Susan Delgado

As she walks the long road back from the Coos-witch's house toward Hambry, Susan Delgado thinks that she has never in all her life had such a strange and disturbing night. All the joy and wonder of before, when she'd dashed along under the silver light of the Kissing Moon, is so lost as to be almost entirely forgotten, and her mind is distracted by what lies ahead of her in a few months, when Reaping comes.

Not so distracted as to fail to hear the distant sound of hoofbeats approaching on the road behind her, however. Susan dares not hesitate, not with the dangers that have come to the land of late, and she dashes from the road into the nearest copse of trees without so much as pausing for a second thought.

She comes on the strange door almost before realizing it, and darts through it, thinking only to seek shelter inside whatever roadside hut this is. It hangs nearly closed in the air behind her as she realizes that it's no sort of building at all, but something far stranger. Susan stares in renewed wonder at the forested glade scattered with pools of still water.

With a quick, nervous look over her shoulder at the door to reassure herself it hasn't vanished, she drifts toward one of them, sinking down on its shore to brush her fingers against the surface.

In the next instant she is falling, falling at dizzying speed into the pool as the world whirls around her.

The early-season snow's melted, and the weather's warmed back up enough that Susan's comfortable outdoors with naught more than a light jacket. Which is just as well, may it do ya, since she's established herself down on the edge of the grassy space where Susannah'd first taught her to throw the 'Riza plates, her targets a series of hay-bales, posts, and pumpkins at the other side.

Her hair's braided down her back out of the way, the plate-bag's slung at her hip, and her focus is something fiercely intent, fog-gray eyes blazing with determination. Susan's practicing hard and with a will on this fine day before the year turns in truth, oh aye.

There are days, say true, when restlessness runs deep in her blood. If she were to be at home, it's at times like these when she'd saddle one of her da's horses and take a long ride on the Drop, oh aye, but here at the end of the worlds it's not to be.

Instead, Susan Delgado rises with the sun and comes to the stables that are her charge, to care for the horses and other creatures there, and tells herself it's enough and more then.

(Mayhap it is, and mayhap it isn't. Ka's a fickle thing, say true.)

The darkness presses close, weighing thick and heavy. There isn't anything natural about it; what surrounds her now is a choking blackness that smothers the mind and heart, urging a girl to be good, stop causing trouble, just quit fighting, give up--

(but I have promises to keep)

--give in, let go, lie down, rest for a little while, or hey, maybe even forever --

(and miles to go before I sleep)

But deep down within, where it matters most, she's stubborn, and that strong and gritty part of her (like biting on tinfoil) resists anyway.

Somewhere in the fathomless distance, there's a spark.

(will I lay me? will I stay me? bless this camp with fire)

* * * * * * * * *

When Rose opens her eyes, she's lying in warm sunlight on the bright green grass of a gentle slope. The little stream at the base of the hill that's flowing past her feet seems almost to laugh to itself as it goes on its merry way; it's such a happy and musical sound that it takes her a second or two to realize it's not the only music she's hearing.

"Come-come-commala
Rice come-a-falla--"

At first glance, the young woman in the deep rose-colored chiton almost looks as though she's part of a picture. She's standing at what's left of an arched white-marble window in a fallen temple near the crest of the hill, looking down the slope at Rose--

"Down come-a rivva
Oriza we kivva
Rice be a green-o
See what we seen-o

-- and oh, but the smile on Susan Delgado's face as she sings is very nearly as bright as the golden fall of her hair.

"Come-come-commala!"

"Susan! You're--" Rose barely has time to get to her feet before the other girl comes running down the hill and catches her close in a quick embrace.

"Aye, I'm well," Susan laughs, letting go and smiling at her. "And so yet are thee, but we've little time to spend, do'ee ken?" She doesn't wait for an answer, beckoning to her to follow as she starts back up the hill.

Rose falls silently in beside her, and Susan glances sideways at her as they walk.

"Penny for them, dimmy-da."

"I was just kind of wondering if any of this was real," Rose says, and Susan laughs.

"Oh aye, it's real-- I'm true, and so are you, Rosie Real," she tells her. "All manner of things are real, when ye're betwixt and between. Stories and songs, too -- do'ee know the one I were singing before?"

Rose shakes her head.

"It's the commala," Susan explains. "The Rice Song. The part I were singing's to honor the Lady Oriza, she who's the Lady of the Plate." She shakes her hair back over her bare shoulder as she looks up the hill to check the distance to the top, revealing the golden gleam of a hammered-metal band high on her arm as she does.

"Ye'd have liked her, I wot."

"Why's that?"

"Because she's strong, as are thee," Fog-gray eyes meet hers, and hold. "But ye'll have to be stronger yet before all's done, say true."

Susan pulls the armlet off and turns it around and around in her hands as they walk, almost absently.

"There's a story they tell of Oriza, and how she bested Gray Dick. Oh, he were a scoundrel and a murderous one, no doubt of it. He'd killed Oriza's own da, Lord Grenfell, and boasted of it, and the lady swore she'd have vengeance on him for it."

