Chapter 7: Dance
Just before the group dance event began, Neste walked down the barn to Llawen’s stall, trying to convince herself it was just another practice day. Her tumbling stomach knew better. She worried about the details of the dance until the routine muddled in her head and she panicked, thinking she’d forget the whole thing. Then she entered Llawen’s stall.
The mare tossed her head and snuffled in Neste’s pocket for a molasses treat. Neste stroked the silky, gray neck and her confidence in Llawen banished doubts from her head.
Isabella led the mare from the stall and Neste followed them out to the yard. Adam stood rigid, staring at the sky and clutching Mallt’s rein. Hoel leaned against Lleu and watched Adam, his lip curled in disgust. The other two riders in their group followed Neste out of the barn.
In the sky, the first group dance responded to the band’s fanfare and swooped into their opening. Neste heard the music but refused to look up. It would only make her nervous. “Adam, don’t watch,” she advised, putting her hand lightly on his arm. He ignored her. Hoel frowned, and Neste removed her hand. She tried to infuse more assurance into her words than she felt. “Be confident,” she told Adam. “You’re ready.”
The music stopped, signaling their turn. She put her foot in the stirrup and swung up into the saddle.
Hoel nodded to his riders, competition face in place. Fierce and focused, he led them toward the takeoff. As they’d practiced a thousand times, the five of them soared off the cliff as one unit and climbed to the correct altitude.
Neste’s hands held the reins loosely; Llawen knew what to do. The powerful wings beat strongly. Below, the crowd cheered. Neste tuned them out, concentrating on the mare’s ears. The music started and she guided Llawen into the opening sequence, gliding through the sky. The flight pattern unfolded as planned, the five horses all executing their moves perfectly. Neste couldn’t relax yet. Not with the Humminghorse part coming up.
She placed Llawen in position and tried to breathe normally. The sorrel and bay swept into position above each of Neste’s shoulders, just far enough so that Llawen’s wings wouldn’t tangle with their feet. “Oh, Rhiannon, help Adam,” Neste muttered. Her eyes fastened on Mallt as the horse missed a beat. She flew next to the sorrel rather than above him. A few jerky wingstrokes brought her up, but not far enough. Neste forced herself to look forward as Mallt overcorrected and flew directly over Llawen. Neste couldn’t see the mare now that Mallt hung above and behind her, but she could see the bay’s legs as the horse and rider held position. The sorrel shied outward, but his rider corrected immediately. Mallt’s shadow lurched toward the sorrel, and Neste felt the wind from her wings. She looked over her shoulder to check Mallt’s height. To her horror, Mallt’s front hoof kicked inches from her head.
Clutching Llawen’s reins, Neste crouched along the mare’s neck. With Neste out of her usual position, Llawen broke out of her hover. She lurched upward, and Neste tried to correct her, swinging her to the left away from Mallt. Mallt followed. Neste flattened herself as much as possible, but Mallt’s wing stroked her back. On the next upstroke, Llawen’s right wing caught Mallt’s left. The horses leaned away, but the wings tangled. Neste frantically dodged Mallt’s hooves. Llawen tossed her head back, the whites of her eyes showing panic. Any hope of saving the routine vanished. Now she had to save her horse.
“Hah, Llawen!” Neste shouted, and kicked the mare into forward speed.
Too late. Mallt dipped low, her hoof striking Llawen’s rump just behind the saddle. Neste felt a glancing blow along her back as the mare above her pulled up her legs. Llawen twisted to see what attacked her, and Neste could only hang on as Mallt dropped beside her.
Adam’s eyes were as wide as Llawen’s, and his face white.
“Pull her away!” Neste yelled at him. But Adam froze, his hands tightening around the reins, signaling Mallt to fly toward them instead of away.
Mallt’s body jolted into Llawen, who screamed in panic. Pressure increased on Neste’s right leg, caught between the two horses. Pain shot up her leg and doubled when Neste felt a bone snap.
The horses’ bodies separated, but the wings did not. Wind rushed by Neste’s sweaty face as they lost altitude. Llawen twisted and bucked, kicking out at Mallt. Her one free wing continued to beat, but it wasn’t enough. Neste clung to the mare’s neck as they fell toward the ground, her right leg useless.
“Oh Rhiannon, save us! Llawen, it’s only Mallt! Fly free, del, fly free!”
At the very last, Llawen turned on her side and bared her teeth to snap at Mallt. Four wings and eight legs fluttered and tangled around Neste’s head. The force of impact as Llawen hit the ground jarred the wind out of Neste. Silence fell around them, muffling reality like a blanket of snow.
