*

I shudder as another wave of nausea wracks my body, fighting to cling to the fading memory of my first meeting with the Commander. That was a good day. The memory fades as I retch the meager contents of my stomach on the ground beside me. The shock of the movement sends another wave of agony through me, causing me to retch again. It is a vicious circle. I cast about in my mind, seeking another memory – any memory – to lose myself again. A flash of bright red hair flickers in my consciousness, and I latch on like a drowning man. The pain fades as the memory envelopes me.

*

It is two weeks until harvest begins. A month until the night that Melinda will be taken. We are walking together by the stream. The moon is waning, merely a sliver in the sky and on the calm surface water. She wears her feast day best, a green flowing dress with a flowered neckline, gathered at the waist. She holds the hemline as she picks her way delicately, placing a careful slipper here, now there, avoiding anything that might get her dirty. The dress has seen better days – such as when each of her three older sisters has worn it – but I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

My own clothing is newer, but worn without the ease that she finds in hers. I despise dressing up, and these clothes have barely been worn. My collar itches. The suspenders are uncomfortable. The pants are too tight, and the shoes make a clip-clop sound on any hard surface. I feel like some sort of dandy on display at a county fair, hawking pots and pans to throngs of passersby. But tonight is special, and I want it to be memorable.

She giggles and steps close to me, pulling my hand away from my itchy collar and pulling me close. Her hair all in ringlets, bobbing as she moves, red like a blazing fire. She hates her freckles. I find them enchanting. I could stare at her face and count them until I collapsed from starvation. I’d die a happy man.

She motions to a fallen tree nearby, and we sit on the thick log, gazing at each other. She closes her eyes and puckers her lips, inviting me into a blissful evening of kissing and canoodling. With great effort, I avoid the temptation, instead pulling a ring from my pocket.

It’s a sad little thing, really. No diamond or stone of any kind, just a simple gold band. The gold is real, at least, though of the lowest quality one might find. I hold it between my thumb and forefinger a few inches from her face.

“Were you going to kiss me, or just stare at me all evening?” she asks sweetly. Her voice makes my heart melt, and I give second thoughts to the kissing. No. My resolve firms, and I remain silent, holding the ring.

She can sense something is going on. Her eyes pop open to see what is wrong, and it takes a moment for them to focus on the ring.

Her eyes moisten, and she is trying to look at the ring and into my eyes at the same time. She settles on my eyes for a moment, searching. Whatever she finds there is apparently cause for full tears to begin to form. They well up in the corners, finally escaping the riverbanks of her almond-shaped emerald eyes.

Her hand trembles as she takes the ring and examines it. Her voice trembles as she murmurs “It’s beautiful.”

Now I’m kneeling. Moisture is beginning to form in my eyes as well. I’ve known for quite a while now that when this moment came, I wanted to keep things simple. No attempts at poetry, no epic ballads of my love for her. Just a simple question.

“Melinda, will you – what is it?!”

Melinda has gone slack-jawed. Her eyes are glazed over. After a moment, drool forms at the corner of her mouth. She begins to collapse and I catch her, lowering her gently to the ground, heedless of any stains that might destroy her dress.

I’ve just set her head down, and I’m about to begin to check her for injuries, when her eyes come back into focus. She looks at me, terrified. This is the third time this has happened to her in my presence. The wise woman has already said she did not know the cause.

“Relon, what is happening to me?!”

I hold her tightly, rocking gently back and forth. I stroke her beautiful hair out of her flawless face, and look her in the eyes.

“I don’t know, but we’ll get through it. Together.”

She buries her head in my chest as I continue to hold her. I’m glad she can’t see the troubled expression on my face. I heard the wise woman muttering something that Melinda didn’t.

“Mebbe got magical talents or somethin’.”