On Fallen Wings (15 page)

She scooped her pile of carrots into a cotton bag. “Before leaving, Cael told me that he left you a present.”

I scowled. “Do you know what it is?”

My stomach began to twist. As a faerie, I was forbidden to speak cruelly toward another, or to cause pain intentionally; however, my words toward Cael the previous night had been cold and direct. I had feared his drunken intentions. Had he been honest? What if he left me something to apologize, or had another reason for the gift?

“No,” answered Mother, ending my chaotic reasoning. She chopped a pile of dried almonds with tiny pattered hammering.

When the kettle brimmed with cider, I carried it to the fireplace and fastened its handle onto the iron hook over the wavering flames. I watched them for a moment, absorbing what warmth they offered.

“Did you find what he left you?” asked Mother. She began slicing dried apples with unmatched efficiency.

“No, not yet.” I returned to the kitchen and opened a cupboard to remove five medium plates. I wasn’t interested in his gift, and hoped that she’d soon forget, so that I could.

“He left it in the storage room.” Mother nodded her head toward the empty room across the hall. She wasn’t giving up.

“Okay, Mother,” I told her, with a resigning sigh. “I’ll go see what he left.” I took the plates to the dining room and arranged them quietly on the table. I walked casually into the empty storage room, unsure of what to expect.

Nothing.

Dark furs littered the floor and assorted wool blankets lay folded in one corner. The burlap bag that held the helmets from my adventure at the cave was missing. I gasped and the air inside left me in a panic. Blood escaped my face as I dropped to my knees. Father had given the shield to the silversmith for repair, but I had been unable to decide which helmet to give Sean. The bag had been in this room for safety.

Frantically, I pulled the fur and blankets aside. As I cleared the room, I noticed one helmet, buried under the corner of the covering I had just lifted. It couldn’t have tumbled to that position on accident. Confused, I lifted another blanket. This revealed a second helmet, neatly placed. I glanced through the lace curtains of the room’s lone window, staring outside to verify that no one was watching.
What did Cael do?

I carefully cleared the furs from the floor, piling them in the corner where my full bag had once been. I stepped back to examine the floor. Cael had arranged most of the rusted helmets together, but placed one separately from the others.

“Mother, come see,” I called out, staring at the odd design.

Mother entered the room behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder. “What is this?”

“I don’t know,” I answered, shaking my head. “Do you know what it means?”

“It looks like he’s chosen a helmet,” she said. “Why would he make this design? He could have told you.”

“I might know why.” I turned to her and recounted my conversation the previous night with Cael. The words I used didn’t make sense—even to me, but I wanted her to know everything.

When I finished, Mother pulled me close and hugged me. “Oh, dear Rhiannon,” she said, squeezing me tight. “You worry too much.” She released me and picked up the lone helmet from the floor. She turned it around and examined it. “I think that your future brother has offered you a blessing. This is a fine helmet; Sean will be proud to wear it. I’m think Cael is doing everything he can to make you happy.” She placed the helmet under her arm and pulled me close again with the other. “Yes, I am certain he thinks you are beautiful. We all know that you are.”

Mother’s words made my face flush with blood. I didn’t know how to respond.

“You are tall, striking, and one of the few chosen women of the Fae.” Mother stroked the back of my hair. “You’re perfect—as you should be.” She placed the helmet into my hands. “Cael’s actions have brought you closer to marriage with Sean. He’s showing you respect, and honor.”

I looked down at the helmet. I had stared, examined, and studied each of them many times; it was hard to enjoy them anymore. I knew them for their flaws, and no longer their value. “Thank you, Mother,” I said. I held the helmet aside and squeezed her tight again. “Thank you.”

~ O ~

The conversation during our morning meal was more about Cael’s mysterious gift than the Moon Season, which annoyed me. I was happy for the gift, but more excited for the celebration, so I stayed quiet. I needed to clear my mind and focus on the ceremony.

After breakfast, Leila and I collected the dishes. “Leila,” I asked, “will you help me get ready?”

