Wings Over Tremeirchson

by Linda Ulleseit

  Chapter 9: Despair

  It took two more days for Neste to reach a point where she longed for the barn. Her bruising healed enough for the pain to subside, and her thoughts ranted about her uselessness as she lay in bed. In Tremeirchson, the Aerial Games continued without her. Every day Hoel visited, full of news about his own races and accomplishments. Neste didn’t know how well the barn scored against Morgan, and she didn’t want to ask.

  Kenn came by every day, too, but his visits were shorter. He checked her leg and advised exercise, leaving her an additional crutch to help her move around better. He looked at Neste with eyes that worried about something else. Yesterday she’d asked him if someone had taken ill.

  He’d looked at her with furrowed brow. “Ill? Na, no one is ill. The entire town is the picture of health!”

  She didn’t believe him.

  Today, without a word to anyone, she would make her way to the barn. Worst case, her pain would increase and she’d tell Glynis how to fix a tea to help her sleep without dreams. Lately all her dreams had been nightmares of lying helpless while life bustled around her.

  She knew she could easily manage three trips around the small house and estimated the distance to the barn as equal to five of those trips. She rose early, struggled into a wide skirt and tunic, and set out without waking Glynis. If she wanted to accomplish this without sympathy, she’d have to reach the barn before the trumpet fanfare that announced the last day of the Aerial Games. Streets filled with townspeople and spectators would hinder her progress.

  Just as the sun peeked over the cliffs, Neste swung through the broken gate on her crutches. At first she moved quickly, but the uneven dirt lane was harder to navigate than the smoother wooden floors of the house. She tired faster than she’d predicted, but determination pushed her onward as she refused to be found halfway to the barn, crying in a heap of failure. Swing the crutches, hop with the good leg. One step at a time.

  Drenched with sweat, as if she’d finished a grueling dance drill, Neste breathed a sigh of relief when she arrived at the barn. The big double doors were open, and two winged horses waited in the yard. She watched Rhiryd’s gait as his groom led him from the barn, pleased to see the ankle stronger despite the stress of competition landings and takeoffs.

  At the door, she stopped to catch her breath. Inside, Llawen’s stall would be empty. Neste told herself she’d been in the barn many times before Llawen had been born. The mare and the barn were separate. Nonetheless, her heart mourned. She sank onto a wooden bench next to the doorway and leaned against the weathered wall. She’d made it here. She’d go inside in a minute. Her right leg throbbed in agreement. She felt something in her pocket, and put a hand in. Pulling out a broken molasses treat, tears welled. She crumpled it, letting the crumbs fall to the ground.

  Phelip hurried out of the barn to take Rhiryd from his groom. He glanced at Neste and stopped, his mouth open. “Neste, welcome.” His voice was more curious than welcoming. He shifted his weight from one foot to another and rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, I guess I’d better go.” He led Rhiryd toward the takeoff point.

  It was worse with the others. They must have seen her from far off because as they passed her their eyes were always directed away—to the sky, or the yard, or their hands. Never to Neste, sitting on the bench with her splinted leg sticking out in front of her and the crutches leaning against the barn. No one knew what to say to her. Neste sighed.

  “Get out there and on your horse! The day will open any minute, and you must be ready!”

  Reassuringly normal, Hoel’s shout split the air and Neste grinned. Normal was good. A rider rushed past Neste in a blur of motion, spurred by Hoel. For once it wasn’t Adam. Her grin faded. Would she have to see him fly today? No, Mallt’s wing was still mending. She swallowed and pursed her lips. No one had promised this would be easy.

  Hoel appeared in the doorway. He stood with his hands on his hips, legs straight, and surveyed his world. For a moment, Neste watched him. His blue and silver tunic fit well over the blue wool pants and emphasized his tall, wiry build. It looked like his brown hair had developed a few more gray streaks in the last couple of days. Then he noticed her.

