Asleep in the Fen

II

Asthore was no longer herself. She was a body, but she wasn’t in it anymore. Or maybe she was. It was an odd dream, the sort where you are watching things happen to you. It was hard to see though. The only light came from a sliver in the sky that was the moon, surrounded by the tiny stars that, while beautiful, were of no help. Asthore could tell she was laying in the marsh. She could hear Kiandra nearby. She was doing something very laborious. Digging, from the sound of it. Sometimes she would chant something, though Asthore couldn’t hear what. Sometimes Kiandra would sob. Asthore wanted to hold her when she heard that. She wanted to kiss Kiandra and tell her it would be alright, but she could not move. She could only observe. 

Kiandra had dressed the body in something flimsy, but Asthore did not feel cold even in the night’s chill. She could not feel the wetness of the ground despite the fact that it had rained the day before and only stopped a few hours prior to the attack. Asthore recognized the flowers woven in her hair from their garden. Her head had stopped bleeding, though the blood that flowed into her orange curls had dried, staining her skin and matting a patch of her hair to her scalp. The area around her wounds had bloomed dark purple. The color of the rest of her skin was odd, too; paler than usual, even a little blue. Sickly. Dead. 

There was a faint lightness to the sky when Kiandra put Asthore in the depression she had carved out. She tried to be gentle, but she was weak, and the body had become so stiff. Kiandra was crying again. Her long black hair stuck to her face and neck from sweat. There were bruises all along her arms and throat from where she had been grabbed. Her bottom lip was swollen and bleeding. Her dark skin was pale, too, from exhaustion. She had used so much power to get rid of the men, then to dig, and to save Asthore would take the last of her strength. It would take her weeks, maybe even years, to fully recuperate. She didn’t care. She could do this. It would have to be enough. 

Kiandra rested beside Asthore for a few moments. She laid with the cold body in the bog. When the sun had broken the horizon, she knew she could no longer delay the inevitable. She started the process. She would mutter an incantation, then kiss her lover, then covered the spot with dirt. She started at Asthore’s feet, and slowly, her lip’s made their way up the body. Asthore, silent and still, felt every bit of it. She knew how powerful Kiandra was, she had seen her do incredible things, but was still awed at the effect she could have. Asthore could feel this. She could feel Kiandra's lips against her thighs, her palms, pressed into the curve of her neck. She felt warmth spread over her body as every part of her was cherished. A new type of coolness followed it. It was not uncomfortable. It was like a breeze hitting her skin after a day in the sun. 

It was getting harder for Kiandra to chant. Her throat felt tighter and her tears became heavier as she made her way up Asthore’s body. But she needed to finish this, and she needed to be thorough. Finally, Kiandra leaned over Asthore’s head, cherished her chin, cheeks, eyelids, up her nose, and across her forehead, taking extra time on the fatal wounds. She paused, and for the first time all night, she said something Asthore could understand. “Oíche mhaith a chroí.” Then Kiandra choked out the ancient language one more time, pressed her lips against Asthore’s, exhaling into her mouth, and covering the head with dirt once she had pulled away. The body was hidden in the earth. As the sun cut through the late winter fog, Kiandra collapsed beside the fresh mound. The world had gone dark for Asthore. She was sinking down, being accepted as part of the ground. She was at rest in the bog.