On Fallen Wings (22 page)

I held my cup and watched whimsical curls of steam float and dance before taking my first sip. The sweet cider fire scolded my tongue, but I gulped it recklessly, too cold to care. “We are beholden to you, Tara,” I said, gripping the goblet and absorbing its warmth with my hands. “A few more moments of that icy wind, and I doubt Leila and I would have thawed before Sun Season.” I spoke only half in jest.

“It’s heavenly,” said Leila. “Tara, you make the best apple cider. I love coming here.”

While I offered my agreement about the cider, Tara blushed and nodded her thanks before returning to the back room. Her oldest boy, a stocky youth with brown hair that hung below his face, entered the room.

“Hello, Michael,” said Leila, smiling over her drink.

Michael winked at her. “Do you want me to carry your order home?”

“No, thank you,” I said. I warmed my face in the steam of my drink. “We brought a cart.” I set my goblet on a small table and followed him to the front room. “Would you like some help loading it?”

“No, it’s all right,” said Michael. He waved me back to the kitchen. “I can manage. Enjoy your drink.”

He listened to his mother’s instructions and then hurried out the front door. A draft of icy air sifted past, making me shiver. Almost immediately, the door swung open again.

“Wow,” said Leila. She was still smiling. “He’s fast.”

“Rhiannon?” Father’s shaking voice echoed into the kitchen.

I moved to the doorway. “Father—why are you here?”

He filled the tiny room. His face was flush and he was panting. “There’s been an attack.”

“What’s going on?” Leila bumped into my back.

“Leila, go home,” said Father. He opened the door. “Rhiannon, come with me.”

“I don’t understand.” Leila started whining. “What happened?”

“Leila!” My father’s voice shook the windows of the tiny Dunn home.

I jumped back, frightened at his fury. I had never seen him act this way. Leila began to sob. She covered her face and brushed past me before running out the door.

“I’ll have Michael take your flour home,” said Tara, softly. She spoke kindly, but I’ll never forget the worry in her eyes.

My stomach twisted and pulled, and my instincts told me to follow Leila out the door toward safety, but my feet wouldn’t budge. “Father,” I cried, “what’s wrong?”

The front door swung open again and Michael stepped into the room. Over his shoulder, past the doorway, I saw Nia and Madeline standing next to a tree. They were huddled together and crying.

I ran past Michael. “Father?” I was begging. “Please—what happened?”

He placed a large hand on my shoulder. I felt his breath shudder as he answered. “Sean’s home was attacked,” he said. “He’s missing.”

Before he finished speaking, I wrestled from under his arm and rushed outside. Ignoring the icy wall of air that met me, I ran to Nia in disbelief. “What’s happening?” I cried.

“He’s gone,” she whispered. She reached out to me and pulled me close.

Father put his hand on my shoulder and turned me to face him. “I am on my way to the Bauer farm. Go home and I will come as soon as I know more.”

“Then I’m coming with you.” My words sounded distant, like echoes from a dream. A nightmare. “There’s some mistake. Sean’s at home. He’s safe.”

Nia hovered over me. “Cael escaped,” she said. “He came to our house and told my father about an attack.”

“Then Cael is lying,” I yelled. “Nothing is wrong.”

“Rhiannon!” Father pulled me close and hugged me so tight that I couldn’t breathe; not that I wanted to.

“It isn’t true,” I told him, wriggling free from his arms. “He’s not missing. You’ll see.” I shuddered; not from the cold, but from an impulse of emotion that erupted from my stomach. I forced my words out. “Everything is okay,” I said, defiantly. “Someone is mistaken.” I turned and began running towards Sean’s home. I heard Father biting off a curse and Madeline and Nia calling after me, but my focus had narrowed to the path in front of me. Ignoring the bitter cold that had been my only complaint a short while before, I kept running until a stitch in my side forced me to stop.

