directly into her eyes.

"Oh, Ashur," she breathed.

Bang! She leaped and spun. The door to the parlor stood open where it had slammed into the wall. Filling the doorway stood Geraint. Lisette saw the shock in his too-bright eyes as he stared at the ghost figure about whom his wife moved in a slow, sensuous dance.

"Baby, off!" she snapped.

The specter dissolved in a sparkle of light. Baby’s screen obediently darkened into obscurity. Lisette glanced frantically around. The room had returned to its sixteenth century normality save for the enigmatic shape of Baby, hidden in the deep shadows of the corner.

"Lisette…" Geraint began, his voice hoarse. He leaned heavily against the doorposts as if very tired, then pushed himself upright and lurched into the room. His eyes never left the place the ghostly figure had stood.

"What is it, milord husband?" Lisette asked sweetly, striving to keep her voice low and even. In her chest her heart thudded so loudly she thought it might burst.

Geraint pointed, shaking his finger wildly. "Demon spirits! That foreign man… Ashur… a demon conjured up from Hell," he cried. He spun toward Lisette, looking at her for the first time. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. His eyes were wide and frenzied. Lisette backed away, into the corner. "And you," his voice rose in pitch, "you’re the witch who conjured him." He came closer and Lisette cringed down toward the floor, away from him.

"What evil acts do you do for him?" Geraint demanded. "Do you give your body to him in unspeakable acts? What price your soul?" He loomed over her. "Witches burn."

Lisette whirled. In one motion she seized Baby’s hard shape, spun and brought it down on the side of her husband’s head.

Geraint crumpled, blood pouring from the wound in his temple. He looked up at her imploringly. "I meant only to pray with you, to save you, my beloved wife," he whispered before his eyes closed and he slumped to the floor.

Ashur woke with a start. His heart thumped and his senses all stood suddenly at battle stations. What was wrong? Were the others here? Though he peered as hard as he could, he could see nothing in the blackness. Holding still, Ashur listened closely but only the expected sounds of the night came to his ears. Ashur swallowed hard. Nothing. He could sense nothing wrong, nothing that could have filled him with such sudden unease.

Above him, in the canopy of trees, the patter of rain began, filtering its way down through the leaves to soak him, leaving him wet and miserable. He shifted, leaned against his tree and wondered why this frightful worry about Lisette had suddenly filled him.

"Geraint? Geraint?" Lisette repeated over and over. Frantically she bent her ear to his chest and was relieved to hear his heart beating. Her hand brushed his forehead and she stopped. Laying her hand on his forehead she breathed hard. He was burning up. Her blow had not done this. Her husband was ill. She remembered his eyes that seemed too bright, the headache…

Lisette rocked back on her heels, terror clutching her. Merciful God, no! It couldn’t be the same illness as had taken dear little Alyce. She pulled his limp shape onto her lap, cradling his head.

What could she do? She couldn’t let him die, not the way Alyce had. She had to find a doctor… or get his mother, Lady Cicely, to bring her healing skills. But the Lady had said she’d have not been able to save Alyce.

"Oh, God, God, what can I do?" she cried aloud. If Geraint died…

She stopped.

If Geraint died, she’d be free. She’d be a widow, like Agnes, mistress of her own fate, free to have Ashur in an honorable way, free to…

Lisette forcibly banished the thought. How could she even think so? Geraint was her husband.

An inspiration came to her. "Baby," she called. "On." What was the command she wanted? Oh, yes, "Scan Geraint," she ordered the little device, "What is wrong with him?"

Baby beeped reassuringly for a few moments before her pleasant voice announced, "He has typhus. It is easily curable. Administer a SR-9 injection."

Easily curable, Lisette thought with dismay. Alyce could have been saved had she only followed her heart to Ashur as she’d followed a star to him. How different things might have been.

Geraint moaned. Hastily Lisette pressed her hand to the wound she’d made with Baby. It was not bleeding badly. It was the typhus that would kill him, not her own hand. Easily curable. But not by her. What was an SR-9 and what was an injection?

Easing Geraint’s head onto a cushion she asked Baby to explain those things to her as she covered her husband with the fleece rug. Though his head was hot he shivered. Moving to the fireplace, as Baby spoke on, Lisette began laying in a fire, cursing that lazy Rufus and slovenly Bess as she did. The fireplace was heaped with ashes and charred wood. In the woodbox were only scraps and one small log.

She thought of running over to the servant’s cottage but dismissed the idea. To bring in others she’d have to silence Baby and shut her away, and she needed her now. Quickly she kindled a small fire then hurried back to Geraint’s side.

His eyes opened, staring up at her in confusion. At hearing the disembodied voice he thrashed around wildly for a moment, between coughs crying out about demons and spirits. Lisette murmured to him soothingly, trying to hold him still, while Baby chatted happily about something called catalyst chemistry, rickettsia prowazeki organisms and the manufacture of ultra-biotics. Whimpering that his head hurt, Geraint drifted into sleep or unconsciousness, Lisette wasn’t sure which.

No doubt his head hurt from her blow, she thought, but that was how Alyce’s illness had begun as well, with a headache, aching limbs and a cough. This "typhus" must be the same thing that had killed Alyce. Lisette jerked upright as the sudden fear struck her that there might be an epidemic spreading through her Houghton. Visions of Alyce lying dead swam through her head as she felt Geraint’s fevered brow. Then came another vision, that of Ashur riding to her aid, riding to save her just a bit too late.

"Baby stop," she commanded. "I don’t have any of those things and don’t understand them. I have some willow bark and leeks. I have a piece of quartz for drawing away fever. I can summon a surgeon to bleed him. Will any of these things cure him?"

Baby was silent an unusually long amount of time. Lisette glanced at the device wildly, wishing that it had a face on which she could read an expression, to know if the little machine was preparing to offer hope or despair.

"No," Baby said and Lisette imagined hearing sympathy in the voice. Baby allowed that the willow might help with the pain and fever a little, then launched into a discussion of the dangers and foolhardiness of bleeding a patient. Again Lisette silenced her. She didn’t need to hear again how barbarous her world was, how wrong they were about everything they held true.

She rocked back on her heels, still stroking her husband’s forehead. He was going to die and there was not a thing she or anyone else on this world, or in this time, could do about it. There was but one hope and he’d ridden away from her, gone to return to the stars. The big oak groaned again as a rush of wind swept through its stiff, old branches. A flash of lightning lit the bent branches outside the window. The thunder rumbled soon after and Lisette thought of the things she had learned from Ashur’s world about the speeds of sound and light. The storm was very near. It was to Ashur’s world she must go, to find the man she wanted but could not have, to save the husband she had but did not want.