Things are sweeter when they're lost. I know--because once I wanted something and got it. It was the only thing I ever wanted badly, and when I got it it turned to dust in my hand.
P
riest Pravda, what do you know of desire?” Her voice shatters the silence of the winter woods. In the twilight, everything around us is bled of true color; the light in the air is blue, shivering with our semi-opaque breaths. I do not look at her.
“Why do you ask such a question, uchenik?”
“One of the other apprentices, Priest—he seems to be interested in me.”
“Would you not rather know of love?”
“No, Priest. I would like to know of desire.”
We are waiting for the silence to break for other things. But the wait is a long one, and the clearing through the trees before us remains empty.
The wolves, in the distance, are howling.
“Desire will burn you. If it does not burn you immediately, in your rejection of it, then it will burn you in the pursuit.”
“Is it—is it immoral to want, Priest?”
“No, not necessarily.”
“Then why does it burn?”
“Because, to want something—there is a risk. We cannot always have what we want; and the things we desire sometimes change. Especially people. And our wanting, well—it consumes us, it distracts us.”
“So should I not desire him, then?”
“That is for you to decide uchenik.”
The deer enter the clearing, then; breaking out tenderly onto the fresh-fallen snow. We watch them in silence until I break it again, by whispering:
“We did not come here to discuss desire, however. This is your first lesson in truth.”
We wait. I feel Zima shivering besides me; but this is an aspect of the lesson, as well. The deer are breaking through the soft surface of the snow, attempting to graze beneath; and beyond the clearing, within the other fringe of trees, I see the glinting eyes of wolves.
The kill is swift. There had been a deer limping in the rear of the herd. On the other side of the trees we hear the deer scatter, and the guttural scream of the one killed. The pack sets about ripping it apart.
“How—how is this truth?” Zima’s voice breaks.
“This is the truth of everything. Life, death, nature, ourselves. Never forget what you see here.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
Typically soft-spoken, my voice becomes a blade when I turn away from the feast. I meet my apprentice’s eyes and she is shaking, blanched of color. “Remember, the justice of nature is never ambiguous; black and white. Kill, or be killed. Eat to live, but not in excess. Weakness is punished, and strength is rewarded. The truth is this is the most fair judgement in the world; and we, as keepers of justice, must attempt to replicate it. We replace weakness with immorality; the need to eat with the need to improve.”
"And what about the need to kill?"
"There is a place for that, in the truth of things as well."
I wake in a cold sweat.
I know when I go to the window there will be no snow. I will smell the spring flowers of Delumine, and hear the quiet whispers of the nights. When I go to the window, there will be nothing of my dream outside.
But still, I go to the window—and once that satisfies my fears, I go to the street. Before I can stop myself, I am beyond the city’s limits and beyond, in the fields—and further still, into the Viride.
I deceive myself into believing I go to the library, at this late hour. But on the trail there is a crossroads, and I turn the other direction. There is a meadow, just a bit beyond, and I go to it—to stand on the fringe of trees and stare at the long, swaying grasses. They are quiet tonight—and nearly identical to the one of my dream, if not for the lack of snow.
But there are no deer. There are no wolves.
There is only a girl.
I have seen her many times, now. We have shared many sideways glances in the library, between stacks of books, with golden light separating us.
I have seen her many times. We do not speak.
We only share glances, I think.
I say aloud, “Good evening, Ms. Katerina. Why are you in the woods, at so late an hour?”
