The Bet

Oswald and Sigrid Kingfinch at their wedding.

Deornet Valley, 810 CCA

The full moon opened the final week before Midsummer, a silver coin casting a ghostly glow on the young couple who carried on long past their neighbours. They chased each other down the banks of Deornet Valley’s coastal wetlands, the woman flicking shells and hagstones as the man stumbled darted between bushels cattails and driftwood. Each splash and swish was highlighted by their excited breathing and laughing.

The man’s name was Oswald, a wiry hunter with freckles that mirrored the stars above. His dark hair was swept and tied back from his refined features, cold ruddy skin flushed with sweat.

“Sigrid, keep up!”

His companion marched into view, dragging her feet through the muddy shallows. She did not seem bothered that her dress was covered in grime and stray twigs. Her long, bushy hair was braided into a head covering, which Oswald found at his disadvantage when she tackled him. and they disappeared into the inky waters with a loud splash.

After wrestling and grappling at each other for some time, Oswald relented and let his wife sit up. Sigrid huffed out a sad breath as the water around them began to settle. “The noise will probably keep them away.”

“No, I don’t think so.. They always come when the Dog-star rises.”

Sigrid made a skeptical face, but she sat back and let Oswald call their fetches. Soon toward them two spiders began to glide along the slightly disturbed surface of the fenwaters. They were each the size of Oswald’s hand, furry and molasses brown, with two white stripes accenting their bodies like lightning strikes.

Oswald reached out his hand and let them come near, and Sigrid watched as the shrieks and cries of the cicadas and crickets lurking just beyond their meeting place envelopped them. ”Every time we come to see them, I feel more anxious than the last.”

“Because you’re one year closer to them passing away?” Sigrid grimaced. “That’s not very hopeful.”

“Usually, yes,” there was a sadness in Oswald’s dark eyes. “But this really is the last time, isn’t it?”

Sigrid seemed to be having trouble breathing, but quickly cleared her throat and found she couldn’t look at her husband. "Does my brother know about us... about any of this?"

He returned a solemn but slightly dry raise of the eyebrow. "Of course not. Do you really think my plans with you come up as pillow talk?"

Although she seemed satisfied by that answer, Sigrid's eyes seemed to mist over slightly.

Oswald let his hand glide lightly below the surface of the water, sweeping the female spider into his outstretched palm. The way he looked at her was that of a believer, a servant of the Gods. With his free hand, he readied his hunting knife. Sigrid watched the spider balance on Oswald’s palm.

“Well,” Oswald said, in a low, gravely voice that was lost to the cicadas, “let's make that bet."