The Elementals by Morgan Llywelyn Page B

Ramé for leaving the animals, but assigned her to Fintan.
    The urgency had gone out of them. They spent most of the rest of the summer getting Byth and his flock comfortably settled in their valley. It was only when the first chill winds blew over the hills that Kesair recognized the approach of autumn, and decided Fintan’s group must be on its way. The valley would not support all of them on a permanent basis, and they would need to find their own place before another winter set in.
    Leavetaking was hard. Ladra’s death had made them aware of possibilities they had not wanted to consider before. Some of the women clung to one another and cried. But at last the final goodbyes were acknowledged, and Fintan and his party left Byth’s valley.
    After its first chill herald, the autumn was mild, a long and golden season. Kesair’s rivers eventually led her to a vast deep lake with a
strange red cast to its waters on certain days, and mountains standing like sentinels on either side. The land beside the lake, though hilly, was composed of rich loam, and there were fertile valleys not far away.
    It seemed a good place to end their wandering.
    A river flowing from the north fed the lake at its upper end, and that same river emerged at the lower end of the lake, wider, stronger, flowing toward the distant sea.
    Surely flowing toward the distant sea.
    I could follow the river and find the sea again any time I wanted to, Kesair told herself.
    â€œThere is timber here,” she said. “We can build permanent houses of wood and stone, and we shall always have fresh water. There is no life without water.”
    She often stood by the lake shore, as she had once stood by the seashore. The same sense of reverence enveloped her. Instead of white sand she gazed upon reedy shallows, yet she could feel the water’s presence just as strongly. Fresh or salt, it did not matter. What mattered was the element itself. It might be endlessly transformed yet it was always the same.
    Holy, Kesair thought. Holy.
    She wished the others could feel what she felt. She tried to explain to them.
    In time, some listened.
    Some did not.
    In late winter, the body of water Kesair named the Red Lake was bitterly cold. Fires were kept burning night and day in the snug, small houses of stone and timber on the western shore of the lake, where the nearby mountains cut the wind to some extent.
    Even on the coldest day, however, Kesair left the warmth of her hearthfire to stand beside the lake. Her house was hers alone, unshared. The other women lived five or six to a small cabin; only Fintan also had a place to himself. He invited the woman of his choice to it each night.
    Kesair invited no one to hers.
    Sometimes, she saw Fintan look at her in a way which she interpreted to mean he was going to ask her to his bed. Her reaction was always the same. She said something cruel or cutting or cold, and he invited someone else instead.

    One by one, his women ripened with child. Kesair remained barren, big-boned and tawny-colored and barren, with angry eyes.
    Salmé was also barren, though Fintan slept with her repeatedly. On the mornings after Salmé had been with him, Kesair spent a very long time beside the lake, communing with the water. Scooping it up in her shell, pouring it back.
    â€œWhat are you thinking?”
    His voice startled her from her reverie, but she did not look around. She knew Fintan was standing behind her.
    â€œThoughts are private,” she said.
    He ignored the rebuff. “You looked lonely standing here by yourself.”
    â€œI’m never lonely.”
    â€œI don’t believe you. Everyone is lonely sometimes.”
    â€œYou aren’t. You couldn’t possibly be.”
    â€œBecause there’s usually some woman with me? Surely you understand why, Kesair.”
    â€œOh yes, I understand.” Her voice was flat.
    He waited. She said nothing more. How did we become so distanced from each