KissAndHellHer lips tasted like maple sugar. Her tanned skin smelled like the pine needles at dawn. Brown mottled hair - like the plumage of a hawk - framed her delicate features. Of all the wonders Malachi had experienced during his first day at Faiella University, the young woman now kissing him might have been the most surprising. As he’d exited the metaphysical building, she’d ambushed him like a stalking nyssa and forcibly pinned him against a stone pillar. With a veiled strength that matched - if not surpassed his own - she’d embraced him, crushing his textbooks between their bodies. Strong fingers snaked through his dark hair, using it like a leash. Her mouth continued to press against his much for much longer than he’d expected, now threatening to steal his breath.But despite its fiery intensity, the kiss lacked passion somehow; its fervor illusionary. He noticed her dark mocha eyes watching something over his shoulder with fawnlike attentiveness -the crowd’s reflection in a window, perhaps. Just before his lungs began to burn, the woman released him and wiped her smiling lips with the back of her hand. She waggled her hers at him and began to walk away. “Danke!” Malachi struggled when grabbed, though his reactions were far less fierce than they might be because of his surprise and how nice she smelled. But that was only for a split second. Then he tried to push her away and was shocked to find her still holding him in place. Then he struggled, but still not hard enough to seriously hurt her - she was a woman after all. When she released him, Malachi dropped his forgotten textbooks and just stared for a moment, sputtering. "Now wait just a minute," he finally spat out, his red cheeks darkening. "What was that all about? That ain't no way for a lady to behave!" “Entschuldigung?” the woman said, turning on her heel. A involuntary smile touched her lips. “You speak Thari, ja? Forgive. Still think in Eregnor.” She blinked owlishly, “Forgive for kiss, ja? Needed. . .” She put her index finger in her mouth, straining for the word. It came to her in an excited flash. “Disguise! I need to pretend you boyfriend. Now not need.” The light in her eyes began to dance. “Nice kiss though. Danke.” "Wait, what?" Malachi felt like something important had just shot past him. He was not a slow thinker, though many make the mistake of believing that. But he was a deliberate and careful thinker. More importantly, his mental gears were caught somewhere between scandal, surprise and intrigue. "You need to..." his voice trailed off as his brain caught up to events. He looked up and back to try to see what the amazingly strong girl was looking at. He looked back at her, comprehension dawning. "Yes, Ma'am, it was at that. I reckon I'm glad I could help. Are you in some sort of trouble?" He gamely tried to ignore his hours of careful notes on Amber history which were even then whipping away in the wind behind her, or getting stuck in thornbushes all down the lane. "Is someone bothering you?" The girl smiled dismissively and turned to watch Malachi’s impromptu tickertape parade. She began to thread her hands in the air, as if passing a shuttle through a loom. Malachi noticed dark stains like spilled ink form beneath her brown eyes. Her hair appeared like hawk’s feathers as they caught an warm thermal. As he looked on, the wind abruptly changed directions and several tiny zephyrs began to pluck and pull at the wayward pages. Dust and leaves picked up in the air currents faintly outlined feminine shapes that danced and played. After collecting all the pages, these transparent shapes congregated around the girl and piled the notes in front of her. When her hands stop moving, the living zephyrs dissipated like smoke. She bent down to collect his papers and offered them to him. “I trouble you enough.” He took the papers without comment and tucks them safely under his arm. "Uh...no trouble at all, Miss...? I'm afraid I didn't catch your name." "If you'll pardon my saying so, it didn't seem like something so little to me. Still, I suppose that's your business, Ma'am and not mine. But, may I walk you to your next class all the same? It would be no trouble." Malachi was not being merely friendly. His chivalry had been stirred and he intended to see that this unusual lady got safely to her destination. Her head moved from side to side with avian inquisitiveness. Finally, she gave a sharp nod and firmly took his arm, as if claiming it as her own. “Da. You walk.” Brilliant smile shone again. “You remind of Úlfhéðinn. Have Hróðvitnir in eye.” A musical laugh burbled up as she plucked a long strand of wolf fur from his vest. “And on coat!” "Ah, that's Radolf, my friend...no...that's from the weir who lives downstairs at my boarding house. They're all shedding around this time of year." "Umm...is a 'rothvitner' what you call a wolf, Swanild?" “Ja,” Swanild said, pleased. “‘Famous wolf.’ Like Fenrir. Big. Very big.” She cocked her head with a fluid motion, “You friend with Weir? They old people. Family fought beside them during the war against the Usurper Corwin. Very sad to see them driven out like dogs.” She hugged his arm, “But now are back and Corwin gone. This I like.” Malachi escorted Swanhild, keeping a weather eye out for trouble. He didn’t know it, but he looked at all nearby male students with a grim suspicion as they passed. There were a few groups of young men that take special notice of the pair as they make their way toward the Social Sciences building. Then again, it could have just been coincidence. "I, uh...me, too," he says, blushing. "'Friends' might be stretching the truth more than it will bear. They tolerate me for Radolf's sake, I think. And I've been challenged twice in the street. But all in all, they are a good people. A weir, once friendly is a friend for life, they say. " "So Miss Swanhild, if you don't want to discuss...uh...how we met, there's still a powerful lot I'd like to know, if it's not too forward. Where are you from? What are you studying? And, um, is everyone in your family so strong?" “Schwarzwald in northern Eregnor,” she replied. “And is Swanhild. Not Miss. Not Lady. Just Swanhild.” She hugged his arm again. “And yes. We are wood folk. All girls are strong around bäume.” The word resonated on her lips like music, her face glowing. “Trees,” she explained. “I study Thari and rhetoric,” she said. “Wish to help family in Golden Circle. World change much. Must change with it.” "Stronger around trees?" he muses. "I'll try to remember that," he said with a rueful smile. "Have you considered the wrestling team?" "What will you do when you leave? Rhetoric is for lawyers and politicians, isn't it? I'm going to into business. I want to set up a grain mill in Karm, and I have an idea for a canal... Well, first I have to graduate and," he hefts his books and notes "the jury's still out on that." Swanhild made a face and snorted, “You do fine, ja? Just work hard. Study hard. You succeed. Or you fail. You choose which.” They’d reached the Bridge. The afternoon breeze carried the mist of Faiella’s Tears with it, adding a soothing coolness to the air. Malachi found himself suddenly dragged to the edge, an excited cry escaping his companion. His question to her forgotten, she leaned precariously over the edge to view the crashing water below. “Beautiful, ja?” Malachi instinctively put an arm in front of Swanhild's waist, just to be sure. He glanced over the edge, but it's her he was looking at. "Ja." Then, blushing, he turned his regard over the side. "What is it? I've never seen this place." “Faiella’s Tears,” she replied. Her hand covered his, holding his arm around her lithe waist. She leaned even farther out, as if she might take flight at any moment and disappearinto the mist below. “Prince Eric wished to honor Mutter. . . He very good prince. Love Mutter. People think the Bridge for kissing and eating and prattle. But is gift to woman long dead. Is sacred place. Powerful. Must be honored.” "It's a beautiful gift," Malachi agrees. "And I don't know what Queen Faiella would think of it, but it seems to me if people come here with people they love, that's honoring the bridge, and her. You wouldn't want lovers to kiss here if the bridge were dedicated to you?" She raised an elegant brow, as appraising as a curious hawk. Another smile curled her lips. “You are a romantic, ja? And speak of the true love. Not the bubbly, insipidness I often see here. Then ja. I would wish this.” Liquidly, she pushed away from the edge and into his arms. She gazed up at him, blinking, waiting. Her aquiline nose twitched. “You have paramour?” Malachi worked through the word 'insipidness', wondering what it meant. Then he froze, not moving his arms and suddenly unsure, as if he were on treacherous ground. "Me? Um...no." He let go of her and took a half step back as