Last Song Of the Lady

She was wearing a long robe of pale green, her face covered with a diaphanous veil of similar hue. It was difficult to see her features clearly through the veil, but he could just make out her oval face and high cheekbones. As she walked, Prescot caught a flash of an ankle chain strung with tiny bells. Her steps were slow and purposefully as she made her way towards the dais, her escorts fanning out to each corner as she climbed the steps onto the platform. The child stood nearby, but she took the steps alone.

“I really don’t like this…” Prescot whispered to Kathy.

Prescot moved a little closer and Kathy followed him. One of the younger villagers stepped forward and began to sing. Prescot listened to the high, lilting tune as Kathy stood beside him. The others joined it as if on cue. No one appeared to be leading the group, but they sang in perfect harmony as if they had rehearsed and Kathy found herself feeling the emotion of the song. She was at once elated and then overcome with sadness. Images flooded into her mind of places she had never visited. She saw remote mountains and crowded streets alive and bustling. She could feel the quiet purpose of the crowds and was instantly reassured by it.

The crowds vanished into mist, and all at once, she was alone feeling the utter despair of it.

Prescot turned to her and noticed the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Are you-?”

She waved him into silence, wiping her eyes quickly and trying to regain her composure. Prescot expected some explanation, but she hardly understood it herself. The boy stood a little way from the group watching. Kathy’s gaze was drawn to him, and she was almost relieved to find he was as upset as she was. Prescot shook his head, puzzled. He had to admit they could carry a tune well, but he was unable to relate to them in the way Kathy obviously did. He was completely unaffected, and so she turned away from him, concentrating on the boy.

They stopped singing abruptly. Kathy blinked and caught her breath, feeling almost foolish. She was left with an impression, an echo of emotion which gradually faded, leaving her baffled as to why she had reacted as she did.
The woman on the dais addressed the crowd briefly and then slowly lay down. Her attendants climbed the steps then and arranged her hair and clothing, placing the large purple blooms around her head and feet. They made their way down the steps and began to chant as they walked around the dais. The villagers echoed their chorus.

He waited in silence as their voices filled the air. The chanting continued apace, and she could feel the rhythm of it coursing through her. It was not fear Kathy sensed but anticipation and something else. She found the boy, who was analysing the scene as if his life depended upon it. Prescot was worried, naturally.

She looked down at her feet and saw the dark smoke curling over her boots and winding its way up her legs. It was not heat which touched her skin but coldness, and it seemed to suck all the joy from her, growing darker as it did so.
Abruptly the chanting stopped, and Kathy felt the warmth return to her body.
Had she imagined the smoke?

In her confusion, she hardly noticed Prescot. He was leaping the stone steps and then she saw that the man had positioned himself beside the woman, his knife paused to strike.

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