I rested only a moment, forcing air into my lungs through ragged gasps, but it was long enough to allow Father to pass me. He quickly disappeared behind a bend. Madeline and Nia caught up to me, offering support and kind words, but I pushed them away and scrambled after my father. When I saw him kneeling on one knee, I stopped. He examined the ground for a moment, then drew a short sword from under his coat and ran toward Sean’s home.

At the place where he had stopped, I searched the dry brown leaves that covered the trail.
What was Father looking for?

Then I saw the blood.

My vision darkened as if the sun had suddenly disappeared. The trail of blood—and not just a few drops—led to Sean’s home. Suddenly, I was angry. I clenched my fist and ran after Father. Nia and Madeline yelled behind me. I didn’t understand what they said. I didn’t care.

I chased Father until reaching the well clearing. There, chaos and destruction stole my disbelief and smashed my remaining hope into tiny pieces. Broken glass, splintered chairs, and blood—a lot of blood—covered the ground around the well. This had been the scene of a tremendous fight. Someone had been badly injured. In front of Eldon’s home, a pair of villagers attended to a man lying on the ground. I caught a glimpse of wispy white hair. Eldon.

I ran to Sean’s home. “Sean?”

His front door hung at an angle; its hinges had been broken from force. The front window was shattered. Inside, the round dining table was overturned and a bloodstained knife was buried in one of the legs. Metal plates and forks were strewn across the floor. The fireplace was cold and empty.

“Sean?”

I darted toward his bedroom at the back of the house. His bed sheets were smooth, leather boots and sandals lay neatly arranged against one wall, and his window was clear and intact. Inside the small corner closet, folded cotton tunics and wool pants were stacked on uneven shelves. A long spear leaned helplessly in the corner.

“Oh, please, please be safe,” I chanted repeatedly.

I stepped back into the hall and glanced into Cael’s room. Though untidy, it also lacked the destruction of the front kitchen and dining area. Back in the hall, splattered blood on the wall and floor trailed to a puddle on the bathing room floor. There, more blood covered a cracked mirror. Tiny chards of glass speckled the small stone counter. A bucket of stained water sat in the corner.

Alerted by the crunch of broken glass, I left the hall and re-entered the front room. Father towered in the open doorway.

“Is he here?” he asked, quietly.

I shook my head and tried to answer. My voice failed me.

“Madeline is tending to Eldon. Whoever did this knocked his teeth out and cut his tongue. He can’t speak.”

The gruesome reality that I had fought against struck me like a blow to the stomach. I curled onto the floor and sobbed. “Where is he?”

Father knelt next to me and covered my shoulders with his cloak. “I don’t know,” he said helplessly. “I don’t know.”

I couldn’t move; my body refused to answer my need. As I lay curled on the floor, consoled by my father, a shadow covered the doorway. I looked up. Nia was crying.

“I’m sorry, Rhiannon,” she said. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She ran across the room and knelt next to us.

I wiped the tears from my eyes, struggling to see clearly and to focus my thoughts. I turned to Father. “How did you know?” The tears quickly resumed.

“Nia told us,” he said. “She arrived soon after you left to get flour.”

“Cael came to the house and told my father,” Nia explained, leaning down to hug me. “I didn’t know it was this bad. I’m so sorry.”

We sat huddled together until Father stood. He left his large coat on my shoulders. I sniffled. At the overturned table, he removed the bloody kitchen knife and examined it. Without looking at us, he set it down and replaced the table to a standing position. He quietly walked outside.

“What do you want to do?” asked Nia.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. What can I do?”

“Come on,” she said, tugging on my arms. “Let’s get out of here.”

I forced myself to stand and followed her out of the destroyed room.

In front of Eldon’s home, Father stood over Madeline. As I replaced the coat onto his shoulders, he reached back and touched my hand. His was warm. Eldon lay on his back, moaning. He was in horrible condition. Bruised and bloody, his face bulged as Madeline wrapped it with strips from a tunic. I reflected on our last conversation, when he had suggested that I find the cave. I thought of his voice and wondered what would happen to him now.

“There’s nothing you can do here,” said Madeline. She had been crying, and her face was filled with sorrow, but her voice remained low and steady. “Was Cael injured?”

