Read Online My Swordhand Is Singing by Marcus Sedgwick - Free Book Online
Authors: Marcus Sedgwick
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had begun already.
As Daniel intoned the opening words of the wedding service, Peter saw that Agnes was trembling. At various points in the service, she had to make responses, but though Peter stood on tiptoe and craned his neck forward, he couldn’t hear what she said. Maybe he was too far away, maybe her voice was too small. He could only guess at what she was having to say, agreeing to marry a dead man. As for the groom, he was excused from having to make his responses, being in no state to do so.
As well as Agnes and Daniel there was the familiar figure of Teodor, the feldsher, who stood nearby but took no part in the ceremony. Old Anna stood next to him, her cruel, aged face glowering at anyone who dared look in her direction.
The wedding was soon over, and the burial began. As Stefan’s coffin lid was lowered onto the box, Peter saw Teodor step forward. Daniel reached out and put a hand on his arm, as if trying to stop him from approaching the coffin. Though Peter couldn’t hear what they said, he could tell there was some argument between them. People began to grow agitated; they shifted uneasily, muttering. At last Daniel appeared to relent. Teodor stepped forward and placed various items inside the coffin, along with the body. A net, some whitethorn, and small figures like a child’s dolls. Then the lid was hammered into place and the whole thing put in the ground. As it went, the mourners began to sing, spontaneously, of one accord. They sang the Miorita.
At first their singing was quiet, but as the verses told of the shepherd’s fanciful version of events, of his marriage to the princess of the stars, their voices grew louder and more rousing, until Peter found that despite his skepticism, there were tears in his eyes.
“At my wedding, tell how a bright star fell,
Sun and moon came down to hold my bridal crown.”
As the singing reached its climax, a single image was left in Peter’s mind. The princess from the stars. The young shepherd had found his magical bride, even in death.
Peter woke from his dream of the princess. The burial was over and he began to push through the crowd toward Agnes. He was cursed for his lack of manners, and pressed in on all sides by the crowd swarming through the graveyard. Looking to see where Agnes was, he saw with alarm that she was being led away by Anna and the other Elders.
“Agnes!” he called, but it was no use. She was too far away, and the Elders were taking her straight to the hut. There she would begin her mourning. Peter, imagining her dread, watched her disappear. It was said that she should speak to no one while she was in mourning for her husband. In this way, after forty days, it would be understood that she had mourned her husband for a lifetime, and she could adopt the position of a young, unwed maiden once more.
Desperately Peter made one last effort to push through the crowd. He managed to fight to within a few feet of Agnes, but here his way was barred. The Elders formed a procession around and behind Agnes, a cortege to guide her to the hut. Angry faces turned on him as he tried to force his way through.
“Agnes!” he called, and at last she heard. He saw her turn and begin to pull at her veil, desperate to see him.
“Get away from her, boy!” someone shouted sternly.
“But she’s my—”
“She’s nothing to you anymore. Not now! She’s married someone else!”
Peter wrestled, trying to protest, but a fist struck him in the back, and then another in his side, near the kidney.
He collapsed, gasping for air. As he fell he caught a single glimpse of Agnes. She had succeeded in wrenching the veil from her face, a face that was now wreathed in horror alone.
18
At the Threshold
Peter limped wearily home from the wedding.
He had decided that Sultan needed a rest, and had walked all the way, along the forest path that led home. The trees crowded in on him, silent but strong, and once again Peter had the sense of being
As Daniel intoned the opening words of the wedding service, Peter saw that Agnes was trembling. At various points in the service, she had to make responses, but though Peter stood on tiptoe and craned his neck forward, he couldn’t hear what she said. Maybe he was too far away, maybe her voice was too small. He could only guess at what she was having to say, agreeing to marry a dead man. As for the groom, he was excused from having to make his responses, being in no state to do so.
As well as Agnes and Daniel there was the familiar figure of Teodor, the feldsher, who stood nearby but took no part in the ceremony. Old Anna stood next to him, her cruel, aged face glowering at anyone who dared look in her direction.
The wedding was soon over, and the burial began. As Stefan’s coffin lid was lowered onto the box, Peter saw Teodor step forward. Daniel reached out and put a hand on his arm, as if trying to stop him from approaching the coffin. Though Peter couldn’t hear what they said, he could tell there was some argument between them. People began to grow agitated; they shifted uneasily, muttering. At last Daniel appeared to relent. Teodor stepped forward and placed various items inside the coffin, along with the body. A net, some whitethorn, and small figures like a child’s dolls. Then the lid was hammered into place and the whole thing put in the ground. As it went, the mourners began to sing, spontaneously, of one accord. They sang the Miorita.
At first their singing was quiet, but as the verses told of the shepherd’s fanciful version of events, of his marriage to the princess of the stars, their voices grew louder and more rousing, until Peter found that despite his skepticism, there were tears in his eyes.
“At my wedding, tell how a bright star fell,
Sun and moon came down to hold my bridal crown.”
As the singing reached its climax, a single image was left in Peter’s mind. The princess from the stars. The young shepherd had found his magical bride, even in death.
Peter woke from his dream of the princess. The burial was over and he began to push through the crowd toward Agnes. He was cursed for his lack of manners, and pressed in on all sides by the crowd swarming through the graveyard. Looking to see where Agnes was, he saw with alarm that she was being led away by Anna and the other Elders.
“Agnes!” he called, but it was no use. She was too far away, and the Elders were taking her straight to the hut. There she would begin her mourning. Peter, imagining her dread, watched her disappear. It was said that she should speak to no one while she was in mourning for her husband. In this way, after forty days, it would be understood that she had mourned her husband for a lifetime, and she could adopt the position of a young, unwed maiden once more.
Desperately Peter made one last effort to push through the crowd. He managed to fight to within a few feet of Agnes, but here his way was barred. The Elders formed a procession around and behind Agnes, a cortege to guide her to the hut. Angry faces turned on him as he tried to force his way through.
“Agnes!” he called, and at last she heard. He saw her turn and begin to pull at her veil, desperate to see him.
“Get away from her, boy!” someone shouted sternly.
“But she’s my—”
“She’s nothing to you anymore. Not now! She’s married someone else!”
Peter wrestled, trying to protest, but a fist struck him in the back, and then another in his side, near the kidney.
He collapsed, gasping for air. As he fell he caught a single glimpse of Agnes. She had succeeded in wrenching the veil from her face, a face that was now wreathed in horror alone.
18
At the Threshold
Peter limped wearily home from the wedding.
He had decided that Sultan needed a rest, and had walked all the way, along the forest path that led home. The trees crowded in on him, silent but strong, and once again Peter had the sense of being
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