It's Not Over

Let it Go

Let it Go

Holding my bow steady, the goose feather-fletched arrow anchored between cheek and chin, I shouted "Guy!" at the top of my lungs, willing him to turn around and face me, his executioner.

I know what you're thinking. You're wondering whether you'd do the same thing in my position. But you're not in my position, are you? You never went to the Holy Land to fight alongside Richard the Lionheart, nor had a dagger thrust in your side. You did not rush to the king's tent and save him from an assassin only to watch that assassin escape punishment while you writhed in agony on the ground.

You never died, did you?

People were dying all the time, of course. I was just another one of the many thousands who lost their lives during that holy war.

Jasmina also died, on the same day as me in fact. As I lay in the hospital tent fighting for breath, she lay a mile or so away, also fighting for breath while her guardians watched over her, wringing their hands and wailing that Allah was cruel to take the last of her family from this earth.

"Enough," Marian said, wriggling out of Guy's encircling arms. "We've not even had supper yet."

Guy grunted in annoyance and turned towards the open door, towards me.

I let the arrow fly. Nocked and loosed another, and then another. Every one aimed at his heart.

I should have known I couldn't kill him, of course. Because you can't kill from Heaven or even from this in-between place that Jasmina and I had found ourselves in. I know because I tried to kill a rabbit shortly after we arrived in the forest. All the rabbit did was prick up its ears and stare at me, nose twitching. Much looked heavenwards, cursing me for not being here because he was hungry and my aim was always true and I could kill that rabbit for him. When he loosed an arrow at it he missed and the rabbit disappeared into the undergrowth. Much plonked onto the ground and cried as if his heart would break.

Marian flinched, making a small sound as she did so.

Guy turned around. "What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing." She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. "There must be a draught coming from somewhere. I felt cold all of sudden."

"I could soon warm you up." Guy undid the top two buttons of his new shirt.

"No. It's fine. I am done in here in any case," Marian said, deliberately ignoring his blatant suggestion that they lie together. "We should go downstairs. Magda will be serving our supper soon."

Marian pushed past a disappointed Guy. She looked straight at me. I smiled, tears pricking my eyes.

"Smells like stew," she said, heading towards me.

I felt a strange tearing sensation as she passed through me and then it was gone and I heard her padding along the corridor towards the stairs.

Not wanting to believe that my life was over, or, at least, hoping against hope that I still had some sort of foothold in the real world, I had foolishly thought that she might be able to see me even though others could not. Now I realise that her puzzled frowns and glances had been nothing more than at a draught or at some illusory shadow that she saw out the corner of her eye. No one could see or hear me, just as no one could see or hear Jasmina, my lively, funny, clever companion, the daughter I will never have.

Guy took off his new shirt, put on his discarded one and followed Marian out the bedchamber. I instinctively moved out of his path as he passed through the doorway.

Jasmina had warned me last night – as we snuggled down for what passed for sleep – that I might not be able to do anything, that the things we thought we felt and touched, including my bow which had been buried with me, may be nothing more than an echo of our corporeal life, that we may be as insubstantial as the air we thought we were breathing but in fact were not.