The metal in her hands is of a silvery sheen now instead of the gold, and flatter as well, almost as though Susan's shaping it with her fingers as she shapes the tale itself.

"She bade him come and sit down with her at a feast so as to have peace between them, and to prove her good intentions, as 'twere, she said they should both leave their weapons at the door of the castle-- and even dine naked, showing that they'd naught to hide." Susan rolls her eyes. "Old Gray Dick, he weren't chary of the idea at all, or mayhap it were just the thought of Oriza with nary a stitch of clothing that drew him."

Rose snorts, and Susan flashes a bright smile at her.

"The more fool he, though. They toasted each other, and then the Lady stood and took her plate in her hands." She lifts the armlet as though to demonstrate, only it's not a hollow gold ring any longer; instead, Susan's holding a gleaming metal plate with a razor-sharp edge to it. "And oh, but she smiled, and then she let it fly--"

The plate leaves Susan Delgado's hands and goes flying through the air with an eerie whistling keen, slicing toward one of the temple's broken stone columns as Susan cries aloud--

"ORIZA!"

--toward, and then through.

Susan turns back to Rose with a smile.

"His haughty heart had undone him, just as Lady Oriza had told her maid 'twould, and just as she herself undid his head from his body." She reaches out and takes Rose's hands, holding fast, and her smile fades slightly.

"Oh, I wish it were different, but there's no time--" Susan takes a step closer, looking deep into Rose's eyes. "Not now, for thee must go, and go quick. But remember--"

"Susan, what--"

"-- just remember, and then I'll see thee again--"

There's no warning before the shove that sends her flying.

It's one of those rare late-autumn days when it's chill out, but not yet bitterly cold.

Susan's decided to take advantage of this by spending part of the afternoon out in the sun. To this end, she's spread out a blanket over the grass near the lake and sat down there.

It seemed a good idea, and she'd meant to watch the birds flying over the water for just a little while-- but oh, she's growing more and more tired of late--

(a place where I could rest)

--and now, Susan is curled up on the blanket, with a corner of it pulled over her to shield her from the breeze off the water, fast asleep.

Once again, Susan has taken refuge from her worries and from her growing restlessness in stable-work -- both those tasks which are needed and those which are perhaps less necessary, say true.

The stalls are clean, the stock groomed and tended, and the tack seen to. Susan's sitting at the workbench writing in the ledger that contains the daily records -- feed used and hay stored, all the small details that are needed for a properly-run stable.

As she reaches up to replace the record, her glance falls on a small pink pony-- itself standing at the end of the shelf, almost as if to guard the books found there. A sudden, mischievous smile appears, and Susan quickly gets up and leaves the stable.

When she returns, she's carrying a scrap of paper from the Bar, of the sort that she uses for translation work when she's uncertain of the common lettering. Susan resumes her seat and takes down another ledger-- this one the stockline record.

With painstaking care, she adds another line, and blows on the ink to dry it before replacing this ledger on the shelf as well.

Smiling brightly now, Susan leaves the stable for the bar -- but not without giving the little pony a gentle pat on the head, first.

After her da' had died--

(murdered he were murdered like Meg were murdered)

--Susan had found refuge in the stables and in riding, caring for Pylon and Felicia. Familiar ground, familiar tasks, and necessary ones as well-- and it had been a comfort, say true, for she'd felt close to him there and had eventually found some measure of peace.

(no peace here no peace to speak of only more killing and more sorrow)

It's not the same now, here in the faint light of false dawn, and Susan's steps as she goes toward the Milliways stables are slow and heavy. Meg had never been fond of horses. Anthy had--

(not dead Anthy's not dead you're like the roses aren't you?)

--and they'd gone riding together, just the afternoon before.

Before everything.

(the black rose - did'ee have to? no - I was angry - that's all)

She moves through her work silently, almost mechanically. Occasionally, there's a reassuring murmur to an unsettled mount as she goes through the morning's routine, turning horse after horse out to pasture, but it's the only sound she makes.

She can barely look at Boukephalos, much less Kiseki. She has no desire to ride.

When everything is done, Susan leaves the stable and starts back toward the bar-- but she comes to a halt in front of the greenhouse.

(you got Anthy to use a weapon? I've been trying to get her to learn one for ages)

Susan closes her eyes. It's quiet. There's nothing left here. The roses are gone; Anthy's in the cells; Meg's dancing is done.

(commala come come - left her baby lonely)

There's nothing inside for her that she needs to see. She knows what it would look like, anyway.

(blood in the dust in the dirt on the road)

Susan turns, stumbling a little, and walks aimlessly away from the greenhouse, from the stables, from the bar itself. Eventually, she disappears down one of the trails into the forest.

(no peace but the clearing)

It's morning-- early still, although not quite dawn. There'd been no word when she'd gone out.

She's finished her stable-work now, and come back to the bar. There's still no word from the angel, and Susan's worried.

Biting her lip, she heads to Bernard and Nymphadora's flat, and knocks on the door.