The Wanderers (post 2)

Her book passed the slow morning, and when at last she looked up from the page, noon was approaching in a blinding rush. She rose and walked a few paces towards the fountain and back. Shaking her bemused mind free of the story she was reading. The living, breathing world around her came back into brutal focus. Reality rushed in around her mind. The reality that Astar had created for her; chained her and her parents to. Astar hated her, because she, out of all the rest, had seen beyond his dark eyes. The night of his welcoming she had penetrated something there.
Astar was being honored as the new governor of the province, and her father, being the richest man in the province, hosted a grand reception. All of the guests had been awed with Astar’s wisdom, his intellect, even with his harsh good looks. Clare only was not impressed. She had felt a chill come over her when he entered the room. It followed him like a gloom. Soon he picked her out of the crowd, because she was quiet and alone while the others made merry. When at last their eyes met, Clare was taken back by what she saw. He locked her in his gaze and his eyes became, not eyes, but bottomless pools of darkness, endless sources of grief. That was when the visions began. She saw a strange land, Astar’s home, a place so far removed from everything that Clare had ever known, that she did not comprehend what she saw. She only felt what she beheld; immense pain and sorrow. She shut her eyes lest it come out after her, lest the sorrow suddenly leap from Astar’s eyes and take her away to that awful place from which he came.
She turned from him and he approached her, smiling. “You think you are very smart, don’t you?” he asked her.
“No, my lord, I am only the humble daughter of a land owner. I am grateful for what I have, humble for what I lack.” She kept her head down as she recited the answer taught her by her mother. Since she was practically a baby, she was told this was the proper way to answer those who inquired of who she was.
“Well quoted,” Astar replied, unimpressed. “Your mother taught you well. But how will you answer your visions, girl?”
“Visions, my lord?”
“Yes, your visions. I know what you saw. You’ll see more if you haven’t already. I’d keep it to myself if I were you. Unless you like the thought of burning with the other witches.” Suddenly a half drunk cousin of Clare’s father beckoned Astar back to the party, and he left her with her fear and shame.
Now though, she was not afraid or ashamed of her visions, only painfully careful to heed them. That was why she knew she must not marry Brennan, no matter how dear he was to her.
“Clare,” a cheerful voice resounded across the garden, and a beautiful young man ran through the gate toward her. His face was flushed with the warm sun. His sleeves were turned up revealing muscular, tanned arms. His whole being pervaded and irresistibly fun casualness. He never dressed in the ridiculous finery expected of a prince. When Clare first met him her impression was that of a very clean peasant. She was shocked to learn of his royalty. She was awed when he turned his attentions toward her a few months ago. Her parents were delighted. Astar immediately took charge of the courtship, and had the wedding arranged before had Clare had caught her breath from their first kiss.
Brennan swept her up now again, like so many times before, his arms lifting her feet off the ground. “Brennan,” she scolded, “they could be watching.”
“Let them,” he said with a grin and buried h is face in her thick hair. He held her a moment longer. Clare knew she should end this quickly, but for the moment Brennan controlled ever once of her being. She was absorbed in him. At last he let her go and sighed deeply. His smile shone brighter than the noon. His eyes reflected everything good and honest and beautiful that Clare had ever known. “I’ve missed you, love.” He held her hand and led her to a bench.
The words, “And I’ve missed you,” surged from Clare’s heart to her lips, but she fought them back with an effort. She must not make this any more difficult than it already was. She kept her head down; if she met his eyes once more she would surely weep.
“What, my love? What is troubling that beautiful mind of yours?” She could hear him smiling. He stroked her hair. The words hung in the air, like a spell, searching for somewhere to rest. When at last she felt sure enough, Clare looked up into his eyes. There she saw an endless understanding and compassion. That gave her the strength to plunge on into the unknown. Once she spoke, her life would be forever altered and there would be no going back.