if suddenly aware of how close Swanhild was. He rubbed the back of his neck in an unconscious gesture of nervousness and looked at his shoes. "No. No one like that. Do you?" Swanhild smirked, eyes sparkling. “Perhaps. Will see how day goes, ja?” She turned from him and continued toward the other end of the bridge. She didn’t get far, coming to a halt in front of one of the many vendors selling their wares on the Bridge. She pointed to the greasy-looking meat the brown-skinned fellow was serving on bamboo sticks. An expectant smile lit her face. The vendor -while less beautiful - matched her eagerness. Malachi was secretly relieved. He was afraid that, being a 'tree person', whatever that was, meant she wouldn't eat meat, and his stomach was rumbling. He ordered two of what Swanhild was having. The vendor nodded and wrapped six kabobs of spicy meat in onion paper. He handed them to the couple and returned to cooking. Swanhild grinned at the man, “Danke.” She ate as they resumed their walk. "So have you been in Amber long?" he asked between bites. He had to consciously slow himself from simply wolfing down the food. "I've only been here for a few weeks, and it seems as though I could never see it all. The university alone is ten times bigger than any place I'd ever been before." “Nein,” Swan replied. “Came at first schnee… snow. Long enough to know university. But not city. Very different. Very big. I show you, if you like. What I know. Good beer. Good food. But no wolves, ja?” She grinned and took another bite of her food. "Radolf can't really hold his liquor anyhow," says Malachi with a smile. "But I can. So lead on!" Swanhild slapped his chest with a bemused look, “Have class. You too. No time for date now. But later, ja? You give me address of wohnungen. I find tonight. Then we go, ja?” She tossed the two greasy skewers into a nearby waste basket with surprising accuracy. Her avian gaze bore through him, patient and curious. "A date?" Malachi tried to recall exactly how he got to this point without ever meaning to. "I, uh, what's a 'wohnungen'?" His change of subject sounds clumsy even to him. "I guess that's my apartment? I don't think that's a good idea, Swanhild. It's not the best neighborhood after dark for a young lady. I...I'll meet you under the clock tower at the University. How's that? Around the vespers bell?" Swanhild pursed her lips and rolled her dark eyes. “Bei dir piept's wohl! Wolf like raven.” She shrugged her shoulders in acquiescence. “Fine, ja? I meet at clock tower. But you stop treating me like little girl.” "Raven? I thought your people were tree people? Is that the same thing?" He ignored the second admonition. If he thought of her as a little girl he would never agree to meet her. She gripped his chest and pulled him down to her level. For a moment, it appeared as if she might kiss him as before. But this time, she placed a light kiss on his cheek before drifting away, leaving little more than a hint of perfume on his skin. “You will be fun,” she said and walked away. "You will be...trouble," he said to himself when she was out of earshot, though he watched her go with all the interest of any young man. “What have you gotten yourself into, boy?” he wondered. He knew that he had none of what he would call 'a head for women'. They left him feeling foolish half the time and rather as though he'd missed something important the other half. "I should just...should just not go," he thought as he hurried on towards his next class. He didn't even tell Swanhild that he missed his class in natural philosophy simply to go on the walk with her. "I could send her a note of regret...say I'm...I'm working late?" "That ain't nothing but the coward's way out," he told himself. "You don't want to be there, you tell her yourself." His thoughts drifted back to Swanhild's scent, and the curve of her chin when she tried to look stern. Before he'd arrived at class he'd decided that it wouldn't hurt just to have some friends in the University. She might be what the women of his village would call 'wild' (and they'd call her a good deal else, he'd wager), but she seemed good of heart and he couldn't just ignore that she was in some sort of trouble, even if she wouldn't admit it. It wouldn't be gentlemanly. Wouldn't be decent. Besides, he thought as the professor started to intone the recent history of the Golden Circle, there was that golden hair and that smile... |
