Dead Winter By C.M. Cipriani

Copyright C.M. Cipriani 2011 1

The winter had been so cold. The coldest anyone along the entire

stretch of islands called The Barrens could remember. Snow had fallen in

thick white sheets that covered the hills in a glorious blanket of fluffed sugar.

White wool steaming with heat emanating from the ruminant bodies

snuggled beneath was tipped with silver crystals of ice, glittering in the early

morning sun as blunt teeth ground dry hay. The children thought it

delightful, a magical wonderland created just for their enjoyment. As far

south as the island of Enduay was, they had never before seen snow. They

spent many hours next to the roaring hearth soaking up as much warmth as

possible before donning layers of their thickest coats and waddling out into

the frigid winter land for as many minutes as their summer hearty bodies

could stand, then running back inside, pink nosed and shivering just to do it

all over again.

They didn’t notice the strain in the adult eyes around them. They

didn’t hear the reports of cattle and crop losses. Or the deaths of those too

old to prepare fully for the world shattering winter. They giggled and laughed

and threw balls of snow, built forts and figures and relished the hot brae

cider that always awaited them at the door after their frozen adventures.

For too many weeks the heavy gray sky poured flecks of frozen

white rain down on The Barrens. Though it lessened at times it never

relented. It never gave those ten southern islands a chance to thaw, even a

little bit.


It was the worst winter in the living memory or oral history of those

small island nations.

And even worse for the Island of Enduay.

In February, just as the last of the snows were falling and springtime

looked as though it had finally decided to make an appearance, Gheri Koroi

started to cough.

At first the matriarch of the Koroi household, the Chiefwife of the

Enduay tribe, shrugged off the persistent tickle in the back of her throat. She

had things to do, eleven children to care for, a husband to tend and a

household to run. She was the one that oversaw the planning of meals, the

rationing of their foodstores and conducting necessary trades with other

islands to make sure those eleven always-hungry mouths had warm mutton

and sweet cakes to fill them. So, she did what any mother does; she ignored

her health for just a little while. Just until the snows stopped, she told herself,

then she’d take a rest. As soon as the larder was full again, then she’d sit

down. As soon as darling little Ellice’s new coat was finished, then she’d visit

Mhargret for a draft to soothe her constantly bothersome throat.

But the tickle didn’t go away and her cough turned into fits that had

her choking on words and bracing herself along stone hallways lest she fall

to a writhing heap on the floor. The only ones that saw the trouble were her

servants -her children occupied with the snow, her husband Olonzo’s head

full of worry for his tribe as bands of pirates were callously stealing their


precious cows- and she swore them all to secrecy. It was just a cough, get

her some water, she’ll be fine.

It was then, during one of her relentless fits that she realized

perhaps that trip to Mhargret shouldn’t have been delayed for quite so long.

When her prettily embroidered handkerchief, the one with the tiny ivy

around the edges, a gift from her mother on her wedding day all those

decades ago, pulled away from her mouth streaked red with blood. Quietly,

as to not start a panic in others or herself, Gheri called her lady’s maid to her

side and pleasantly requested her to visit the healer’s small cottage for

something to aid her “bothersome cough”.

While the young maid was slowly traveling though the wicked hills

built of snow, the cough turned for worse and Gheri fell into fever.

Olonzo was called from the great hall, her children were kept inside

under the care of their nursemaid out of the way from the scare of rumors

currently circulating from the servants and the threat of infection from their

mother. Mhargret was immediately sent for. The delirium of fever

encapsulated poor Gheri throwing screaming nightmares before her

unfocused eyes.

For twenty-five years Olonzo had been enthralled by his sea-nymph

wife. She wasn’t truly one of the wee-folk but her small frame and delicate

features enraptured him from the moment he first saw her standing on the

dock overlooking the turbulent northern sea. He had fallen in love, right

there on the spot, the sun shone down bright upon them emblazoning the


memory into his mind for all times. Within a week they were married and

since had never been parted for more than that. Within the first year she had

given him not one but two children, twin boy and girl, and in the following

twelve years delivered nine more healthy babes into their home. He had

never strayed and she never gave him reason to. He gave her his heart that

day on the dock and she gave hers to replace it.

Their love was something people spoke of with revered voices in

wishful tones. Never had anyone been loved more than Gheri or Olonzo. If

anyone had any question, they only needed to look at the twenty-two eyes in

every shade between Olonzo’s dark blue to Gheri’s light, to see the answer.

“There is nothing I can do.” Mhargret said quietly. “Keep her warm,

give her spoonfuls of bone broth and the medicine at every meal. It will keep

the pain away, keep her comfortable. If only I had known earlier…” Her voice

trailed off as tears trailed down her weathered cheeks.

“It isn’t your fault.” Olonzo replied, his own cheeks stained with

tears, his deep blue eyes rimmed red.

“The medicine will make her sleepy, relax her so she coughs much

less but it’s not a cure. The infection is too deep in her lungs.” With nothing

more to do or say the old woman swept silently from the room leaving him

alone with his dying wife.

“Oh, Gee-gee”, he reached for her hand, the one that held the

delicately carved silver ring he had given her oh, so long ago. It felt so small

and frail in his large calloused one. When had she grown old? When had he?