Awareness came slowly. Neste’s cheek lay against sweaty horsehair. The mare lay on her side, Neste on top of her. Llawen’s wing arched over her, turning the light silver. Pain shot up Neste’s right leg. The rasping noises she heard were her own uneven breaths. Her right arm twisted underneath her body. Flexing her hand, she realized it was still tangled in the reins. Her neck could not lift her head. Then sound made its way into her brain.
She heard screaming. People running. Someone called to the goddess Rhiannon. Inside the circle of Llawen’s silver wing, Neste felt removed from it all. Her immediate world held no sound or motion. Then the wing moved and the sun stabbed her eyes, but Llawen still hadn’t moved.
“Llawen?” Neste knew she spoke the horse’s name, but her ears heard only a louder rasp. “Llawen? Llawen?” It seemed important that she manage a recognizable version of the mare’s name.
Hands touched her, and a voice. “Neste? Neste!”
“Hoel?” she whispered.
“Don’t move, cariad, don’t move.”
She had no intention of moving unless she could alleviate the pain in her leg. Her head ached, and her left arm wasn’t behaving correctly. “Llawen?”
“Don’t try to talk, cariad.”
Hoel’s hands left her and more confident hands replace them. “Neste, where do you hurt?” Kenn spoke in a voice calm with experience and soothing in its familiarity.
“Leg.” Neste couldn’t manage more than single words, but her brain buzzed with confusion. Llawen remained still.
Carefully the hands shifted her body so she lay alongside the horse. With tingling needle pricks, feeling swept into her right arm, which had been caught under her body. She winced, but raised a hand to touch the horse. No muscles responded to her touch. Then someone lifted the horse and freed Neste’s trapped leg. Many hands carried her to a wagon. They left Llawen lying on the ground. Tears leaked out of Neste’s eyes. In any emergency, rescuers focused on the living. Everyone surrounded her. That meant Llawen…
“Oh, Rhiannon! Neste, I’m so sorry!” Adam’s face appeared above her, contorted into grief.
Neste realized he had been calling to the goddess. The goddess who had not saved Llawen. “You all right? Mallt?” she managed.
“Fine, we’re fine. Well, Mallt has some injuries. Not sure…”
His voice trailed off, but she had stopped listening after the first word. He’d caused the accident and he and Mallt were fine. Rhiannon had truly abandoned her.
The wagon trundled over the dirt road. Neste lay on her back, every jolt paining her. The sky above was blue and empty. Unable to cry or rage in anger, Neste concentrated on existing with part of her soul gone. Snatches of conversation drifted over her.
“Does she know?”
“Keep her comfortable.”
“What will be done about him?”
“The other horse will make it.”
Deciding she couldn’t yet deal with living, Neste closed her eyes.
The wagon came to a stop after a grueling journey. Jostled by hands lifting her, Neste cried out in pain. Voices overlapped, the tone reassuring, then her own bed cradled her. Kenn’s voice ordered plasters, splints, and bandages. Running
feet hurried to fetch supplies. Then strong hands gripped her thigh and others held her down.
“Hold on, Neste, this will hurt,” Kenn told her. He jerked her leg. She screamed and the world blackened.
Much later, Neste opened her eyes to the wooden planks of the ceiling above her bed. Far away, she could hear voices in the other room. The dim light in her room meant evening approached. She moved one arm then the other, flexing her hands. Beside her, clothing rustled. Marc leaned into view.
“Helo,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“What time is it?” she asked, and tried to sit up.
“Almost supper time. Don’t sit up yet. You’ll be sore.”
Neste winced, already discovering the truth of his words. “How bad is it?”
“I know better than to hide it from you, Neste. You are badly bruised all over. Your right leg is broken. Not bad for such a fall.” His eyes slid sideways so they wouldn’t meet hers.
“And?”
He took a deep breath. “Llawen is gone. Her body broke your fall. You would have died otherwise.”
Tears still would not come. Disconnected images of wings and legs flew through her head. “Mallt?”
“One wing is torn, and she’s limping. She’ll be out of commission this season, but will recover.”
She took a deep breath. “And Adam?” Her treacherous voice shook.
Marc shifted his weight, pulling his chair closer to the bed. He rubbed the back of his neck. Then he met her gaze and said, “He’s not hurt. Mallt landed hard, but on her feet.”