  Immediately, he dropped to one knee in front of her and concern rippled over his face. “Cariad? Did you come here on your own?”

  She nodded. A silly smile spread over his face, of pride mingled with love. She felt an answering grin split her own face.

  “You’re all right?” She nodded again, and he squeezed her shoulder. “How brave and strong of you. Enjoy the morning. Don’t worry, I’ll have someone take you back in the wagon.”

  Her smile faded. In the wagon? The wagon that had carted her broken body home? The wagon that no doubt had been Llawen’s last transport? Again she swallowed and forced out the words. “I will. Now go see your barn off.”

  He beamed at her suggestion that he led the barn.

  The opening fanfare echoed through the air, and the familiar bustle moved around her. It felt odd to be apart from it, but better to be here watching than home despairing. When the first of the long-distance racers were in the air, Neste decided to enter the barn. Hoel had disappeared. No doubt he hovered in Marc’s office going over points and placements. She stood up and positioned the crutches under her arms. Taking small steps, she moved through the doorway.

  The dim interior of the barn covered her like a warm blanket on a cold night. Riders who weren’t competing stood in a group near the door. They watched her but didn’t say anything. Grooms disappeared into stalls as she made her way down the barn. The sun streamed in through high windows, and lanterns lit the main aisle. It was normal, and it was home. Why then were tears rolling unchecked down her face?

  Neste gritted her teeth to keep from sobbing. Then she arrived outside Llawen’s stall. Empty. The stall door latched open. No halter hung on the nail beside the door, and no silver head with perked ears turned toward her expecting a treat. Someone had swept away the straw on the floor and emptied the water trough. Her brain told her no horse had ever lived here. Her heart knew otherwise.

  “Neste?” Isabella’s voice belonged here.

  Neste turned to greet the groom. Isabella’s face echoed her tragedy. Neste felt the tears start down her cheeks again, and she was powerless to stop them. Isabella stepped forward and wrapped Neste in a hug. They cried together until Neste forced herself under control. She balanced on her good leg and held both crutches in her left hand while she wiped her tears with her right.

  “How are you holding up?” Neste managed to ask.

  “Well enough. Every day is a reminder.” She hesitated, but Neste nodded encouragement. “I’m keeping busy. During the Games there’s plenty to do.”

  The unspoken followup would ask about after the Games. What then?

  “I found a molasses treat in my pocket,” she told the groom.

  Pain etched Isabella’s face. “I fed my entire stash to Mallt. I can’t bear to have them in my pockets.”

  “I’m glad you’re here today, Isabella,” Neste said. “You were important to Llawen, and you are to me.” Her voice didn’t even break on the mare’s name.

  “I feel so useless,” Isabella moaned.

  Neste put a hand on the groom’s arm in sympathy. “Don’t I know that feeling. Foals will be born in the spring and Marc will need new grooms.” Even as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. It would be no easier for Isabella to move on to another horse than it would be for Neste to ride another one.

  “Neste…” Isabella broke off, then must have changed her mind about whatever she was going to say. Shaking her head, she walked up the barn in the direction Neste had come.

  Neste continued toward Marc’s office. A groom without a horse could always find another. Riders, though, seldom received another mount. So the question remained. What would an unhorsed rider do? She could leave the barn, but when she married Hoel she could hardly remain separate. Maybe Hoel would change his mind a
nd want a rider for a wife. He’d release her from the betrothal, then what? Neste shook these thoughts out of her head. She couldn’t allow speculation to control her.

  She smiled at riders and grooms, and they smiled back. Soon they’d talk to her again, once they figured out there were topics other than Llawen to discuss.

  Low voices came from Marc’s office, Hoel’s and the barn leader’s, a nice change from the yelling.

  “Lord Farley bemoans the loss of a good horse,” Marc said.

  “Did he ask about its rider?” Hoel asked in a tight voice.

  “Na.”

  Neste shook her head. The patron’s lack of good will meant nothing. She hobbled to the doorway.