“What can I do for you to wake? What do the God’s want me to give them to

restore you? I’ll give it to them, my love, I’d carve out my own heart and

hand it to them if only you would get better. They can take my land, my

money, my home. Anything, anything for you to come back to me.” He

waited silent knowing they wouldn’t answer him but still his heart lurched

when there was no Heavenly response. Blood trickled out of her mouth and

he absently dabbed it away as he had been doing for many days past.

“The children are worried. The older ones at least suspect there is

something wrong. God, I don’t think I could keep anything from Cyra if I

tried. Her eyes see through me if I ever try and lie to her, I swear.” He

chuckled a little despite himself, Cyra was a hellcat and his first born. He

swore she pushed her brother Vonn out of the way in the womb just to be

first, just to hold her older age over him later. And damn if she didn’t look

exactly like her mother with golden hair and sky blue eyes, strong and tall

and headstrong. “The little ones are merely upset they aren’t allowed to play

outside anymore. They are storming about the castle, stomping their spoiled

little feet, casting evil eyes at anyone that dares to look at them. But then, it

seems, we could never make a silent, obedient child could we Gee-gee? Oh,

my love, What am I going to do without you?”

He broken into wild, uncontrolled sobs, resting his head on the quilt

by his wife’s hand. He cried and cried until his stomach felt sick and his face

was crusted with salt. He hadn’t noticed the hand upon his head, stroking

the thinning blond hair held at a queue at his nape. He had cried so hard he


hadn’t heard the soft, barely audible really, humming that had soothed every

one of his children any time they had a nightmare.

Olonzo bolted upright and his wife’s weak arm fell back to the bed.

Her eyes were open, clear and she was smiling softly at him. “You’re awake!

Are you in pain? Let me call Mhargret. Do you need a drink? Are you chilled?”

She shook her head and grasped his hand as tightly as she could in her own

which Olonzo knew was pathetically weak.

“Lonzo, there is nothing more for you to do except listen to me. My

time is near. Sshhh.” She silenced him as he opened his mouth to protest.

Oh, he looked so weary! Lines creased his handsome face, his eyes puffed

and red, his strong jaw thickly dappled with coarse blond hair. She wished

she could scoot over and let him rest with her, let whatever strength his

powerful body had seep into her, but she didn’t have the energy. Her chest

burned fire and her arms and legs were freezing. Everything looked slightly

foggy. Gheri blinked constantly to try and clear her vision but it wouldn’t

improve. “I have loved you with everything I have inside of me and some

extra I think I borrowed from Heaven. And you have loved me in kind, I know

that. I could not have asked for more in this life, just perhaps that it was a

little longer. But Heaven is asking for my debt to be paid and I cannot

refuse.” She paused to cough, the blood flowed freely from her mouth but it

didn’t hurt as much now. Not as much as the pain in her dear husband’s eyes

as she spoke. “I want you to promise me you will not shun love after I am

gone. I want to leave here knowing that you will be open to finding someone


to love again. You have so many years left, I don’t want you to be alone.” He

stood mute but she saw the stubbornness in his eyes. Gheri tried to give him

her best angry look, the one she used when her lovely husband was being an

ass or her children had crossed the line. She was sure it was a poor imitation

but he nodded anyway. “Now, I want you to call Cyra to me and tell her to

bring her parchment and pen, I have letters to dictate. Then, I want you to

spend time with your children as I call them to me one by one to say good-

bye. Do not refuse me this, Olonzo, don’t argue with me or with God. Just

please do as I ask and know that I will hold on until I am finished so that we

may have one last moment together.”

The children left the nursery and returned, one by one just as she

asked, silent and weeping falling into the large strong arms of their father.

He rocked them and kissed them and cuddled them, agreed with them that it

wasn’t fair. Even his adult children sought his comfort, until at last, little

Ellice had returned and after a time gently he lay her in the embrace of her

tearful siblings to cry out her anger and sadness.

The door to their chamber, the one that he entered through so

many times eager and happy at what lay on the other side, was now

transformed into the entrance of Hell. He knew once he lifted the latch and

walked inside that he would never again enter and be greeted by his wife.

That the room would always hold her ghost, the one that, even now, played

in the corner of his eye as his mind remembered his sweet little Gee-gee

scurrying around the castle as busy as a bee in spring. She had touched


everything in his home, in his life, in his heart and mind and soul and soon

she would leave him bereft. For a moment he was angry with her. How could

she ignore her illness? How could she have allowed it to progress to this

severity? Damn her! Damn him, for being so preoccupied he didn’t see the

love of his life dying right in front of him.

The scent of herbs, smoke and death assailed him as he entered

the once happy room. Everything seemed dull except the shocking blue of

her sunken eyes and the golden spray of hair on her pillow. How he was

going to miss her! He choked back his tears, demanding that he not mark

these last moments with anything but love and happiness. They had had a

good life, she was right. He could mourn after she passed, he would drink in

every second she held breath in her ruined bloody lungs, absorb it into his

soul and keep it close to him on the nights he wasn’t sure if he could survive

without her lavender scent in his nose and the weight of her body next to

him on the bed.

Gently, he laid his massive body down next to her so he could feel it

one last time. She had grown so terribly thin as if she were already a pale,

withering corpse. She had lost those womanly curves that had so attracted

him to her to begin with. He imagined her plump and full with child, a pink

healthy glow radiating from her pretty face, they had had a good life, so

much love, and he weakly smiled. She smiled back but it didn’t quite reach

her eyes.

“Now, Lonzo, my love, I have one last request.”


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Dead Winter By C.M. Cipriani