Nia nodded. “He was bleeding from his face.”

Father turned to me. “He’ll need your help. Will you go and attend to the boy?” he asked. “I’ll walk you there if you want.”

“We’ll be okay,” I said, though inwardly, I wondered if that would ever be true again. “It isn’t far.”

I turned to follow Nia, taking small careful steps around the clutter surrounding the well. When we reached the twisting trail, I leaned on her shoulder and used it for support. The sun was high above, marking the midday, but already I felt drained and weak, as if nature had fooled me. Days like this shouldn’t last as long. With Nia’s support, I staggered to the road. The walk was slow, but eventually, we arrived at the large gate of her home. Nia heaved open the heavy iron, exposing a cluttered courtyard.

Once inside a pair of large doors, a rush of heat welcomed us, accompanied by the scent of vanilla. Nia’s father demanded a tidy residence and paid others to keep it.

“Father, where are you?” Nia’s voice echoed off the granite walls.

When no answer came, she pulled me down the wide hall. “I’m certain they’re in the sitting room.”

Nia was right. Around the corner at the end of the hall, her father stood next to the wide stone fireplace. Cael lay on one leather couch with a blood stained towel covering his face.

“Rhiannon,” said Owen, walking briskly toward me. “How are you, child?”

“I’m okay,” I lied. “I’ve come to help Cael.”

“Thank you. His face was cut. It’s bad.”

Nia ran to her father. “You should see the Bauer home,” she said, hugging him. “It’s awful!”

“Did he say who attacked them?” I asked, kneeling in front of Cael. “Does he know where Sean is?”

Owen shook his head. “No, he’s been sleeping.”

As I carefully peeled one layer of blanket away from his face, Cael shifted his arm. Startled, I pulled back my hand, waiting for him to say something. I looked up at Nia. She leaned over the back of the couch and didn’t speak. I took a long breath, dreading what I might see, before reaching back down to remove the blanket. I pulled it away slowly, until I had removed the final blood soaked layer. My stomach rolled over. Nia collapsed on the floor. Cael’s face was covered in so much blood that I couldn’t tell what was intact.

“Warm water,” I said, quickly turning to Nia. “I need a pot of warm water. Do you have any towels or clean fabric?”

Nia nodded, her face as pale as mine must have been. She hurried in the direction of her kitchen.

Owen leaned close. “I covered him the best I could,” he said. “I didn’t know what else to do. He’s been cut.”

I nodded. “You did fine. I’ll clean him up. Do you have Aurelia leaves?”

He looked at me, puzzled.

“Owen,” I said, firmly. “I can help him, but I’m going to need some things. Do you store any herbs?”

He shook his head.

I looked down and closed my eyes. I felt helpless to aid Cael. The healing arts were a part of me; they were a part of every faerie. Nevertheless, I was away from the comfort of my home, away from the bottles of plants and berries I had collected as part of my devotion. I had never expected this—but the moment was upon me. Cael needed my help.

I rubbed the diamond on my necklace, accepting its offering of courage.

Nia returned to the room, carrying a small black cauldron and several towels draped over her arm. She handed me the kettle. It was cold.

I grabbed two of the towels from her arm and dipped them into the water. I tossed a third towel over the edge of the couch. “Nia, I need you to help me. Warm this kettle in the fireplace.”

Nia still looked terrified, but nodded and took the kettle. Cael moaned.

 I wrung most of the water from one of the towels and dabbed Cael’s forehead. “Nia?” I asked. “Do you know what Aurelias look like?”

She mumbled a no.

I kept dabbing, wiping as much blood away as I dared. “Near the smokehouse, on the tree side, where we used to hide as children,” I called to her without looking up, “you’ll find golden flowers. Those are Aurelias. I need their leaves. Will you collect some for me? Please hurry.”

I didn’t look up to see if she heard, as Cael’s needs occupied my attention. I cleaned his face, exposing several deep cuts, but thankfully, nothing worse. As I worked under his chin, I exposed the wound that had released so much blood.