Downriver

II

The water consumes me. I float in it, my arms at my sides, rigid. My spirit wriggles within my body, trying to escape. The frozen flesh is just that – meat preserved in ice.

I'm trapped in my own body.

The current pulls my body out into the deep. The ice cracks above me, but it's not long until it refreezes.

Am I just going to sail along the river like this until I rot? I can see crystals forming around my fingers and around the fabric of my dress. My muff comes loose and sinks, its soaking fur pulling it down.

The memories of the evening fade. First to go are the faces of the people who killed me, then the name of the gentleman. I can't shut my eyes, but gradually my vision fades too, into greyish nothingness.

I'm in church. When I started seeing the spirits there six months ago, it was comforting. To think there were so many people all watching us from the Beyond! The kindly faces of the monks in their tall hoods and black robes over red cassocks always enchanted me the most. They were our connection with the ancient past when our people were respected rather than persecuted.

I look for them now, but when they see me, they gasp and draw the points of the compass in the air. "Begone, fiend!"

Dizziness claims me.

I'm stronger than them. I turn away.

My best friend, the priest Sister Biruta, is swinging her censer. The incense invades my nostrils and clings to my dress. I cough and retch, pulling away.

Odd. When I smelled it last week at this same church, it was a comfort and a blessing. Now it's poison, anathema.

I call out to the priest, and she stretches her neck, as if hearing something in the distance. She watches me for a moment, and then frowns, shakes her head and turns back to the congregation. I can move and feel my own body, but no-one else can see me and feel me and I push past them and–

Everything swirls and fades again, like in a dream.