Jovan's Gaze. Aaron Ph.D. Dov
no one, but because she stubbornly awaiting the return of her fisherman uncle, who did not return from the war. Instead, a father she barely knew returned to stay in the village. Erik took me in soon afterward.
I spent much of those first few weeks as most people did. I wallowed in a morass of pity and sadness. I awaited the end. My injuries were slight, but like most royal guards, I had been sent out to fight, and then abandoned by a cowardly commander who felt that his own Lordship title, earned only two days previous when his father perished in battle, was worth more than his men. It was a small comfort to survivors like myself that our fearful commander had died in the retreat, trampled by an enemy that was faster than he. Those of us fortunate enough to walk out of that terrible battle had been granted extended leave, and told to return to duty when we felt we could.
Soon afterward, word came of the changes around us. I watched the messengers of the royal court thunder into the village on their proud horses. At first, they came with reassuring news; Esis and Krona had signed a peace treaty, in order to focus their energies on the magic plagues which seemed to be sweeping the lands of both monarchs. The king and his greatest advisers were working tirelessly to end the plagues, fear not. The terrible Lord had sent his mages to work alongside our own. A cure would soon come. Pray for your king, that his wisdom would see us safe.
Then the messengers came less frequently, their words less reassuring. It was perhaps two months after the treaty was signed that the first word of an exodus began to reach us. Rumors grew, and then one day a messenger arrived. He was haggard, his cloths tattered. He did not carry the great flag of the kingdom with him, fluttering in the breeze. He gathered all the villagers and refugees about him, and read a simple proclamation; our great king, still suffering from the sudden passing of his beloved wife, had ordered his kingdom abandoned. All subjects wishing to follow him to a forlorn hope in the east were to wait until the day after the moon was next full in the sky, and then began moving eastward.
One week later, our kingdom began to empty. Krona likewise spilled out its people, like blood from a great wound. Erik stayed because Jeannine would not leave, would not believe that her uncle was not returning. I stayed as well, if only because I trusted the judgment of my old teacher, Erik, over the uncertainty of the endless desert in the east.
Now Clearlake was a quiet place once more. The villagers and refugees made do with what they had, what we had. We settled into a routine of survival. We gathered what we could, helped each other however we could, and survived. Slowly, mere survival was slowly making way for life, real life. It was now fifteen years since the exodus, and our lives had begun to return to some semblance of normality. Everyone had their lot in life, filling some need within the village. Erik was the villager's protector, and a good carpenter besides. I ran messages between Clearlake and the other villages. Jeannine helped out at the mill, producing flower for the village. Others fished. Gern, an old soldier, ran a tavern where he sold strong drink made in his cellar.
There was life here, and as the rising sun cast our long shadows into the village, I knew that it was time to really start to live it. It was time to stay home. It was time to make a life.
***
Her arms wrapped around me, the warmth in her smooth skin such a contrast to my own cold flesh. Jeannine's eyes twinkled as they always did, and I found myself looking as deep into them as I could. So much of the world seemed better, after gazing into the hazel eyes which matched her shoulder-length hair. Her slight features, so untouched by the war and strife which surrounded her, reacted to my presence with a delight which I never truly understood. Why me? I did not ask that aloud, and certainly not now, as she embraced me.
"I missed you," she whispered in my ear, as she held me.
Her eyes had reached out to me from the edge of the village, where she had spotted us coming over a hill. Now she had me in her arms. Her embrace was not forceful, not desperate. I always returned, and she always expected me back, even if I was sometimes late.
She kissed me lightly on the cheek. Her lips were soft and wet, and seemed to melt through my defenses. As it had been the first day I saw her, fifteen years ago, so it was now; I was helpless before her. It was not the blind wonder of a first love, but the understanding that there was simply none but her. She was an anchor, and there were times when I might have been tempted to seek a home elsewhere, were it not for her.
I set down my pack and returned her embrace. Her body pressed against me, every soft curve remembered. Her cheek was against my own, her soft skin the touch of a spirit, blessing me with each slight contact. She was my height, slightly figured, lithe and graceful. She moved with more grace than the dancers of the royal court, and yet she had a fierce heart, and a resolve set in stone. Perhaps that was why she stayed with me.
"It is good to be back," I said, holding her tightly, as though she were a lifeline. Perhaps she was. I would certainly need her to be, if I were to stay in the village for months on end.
"I found him," Erik called out from behind me.
He dropped his pack just in time for Jeannine to embrace him.
"Hello, daughter," he said with a laugh.
He had always called her that, daughter. No pet names, nothing affectionate to the ear. He had sent her to live with his brother after his wife died, and the intervening years of service had kept him from this village for most of her life. Fifteen years after returning to Clearlake to collect her, he still called her "daughter". Still, he loved her dearly, and she him, even if his words had not yet caught up to his heart.
"He decided to stick around Meekwood," Erik said in a mock-whisper, "and spend some time with his mistress. You understand, of course."
Jeannine gave him a glare of feigned annoyance, which quickly beat down Erik's steady face and left him laughing his deep, loud laugh. She hugged him again, her slight body hanging off his massive frame as though she were still a child, and not a woman of thirty. He held her gently, his massive hands upon her back. He smiled at her, winking, before quickly sending a half-scowling glance my way. He was lying for me, giving me a way out, deflecting. I nodded.
As I slung my pack upon my shoulder, Erik released Jeannine and took up his own bag. Jeannine took his sword from him, holding its massive weight in both hands. Most people could not lift his sword, but Jeannine was no frail daisy in the fields. She set it upon her right shoulder, as Erik often did when he strode about the village.
"How long are you back for?" she asked of me, still holding onto Erik's waist as we walked toward the village. "The children are putting on a play for us next week."
"Oh, I think he will be around for that," Erik said knowingly. "In fact, you can go ahead and put away his pack for a long while."
Her eyes went wide, the sun reflecting in them. They seemed like jewels, priceless and sparkling. They were that, indeed. She was both those thing.
"Really?" she asked him. She turned to me. "Really? You're staying?"
I nodded. "I am staying."
Erik squeezed her to his side, kissing her on the head. "I need help this winter. I am way too old to be climbing up on roofs. Besides, I could use the company."
"So you're staying? Really?" she asked again, as though she did not really believe me. Her eyes reached out to me, pleading.
I grinned, a forced twisting of my mood, which was still grim in spite of Jeannine's embrace. "Really."
***
"Go!"
Jeannine's voice rang out in the cold air, the furious tapping of the rain not doing nearly enough to dull the sharp sound of her rebuke. The water poured down in torrents, the weight of it crushing me almost as much as Jeannine's glare. I was soaked through, and yet I stood there. I said nothing. I did not move, as though to do so would be to slip and plummet from a high precipice.
The