The Gloaming of the Gods

 
 
 
The early summer days passed restlessly, so bright and hot and thick that Freya always thought of them like the moments after the sudden brightness of a flashbulb. There seemed to be hazy images in the peripheral; but when you turned your head too quickly, they were gone.
Piles of stones and strange figures made of twigs sprung up in the fields and along the footpaths: offerings of supplication and entreaty to ancient gods. Prayers for rain. A fine r ofr of red dust clung to every imaginable surface, seemingly impervious to all amounts of scrubbing and cleansing.
On the eleventy ofy of Freya's visit, gray clouds rolled in and a pregnant hush settled over the land. No dogs barked, no birds trilled from the treetops. Not even the rustle of the dry grasses against each other disturbed the silence. It was as if something had sucked the life out of every minute bit of earth.
The rain broke in the late afternoon, as Albus was drawing water from the well. He turned his face up and let the cool, fat drops run down his cheekbones and catch in his beard. He set the split-oak bucket on the stone ledge to catch the rainwater and looked out to the fields beyond the house.
Freya and the boy were spinning and dancing like wild, careening nymphs in the distance. The boy stripped off his clothes, and Albus smiled at the little brown body jumping in erratic bursts through the grasses that covered him up to his thin chest. He leaned against the gate; dry, dusty skin drinking in the moisture, fathomless blue eyes drinking in the untainted joy before him.
After a time the companion revelers headed back to the house and as Albus opened the gate to let the boy through he saw Freya's skin flush, and, following the little rivers of brown hair, saw her cotton shift plastered tight against the lines of her body. Swallowing, he lifted his gaze from the pink curve of her waist and met her eyes. They were green like olives. She moved past him and he stood for a long moment by the open gate, then turned slowly and walked out among the open spaces.
 
 ~~**~~**~~

That evening, as Freya laid steaming dishes of food before him, there was a difference in the way that she moved. It was as if a new weight had settled in her belly and spread out through her limbs so that she was conscious of every gesture, every angle of her elbow, and its proportion to the rest of her body. Every step was measured and taken in the new sway of her hips.
She would reflect later on that moment when, as she passed him the honey-sweetened water, she held the pitcher so that the soft flesh of her wrist and forearm turned upward and she knew that he was watching the flickering light of the lamps on her skin. It seemed to her that this moment took up many moments. That it stretched out for a space that defied time, and that everyone present at the table paused in this space and felt the change. The slight shifting in the bones of her body. And she would always look back on this one moment as the instant she turned from girlhood and felt for the first time desire as could be measured by intaintake of a breath.
 
~~**~~**~~ 
 

"Freya's mother, Althea, was a very good witch. She was a great favorite of Perenelle and I."
Albus looked up from his note taking and watched quietly as his mentor added a new tincture to the substance he was grinding into powder.
"She married a land-owner and general. His family had been in the Assembly in Athens as far back as anyone could care to trace. There was a revolution going on when they married, and Thanos was part of the group they called the Friendly Brotherhood, fighting to overthrow Oan ran rule. He was away a great deal in the early years of their marriage. When the fighting was finally over, and the Turks had been thrown out, they settled down at his family's old estate, just outside the city."
Nicholas stopped grinding, and gazed thoughtfully out the little window in the workspace.
"I remember her so clearly. She was such a warm woman. So vibrant. Like she had more love inside her than she had people to spend it on. She wanted children so badly. Years and years went by, and none came. I believe Thanos began to blame himself for her unhappiness, and wondered if perhaps he couldn't give her children. And I think it must have been a great pain for him to realize that he was not enough.
Finally, after almost two decades, it happened that Althea was with child. Her smile, her laugh returned. It was like the sun coming back out after years of rain. Freya was born andhea hea and Thanos cherished her. It was a happy house and Freya was a happy child, always so affectionate to both. I think it w bal balm to the wound Thanos had carried for so long. When Althea died Freya was just eight years old. She and her father were three years alone in the house. He clung tightly to her until it was time for her to begin her schooling."
For the first time in his recitation, Nicholas looked at Albus.
"Freya is a strong woman. I can see Althea's warmth in her. The same abundance of love. The same depth of feeling, whether it be for happiness or sorrow."
Albus said nothing, and Nicholas pressed on.
"I hoped the man she loved with would remember this. I do not fear for her anymore."
The scrape of stone against rough stone resumed its rhythm. Albus picked up a piece of green glass, a scrap from one of their experiments, and considered its color against the sunlight.
"There is a great deal of time lying between forty-five and seventeen," he said finally.
Nicholas smiled. "Perhaps things are more clear from my vantage point, my friend. There are more ways in which to measure time than years."
Albus lowered his arm and watched the glass change its color in the shadow. He learned its texture with his thumb, and slipped it into his pocket.
 
 ~~**~~**~~
 
That night the Flamels pressed Freya to extend her visit, to stay on indefinitely. There were many things to do and learn in India. The local Magi were renowned for their study of astrology and the art of dreams.
Freya accepted.
 
 
 
 
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Again, much thanks to leogryffin, who helped sort out sentence fragments and misplaced commas. It's a lot better for her insight.