improved much over the years.
Chapter Seventeen
Lida coughed weakly and wiped away some small flecks of blood from her lips with a clean cloth. Casca watched her with worry playing at the edge of his mind. The damned coughing wouldn't go away. For the last year it had hung on and Lida had grown weaker with each day. At night the coughing was at its worst when in her sleep it came in uncontrollable spasms that wracked her thin body, leaving her a little more weary and tired with each dawn. Every cough was a lance in Casca's heart. He had seen the wasting sickness before. There were some who had recovered from it, and he clung to this thin ray of hope, for it was all he had.
But the hope was fading now that a new winter was coming, and in his heart he knew that she could not last through the cold, gusty winds that came in from the frozen sea. He had tried to talk her into letting him take her south someplace, where the sun never faded. He had heard that warmth and sun were good for those who suffered from the wasting sickness and consuming cough. But Lida refused, her clear, sightless eyes watching him. She knew that the healing sun was too late to do her any good and that if she must die, then she wanted to do it in this place, in the home of her people where she and her man had lived and loved all these years. She was content and worried only about Casca. Her weave had been told and soon the weavers would cut her thread of life. There was no denying the truth.
As of late her biggest complaint was that she had to nag and threaten Casca into making love to her. He thought it would take away from her remaining strength. But she needed him and would not do without the closeness of him. When they loved he was as gentle as was imaginable a man could be. With her he was the most caring and gentle of men, and several times she had to chew him out to keep him from being too gentle with her.
As the leaves began to turn in the forests the day came when she knew that they could take no more pleasure from each other's bodies, although the closeness was still there. It was a closeness now of feelings that transcended mere sex. By just a touch of his hand on her cheek he gave her more love than she had ever dreamed possible. He let no one else tend her. He washed her wasting body and coaxed her into taking tiny sips of broth when she had no appetite. And he too waited. He waited for the crudest event of his long existence to take place. He wandered through the Hall of the hold, lost to himself, and old Glam would shake his shaggy gray head in sadness.
Glam knew he was witnessing one of the great loves of all time, a love that the bards would sing of for centuries to come. The old barbarian knew that something was taking place that he could only remotely identify with. True, he loved his woman, but he knew that one day he would join her in the great Hall of Odin. He could not fathom the terrible sadness that his friend felt in being left behind forever. Glam knew that for Casca life was a torment. True, there were times when they knew pleasure and enjoyed the things all men do. But it is not natural for a man to go on and on without cease. Everything in creation must die so the new can be born. Glam stroked his gray beard and walked heavily to his rooms. All must die so that the new can be born… all but Casca.
Casca sat beside Lida's bed listening to the shallow breathing, holding her hand gently in his own scarred paw. Her skin still had that clear, luminescent quality to it that it had when they'd first met. Her hair was the same pale color of moonlight, and the love he felt was as sharp as a sword in his heart. Another world was dying and he couldn't go with her. Unnoticed tears ran from his eyes to lose themselves in his beard. She was beautiful, as only those few who are blessed with timeless love and grace can be. The rages of time that claimed most had kept their distance from her. Her face was still smooth and unlined and, until the wasting sickness settled on her, she had had the walk and grace of a young girl. But she also had the wisdom of age.
She gave a tremor, and for a moment tightened then released her grip on Casca's hand. She tightened her grip once more, as if to make sure he was still there.
Glam stuck his gray and balding head in the door and looked from Lida to Casca. Then silently he left, leaving them to what he knew would be their last moments together. Casca used his free hand to stroke her hair, feeling its fineness between his own rough fingers.
Lida stirred and took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then released it slowly.
Her eyelids opened. The milky-clear, sightless orbs moved from left to right, then stopped to face Casca directly. She raised her hand to touch his face, running her finger along the hairline scar. She spoke: 'You never did tell me how you received this one.' For just a second he could have sworn her eyes focused on him and that she could see. Her voice dropped to an even softer note. 'I can see you. You haven't changed. You're still the same as when we married.' She smiled gently. 'It has been for me the best of all possible existences and I thank you for it. I'm only sorry that I have to leave you now. I can hear others calling me from the distance, and I know that I can't wait much longer.'
She took another deeper breath, with the hint of a shudder in it. She raised her head from the pillow. 'I love you now and always. We will meet again and again. You can never really lose me, whether in this world or the next. I love you now and I will love you a thousand years from now.' She raised her face to him and drew his head to her and kissed him long and sweetly. As a wife and a lover, she kissed him. And in that kiss, she gave him her last breath, which he breathed in and held inside as her body went limp and the spirit left her to join those distant voices that called her.
Casca laid her back on the pillow and rose. She had said, I love you now and I will love you a thousand years from now. He had once used those very words in a letter to a woman he'd loved and had to leave.
He rose and went to the window. Dawn was breaking red and gold. Another winter was coming. From the north, high in the clear sky, he saw a flight of wild swans heading to the south, sailing the skies with strong, clean sweeps of their wings. Rising from the woods near the hold, he saw another single, graceful bird rise up to join them. A female! The swan circled over the hold once, made one long, lonely cry, and merged with the flock to disappear in the distance. Casca cried, 'Are those the voices that called you?' He stood alone in the beginning light of day. Tears ran in rivers down his face as he looked after the disappearing birds and cried out. The people below in the yard who were waiting, and even those in the nearby village, heard his anguish and knew she was gone. 'Lida-a-a-a,…a thousand years…'