She agreed, but was particularly rough on my hair that morning—probably as revenge for not giving her the wash water. In resignation, I let her pull and twist my long locks while she deftly wove the angel vine flowers in and out of my braids.

“You might need to come and help me next season,” I said, as she brushed one side of my hair. “I could never do this alone.”

“Or, you can come to the house and stay the night before celebrations,” she answered, plainly. She lowered her head so that I could see her face beside mine in the mirror and smiled. It was hard to believe we were sisters; she looked more like Mother, petite and dark; even her hair was as iron straight as Mother’s was. Leila continued. “I promise I won’t take your room, as long as you keep visiting.”

I smiled back. Leila was smarter than she acted. “I’ll visit as often as I can,” I answered.

She pulled a curling lock of my hair and folded it over the front of my shoulder. “There, she said. “ Perfect.”

I stood and turned around with my arms raised, allowing the sleeves of my golden shawl to reach toward the floor. Then I thanked her with a hug.

Celebration mornings pass quickly, and this one was no exception. All of us were busy. Father brought us the small pushcart from the barn and, with Ethan’s help, we loaded it with everything it could hold. We packed extra blankets, thick canvas tents, and down filled pillows for our night in the cold. Mother’s collection of kettles, pans, and sharp knives clanged and clattered as I pushed the cart awkwardly through the snow and past the front gate of our home.

“At least the sun is out,” said Mother, staring at the sky. “As long as there is light, there will be warmth.” Mother was always right.

Our long walk to Stone Meadow took longer than normal. The wide road changed from a beautiful untouched blanket of white, to a brown muddy quagmire that grabbed the cart’s wheels. Leila and I struggled to move it forward. Father and Ethan had stayed behind, as usual, to take care of the chores and the horses. I wished they had come; the lingering pain in my arms and legs made our struggle even worse.

“You should have brewed some healing tea, or Liquid Night,” Leila told me, while watching me rub my shoulders. “You’ll be sore while you’re dancing.”

“I’ll be all right,” I answered. “Once I start the motions, my legs will make their own energy.”

With our cart full of supplies, we joined other villagers on the path to Stone Meadow. Our tradition called for the women to prepare the camp while the men took care of the business of living, but that day seemed different. Several sons and husbands walked alongside their families, wielding short spears and bows. Never before had the village men come armed to celebrations.

“What’s happening, Mother?” asked Leila, who had stopped pushing. She pointed at one of the men.

“They’re afraid,” answered Mother. “It’s unsafe to travel alone these days.”

I immediately thought of Sean.

“But, all of us are here.” Leila watched me struggle in the mud. “Surely the bandit wouldn’t rob us during the celebration.”

“He’s not from here,” I said. “He’s a stranger, and probably doesn’t realize the importance of the Season Celebrations.” I had never told my family about my encounter with the man. It wasn’t a good moment to share it with them.

While Mother stared at me with curious eyes, I changed the subject. “Look,” I said, pointing through the trees. “There’s snow on the Standing Stones.”

The majestic stones of our meadow wore caps of glistening snow. We all stopped walking and stared. It was a special moment; I knew that we might never repeat it in a lifetime. These stones had been in the meadow for hundreds of years. They had always been a part of Aisling. I wondered how many times they had witnessed a season like this.

After a dutiful pause, I bowed to the stones and turned back to the cart. Mother and Leila joined me, and we trudged across the snow-covered meadow toward its southeastern edge. With a loud, exuberant sigh, I announced my delight when we arrived at our traditional camping spot. I released my grip on the cart handle and rubbed my aching hands.

Mother put us to work, tossing instructions to Leila and me, while emptying her pots from the cart. I was grateful that it was a sunny day, but wished it were warmer—and that I had been given a different task. While I dug with my hands, clearing snow for the tents, Leila made a small fire for the feast. She seemed to enjoy teasing me, exaggerating her appreciation for the heat from the flames she fanned.