“He’s not hurt,” she repeated. Her brain soaked up the words, but her heart refused to listen. She focused on the cheerful white garlic flowers in the pewter tankard on her clothes chest and wondered if Elen knew of the accident yet. Marc’s clothing rustled as he rose and left the room.
Not long after, Neste awoke from drowsy contemplation of the flowers. Loud voices argued in the front room.
“She will want to see me. Let me pass.” Elen’s imperious tone made Neste smile for the first time.
“She isn’t taking visitors.”
“I am not a visitor, Glynis, and you well know it. I want to see for myself how she’s doing.”
“Her leg is broken…” Her sister’s voice remained firm, but Elen interrupted.
“Not her body, you fool, her soul. She’s lost her horse! Who is soothing her?”
Glynis’s snort of derision brought the first welling of tears in Neste’s eyes. “What do any of us really know about that, Elen? Go back to your own barn and let us care for ours.”
“You’re making a mistake. You’ll see.”
Glynis didn’t respond. Elen must have left, because silence descended once more. Neste slept.
She awakened a bit later when her door opened and Hoel entered. He still wore his blue and silver competition tunic.
“Mae’n ddrwg gen i, cariad. I’m so sorry to disturb you.” His furrowed brow hid the flowers from view. “Glynis is with your mother, so I came on in.”
Panic struck Neste. Her mother must be devastated that she couldn’t be at Neste’s bedside. Hoel stood up and paced the small room. Neste took a deep breath and tried to focus on the flowers, which seemed to be drooping.
Hoel punched the wall, the burst of violence catching Neste by surprise. “I’ll kill him for this!”
Neste didn’t respond. She knew he must mean Adam.
“His incompetence almost cost you your life, and we lost a fine horse. He’s no rider and shouldn’t be aboard one of our horses!”
Neste should apologize for insisting Adam be allowed to ride, should reassure Hoel by pointing out it was an accident, but she couldn’t utter words that trivialized Llawen’s death. For the first time she put the words together in a coherent thought. Tears that brimmed earlier now spilled. They poured down the sides of her face and puddled in her ears.
“I’ll send that tanner’s boy back to the shops if it’s the last thing I do! The barn will be stronger for it!” Hoel paced closer to the bed.
Neste gasped for air, and her sobs caught Hoel’s attention.
“Oh, cariad, please don’t cry. Dw i’n dy garu di.” The soft declaration of his love made her cry harder.
His hand, calloused from holding reins, smoothed her hair and wiped away tears, but once started Neste had to cry it out. Hoel sat on the edge of the bed and gathered her in his arms. Her cheek pressed against the wool of his tunic.
“Shhh, Neste, I’m here. My heart is breaking for you, but I don’t know what to say. Nothing we have experienced prepares us for tragedy. I remember when my mother and her horse died. They retired and put her horse out to pasture. Remember how much Tangwystyl enjoyed running along the fence when she could no longer fly? My mother devoted the rest of her life to baking treats for the riders and their horses. Their deaths were natural, horse and rider, after a long well-lived life. We grieved, but we knew it was their time. This is different. We can’t prepare for sudden tragedy, and it takes time to recover. So grieve, cariad, and know the whole barn grieves with you.”
Neste cried until her chest hurt from sobbing, her eyes were swollen and red, and Hoel’s tunic wet through. Exhausted, she clung to him. When her breathing returned to normal, he gently laid her down.
“I’ll bring some tea and a cold cloth,” he told her.
Once again alone, Neste took a deep breath. The flowers still drooped, but she no longer cared. Hoel had helped her realize she must accept the events of the day. She carefully sat up, wincing as her bruised body ached, and leaned back against her pillows. She felt more human in a sitting position.
Hoel returned. He wiped the tear streaks from her face, the delight of the cool cloth causing her to sigh. Then he held up a steaming cup.
“Glynis says there are healing herbs in here. A special tea for you. Can you hold it?”
She nodded. “Iawn, cariad. I have it. Diolch.” She thanked him and held it in both hands, enjoying the soothing warmth of the mug. The unique scent of her father’s tea tickled her nose. Tears threatened again, and she sipped the tea, swallowing hard. “Mmmm, tell Glynis it’s wonderful.”
“I’ll leave you in peace now. Do you think you can sleep?” When she nodded, he continued, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Hoel.” He stopped and pivoted to face her. “I can’t tell you how much you mean to me. Thank you.”
He crossed to the bed and leaned over, kissing her on the forehead. Then he left, closing the door gently behind him.
Exhausted by her tears and relaxed by the tea, Neste snuggled back into her bed and slept.
Wings Over Tremeirchson Page 13
