“For it giveth all lovers courage, that lusty month of May” – Sir Thomas Malory

---

It would have been easy to forget in

This damp, grey spring; to miss the holiday

Of the sun when it cannot be seen. Who

Can think of light and joy in the midst of

Blood and death, and what love is there to be

Found in dank camps and filthy battlefields?

-

So hard to keep track of days, when one melds

Seamlessly to the next, night and morn both

Clouded and wet, and impossible to

See the moon wax or wane when no light may

Pierce through the grey blanket that lays over

The sky; easily might the day be missed.

-

But the tide of seasons pulses through the

Blood of some nonetheless, and the golden

Leader of the Swordswomen feels it too

Keenly. She knows what day dawns, knows that the

Silver orb grows full, and she is restless

To obey the celestial commands.

-

When dusk falls on that most passionate of

Nights, the only fire to find is in

That of the heavens, a storm rolling through,

Drenching all and drowning out drumbeats with

A thunder that echoes the discontent

Rumblings of those who wish to celebrate.

-

All attempts to light bonfires are in

Vain, and for many the night is lonely,

With the Swordswomen camped alone and the

West Cavalry a valley away. Some

Find comfort enough in each others’ arms,

But many remain ladies lacking lords.

-

As for that Golden Queen, she lies alone

In a mildewed tent, twisting and writhing,

Near-mad with longing, listening to the

Storm with spite for She who sends it, who taunts

And mocks Her get so mercilessly, who

Laughs at the frustration of low mortals.

-

Finally she rises, and strides out in

Defiance of the deluge. Better at

Least to be under the sky, not trapped ‘neath

Sodden fabric. She takes no cloak, no shield

From the tempest but her own sense of rage

And indignation at unfair events.

-

She mutters and curses as she walks, so

That the Lady of Fire may hear her

Displeasure. Rivulets pour down tanned cheeks,

Over slender neck, strong shoulders, and high

Breasts, and sun-bright hair is dimmed to wet hay,

A lifeless braid clinging to back and curves.

-

--Hellfire, Lady,-- she grumbles against

The darkness, and is answered by a sky

Split with streak of white. She frowns. --Don't try to

Intimidate me. Idle threats, all. I

Could use an infusion of fire.-- A

Replying, teasing crackle, and she laughs.

-

--What game is this of yours, Sa’del? Why choose

To torment those who would honour Your day

With piety and reverance?-- Again,

The clouds reply. --All right, not piety,

But we would worship you well. When have we

Ever failed to keep your vigil ardent?--

-

A gust of wind whips her, sending stinging

Rain pricking at her skin. Unimpressed, she

Scowls, but recognises the message sent.

--What know you, Lady?—she wonders, with eyes

That squint through lashes thick with water, turned

At the sky for answers. --What do you hide?--

-

A noise not thunder but just as wild

Breaks through the camp. As though for battle, the

Rider charges, intent and possessed with

A violent fury, drawn to this place by

The strange purity of instinct and the

Undeniable pulling of the soul.

-

The horses’s whinny carries through the storm,

And she recognises it as though the

Beast were her own. Without hesitation,

She runs, pounds toward the source, dashes to

The fine mount, grey as rain-pregnant clouds and

Spirited as the traveler he bears.

-

The man dismounts and tosses the reins to

A baffled stable-girl; his eyes only

See the bedraggled form racing toward him,

The flash of golden light amid the gloom.

He flings dripping hair from his face, and draws

His shoulders back, accepting of impact.

-

Without a word, her arms are around his

Neck, her legs locked about his waist, her lips

Parting his, seeking, devouring. His

Strong hands support her, hold her close; his teeth

Catch her lip, and if not for the stable-

Girl, he might have taken her where they stand.

-

When finally they part for air, and she

Is set back on her feet, she grins, and

Her fingers brush back a wet auburn lock

As she chastises, --You’re late.-- He tosses

His head, laughing, then lifts her from the earth

Again, carrying her from prying eyes.

-

--I promise, lady,-- he murmurs against

Her neck, --I’ll make it up to you.-- They do

Not make it to her tent; no cot for the

Fire Couple this night. They will honour

Her Mother under the elements, will

Worship in a temple of wind and cloud.

-

They couple frantically, rife with need and

Long-frustrated desire, couched on a

Blanket of wet grass, covered by mist and

Sheaths of rain. They are primal, pure, true to

Their own natures and to no other

Force, lost in the consuming flames of impulse.

-

When the world explodes, the passion of her

Throaty cry is echoed with a burst from

The heavens, a lance of light her Mother

Throws down, in challenge or admiration,

And his follows soon upon, swallowed in a

Crash, Her resounding applause and laughter.

-

The lightning starts a fire somewhere near,

But no one moves to put it out, bad luck,

Surely, to deny this Goddess Her whims

On Her night. Her unwitting devotees

Look at the horizon, ablaze now with

Smoke and orange light, and feel it, their power.

-

The Lady may torment, but She approves

Of such displays, of love so strong it can’t

Be bounded, that it defies distance, that

Must seek release or drive its captives to

Madness. This is Her emotion, raw and

True, undiluted, unrestrainable.

-

The Fire Couple know this well; it has

Ever been so with them, hot as summer’s

Twilight, elemental as a tempest,

And so in love they nearly fear it, fear

The strength of themselves, and what deeds that this

Unconquerable longing drives them to.

-

But they glory in it, for there are none

Like them; another pair was never so

Made, and perhaps the better for all the

Worlds. But they are beautiful, created

For each other, a match made in Hell, to

Burn brightly against the dark for all time.