Part 17

          At the left side, there stands a man somewhat obscured in shadows, with a whirl of maenads and satyrs around him.  His figure is long and graceful, his dark hair in stark contrast to his pale (though beautiful) features.  He is stepping toward the right, away from the shadows, even as a half-naked maenad clings to his arm.  Past a low grouping of roses, a slim young woman in diaphanous light green is seated on a large rock, beneath the overarching branches of what I think is a blossoming almond tree.  Her hair is cascading curls of strawberry blond, and her lips are parted in song, but her eyes are turned aside to gaze at the man standing behind her, in ignorance of the small crowd of fawning admirers before her.
          There's a larger grouping of flowers - and I'm sure the man standing beside me now has arranged them there with careful thought to the meaning of each, but I can't quite make out all the different ones from here.  And he's clearly lost in the description he's giving, and I'm certainly not going to stop the melodic flow of words in his rich voice.
          "As David sang to soothe the troubled Saul, so too does her song quiet his pained memory.  To keep her near him, he builds for her a palace in a secluded place, with endless flowers and anything her heart might desire."  On the far right of the summer panel is a lush garden, with colored tile walkways, a gracefully sculpted fountain at the center of it, with the hint of a large brick house beyond it.
          "Yet as the autumn came, the skies grew dark and the sun-filled days diminished.  The colors she brought to his life remained vibrant, but clouds crept in at the edges.  There were questions he could not answer for her, and though he brought her so many gifts, there were some... not many, but an important few, that he could not give her."
          Azal's words on that awful day echo in my mind: "...and he will not give you a child."  In the image above, the skies begin as a clear October blue, but there are dark clouds along the horizon, with the colors losing saturation and vibrance as the image progresses from left to right.  The woman in green and the man in grey walk together among gardens at the beginning of the image, but beyond a few more plants (it looks like trumpet flowers and small purple flowers on tall spikes, with a cypress tree behind them), they have separated.  He stands off in the shadows beneath a trellis heavy with clematis and nightshade, a crocus blossom (I think) drooping from his hand, while she is crumpled on the ground, weeping over a low-growing plant with silvery leaves.
          The next panel is in shadow - I had originally assumed it was the time of day and angle of light through the windows, but I understand now it's intentional, the atmosphere dim and colors almost entirely gone.  "Winter fell, long and cold, and because he could not stand to see her sorrow, he fled from her.  He fled into the depths of a cave, where the darkness would surround him, and lead him in time to Hades, where he could forget all in the blaze of torment there."
          I don't dare turn to look into Meres' face - his voice is nearly breaking with pain.  I can't say a word - I don't want to stop the flow of his story, but neither are there words to console that depth of sorrow.  His cold hand still rests on my shoulder, and I lift one of my own hands, setting it atop his and pressing gently.  I hear him exhale, and sense a faint smile of gratitude, as he wraps his hand around mine.
          "...go on," I say softly.  "If you want to, that is, I'm sure it's not an easy story, and you certainly don't have to tell me if it's this difficult."
          "No.  But nothing that is true is easy," he replies slowly, his voice beginning to steady.  "And this one ends happily.  In the painting, at least, and 'in life, as in art' - or so I most fervantly hope."
          I can't make out much of the winter panel - the entire left side is dark and shadowy, though I think I can make out Meres' silhouette there, among murkier figures and strange sigils, which I suspect are yet another language he knows well.  But off to the right, standing outside the cave, is Celestine in her soft green, her lips again parted in song, snowdrops woven into her auburn curls.  Another dense grouping of plants I can't quite identify, then she has taken his hand in hers, and leads him from darkness into a space bright with fresh-fallen snow.  His own dark hair is laced with flowers, the deep burgundy tails of love-lies-bleeding, his eyes narrowed in pain against the sudden brightness.
          "They meet again, as she stumbles into that dark place, and finds him there.  Her heart is wounded, but so is his, and somehow... somehow, they find a peace in knowing that the other also suffers unknowable pain.  And in the spring, their garden regains its vigor and beauty, with her smile and her songs again showering the upturned blossoms.  His dark memories do not leave him - nor do hers entirely fade - yet, for a time at least, they can again see the beauty in the world they've created together."
          And the spring panel is a riot of color, I see the two of them together beside the fountain, he lifts her and spins her about--- I gasp, recognizing the scene.  "This is our garden..."  It's where I first saw Meres and Celestine, so happy and in love beside the main fountain of the garden.
          I hear him chuckle softly, and he pats my shoulder as he pulls his hand away from mine, stepping to look into my face again.  "So it was you that I saw that day.  I had thought so, though I wasn't quite certain."
          "Yes... that was the first time I saw you and Celestine.  It... I still know so little about the two of you, there's very little information about you remaining in my time."  And I want to know everything about this beautiful world you created, and the depth of love for each other that enabled it to be, and what has made you so very, very sad, and how I, like Celestine, could maybe help, in any small way, when she has gone and you still linger on in such deep pain...
          "I am glad to hear that.  I have put a good deal of effort into our seclusion here.  There are... a number of reasons why I should like to keep my presence as unknown as possible."
          "...do you... do you mind that I'm here?  And trying to learn more, which I might tell others in my own time?"
          Amusement shows in his eyes as he smirks, a little self-satisfied.  "My dear, I have no fear of one such as you.  You are welcome to learn all you can, my true secrets are hidden deeply enough."
          Suddenly, a thought strikes me - the letter I'd seen in his desk.  "Azal!  Meres, you shouldn't... you shouldn't let him stay, you should watch him closely while he's here.  He's not here yet, is he?"
          Surprised at both my sudden insistence and my knowledge of Azal, he shakes his head.  "No, though I expect him to arrive before long.  How do you know of him, and what do you--- you said you do not always visit in order, what have you seen of him?"
          Fears of screwing up timelines aside, there's no way I could tell him what I saw.  I can still hardly manage to think about it, there's no way I could speak aloud of it, especially to him, who would be destroyed by it.  "...he's cruel, Meres, deeply cruel.  And he will do things that cause you and Celestine great pain."
          A dry mirthless laugh leaves his lips, and his dark eyes look far away.  "Oh, sweet child, I know quite well the depths of his cruelty.  He and I share a long history... very long, and we have seen much of each other, far more than most men learn of each other in the span of a lifetime.  But I also understand what troubles him, and I think time spent here may alleviate a little of his pain, as it has mine."
          "...but at what cost to you and Celestine?  Please, you must be wary of him.  Watch him.  Don't--- oh, no, no no no!"  My vision is blurring - I'm leaving, I can't bear to leave now, this time has been so precious.  I grab at Meres' hand, trying to hold on to him, though I can hardly feel his cold skin now.  "Don't trust Azal with---"

          I hardly notice the pain as I hit the empty ground two stories down, the pain of frustration and sorrow in my heart is so much greater.

          I sit on the ruined grounds of the mansion for a long time, until the sun has clearly set and I can hardly see the words I'm writing - I have to start back if I don't want to be caught in the woods after dark.  I scribble a last thought in my sketchbook, following pages and pages of sketches and notes of Meres, of the paintings, of every detail before it slips away from memory.  I pick myself up, wincing a little - I haven't hurt myself badly enough to not be able to walk, but there's going to be a bruise covering my right side from knee to hip, and I have a pretty bad scrape along one arm and my right ankle.  So much for not getting caught on an upper floor!