Across the meadow, on the opposite side of the Standing Stones, the bards announced their arrival. They sang songs, blew pipes, and strummed loud fiddles. Their melodies jumped across the snow and lightened our spirits. While attempting to thaw near our fire, I thought back to our work in the field the day prior, grinning at the thought of my father and brother dressed violet and dancing. Father hated the bards. We generally camped far away from them because he enjoyed his peace during celebrations.

As the sun crept across the sky, the meadow filled with villagers, and the wonderful smells of celebration feasts they prepared. That afternoon, Father and Ethan arrived at the camp, accompanied by Earl and Cael. Apparently, Father had insisted that the Bauers camp with us. Cael carried a bundle of blankets and Earl pulled a small two-wheeled cart full of supplies.

Earl looked tired. Sean’s absence seemed to be taking a toll on him. I wanted to ask if he’d heard anything, but never found a good moment. Father kept us busier than Mother had, and after he ordered Ethan to help me raise our tents, the capers of my mischievous brother kept me occupied. From the eavesdropped pieces of the men’s conversation, I finally concluded that there was no news from Sean.

While the afternoon was lively and amicable, I stayed away from Cael. I said hello, but after his terse reply, I could tell that he wanted to avoid speaking altogether. Leila asked him about the helmet, but instead of answering, he shuffled to his father’s side of camp.

“Come on,” said Ethan, tugging at my sleeve once both tents were ready. “I’m done. Let’s go wander.”

“I don’t know,” I answered. I was exhausted already, and wanted to relax before the dances. I offered the best excuse I could think of. “Mother may need my help.”

Ethan pulled my sleeve harder and refused to release me. He turned to Mother. “May I leave and cross the meadow, now? I want to play Sticks.”

“Yes, dear,” Mother answered, without looking up from the onion she was slicing. At home, or at a celebration, my mother never stopped cooking.

“Are you certain you don’t want me to stay?” I asked her, tugging back at Ethan and scowling. “I can help until dusk.”

“No, dear,” she answered again. This time she looked at me. With a smile, she lowered her knife and walked toward me. She tugged at my gown and turned me to face away. “I never let this out,” she said, pulling at my back. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, Mother,” I told her. “We’ve all been busy. Why don’t you make me a new gown—as a wedding gift?”

My answer must have pleased her. I could feel her smile as she straightened the back of my shawl. She patted me on the backside and shoved me forward.

“Go enjoy the afternoon,” she said, “and keep your brother out of trouble.” The tone of her words warned me that if Ethan caused any trouble, it would be
my
fault.

Ethan loved the Season Celebrations as much as I did, although for a different reason; it was the only occasion he could play a full game of Sticks, our village game of war. I had known peace all my life, but long before I was born, Aisling had endured years of war and occupation. Sticks was a way of remembering. When Ethan had pulled on my arm at camp, begging me to follow him across the meadow, I wasn’t surprised. I was surprised, however, when Cael followed. As we trampled through the snow and weaved among the scattered camps, I glanced back and saw him close behind us.

When we reached the north edge of the meadow, dozens of villagers were already gathering, preparing for the games. Someone had dug deep lines in the snow, marking wide boundaries for the matches. I stood at the side and watched while Ethan rushed to a group and eagerly fastened a bright green cloth around his arm; that was his clan color for the match. I felt Cael rub his arm next to my shoulder.

“Are you going to join?” I asked, honestly trying to persuade him. I was hoping he would play, and allow me a chance to leave.

“No,” he answered. “Sticks is a child’s game.”

Annoyed at my failure, I stepped forward and turned back to look at Cael. I moved toward the gathering players. “That’s too bad,” I told him. “We could use you in our clan.”

I hadn’t played Sticks since I was very young, and had never been good at it; nevertheless, I needed an excuse to evade my protector. To Ethan’s delight, I joined his clan and waited with him for a matching number of players to volunteer. As I looked around at our competitors, children, women, and men—all with red bands on their arms, my heart fluttered faster. Dressed in the gold and white of the Fae, I was an obvious target.