  Marc’s chair faced her direction, and he rose to welcome her as she came into view. “Neste? Croeso.”

  Hoel turned and smiled. “Cariad, sit here.” He vacated the chair next to the desk.

  Neste sat, and Hoel took the crutches, leaning them against the wall.

  “You walked down here on your own?” Marc asked. “Good for you.”

  Neste smiled. “I couldn’t lie in bed any longer. It does feel odd to be here with nothing to do, though.”

  “There’s time enough for that when you’re healed,” Marc assured her. “We’ve been going over the points for the Games.”

  Neste could have predicted that based on the tousled appearance of Marc’s hair. He’d run his hand over it so many times it resembled a prickly bush. “How does it stand?” she asked, even though she knew the answer before he spoke.

  “We’ll not beat Morgan this year,” he admitted.

  Hoel’s lips pressed into a grimace. “He’s well ahead. This is the last day of competition and only two races left.”

  Neste nodded. No one mentioned the biggest blow to the barn points—losing the group dance. Not that anyone had told Neste of a loss, but how could you win when two of your competitors fell from the sky? No one could pass that off as part of the routine. “If only I’d tried harder with Adam.” Oh, Rhiannon! She hadn’t meant to say that aloud!

  “He was a lost cause long before that,” Hoel said.

  Marc just shook his head, his eyes tragic. “We gain nothing by discussing the past again and again. We need to move on, to heal.”

  “Iawn, syr, I agree.” Neste hesitated, then continued, “I wish I knew how to move on. I mean, what is there for a rider with no horse to do? Maybe I should leave the barn, help Glynis care for Mum.”

  “Leave the barn?” Hoel repeated. His eyes widened and his jaw hung open.

  “I will not consider that,” Marc declared. “You are an important part of this barn, Neste.”

  “Today I’m just in the way.”

  Hoel hastened to reassure her. “When you can walk without crutches, you’ll move easier and won’t feel that way.”

  How sweet of him to say so. She’d never felt helpless before, but it didn’t feel temporary. She debated whether to say so, but the arrival of a rider saved her from responding. Her eyes narrowed when she recognized Adam.

  Adam’s jaw dropped when he saw Neste, and he stammered, “Uh, I came to talk…uh…can I speak…I have something to say.”

  Hoel rolled his eyes.

  Marc nodded. “Must be why you stopped by.”

  Adam flushed bright as a nimberry. His eyes flicked to Neste then away.

  Neste could feel the storm of accusation on her face and did nothing to mask it.

  Adam tried again. “I wish to leave…” He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “I’m leaving the barn.”

  Neste gasped, but Hoel’s snort of laughter covered it.

  Marc ignored both of them. He folded his hands before him on the desk and leaned forward, a concerned expression on his face. “That’s untraditional,” he said. “What brought you to this decision?”

  Adam glanced at Hoel and Neste, then focused on Marc. “You know as well as I that this life is not for me. It’s not fair to the rest of you…” His eyes slid to Neste. “…if I remain. I’ll gather my things and be gone before the closing ceremony.”

  “And what about Mallt?” Hoel challenged him. “You just abandon her when she’s injured?”

  “The groom is better with her than I.”

  “The groom has a name,” Hoel said, still challenging.

  Adam would not be cowed. He’d made his decision and communicated it to his barn leader.

  Before he could respond, Neste leaned forward. “What will you do, Adam?” she asked bluntly.

  “My father will take me back.” His chin jutted out as if anticipating someone pointing out how often he’d said he couldn’t be a tanner.

  Marc stood. “Go with my blessing, Adam, and good luck to you.”

  Adam scooted out of the doorway.

  Marc, Hoel, and Neste exchanged looks.

  “Good riddance,” Hoel muttered.

  “I don’t think I can ever forgive him,” Neste said, shaking her head. “I believed in him when no one else would.”

  “I feel as if I’ve let him down somehow, but I’ll be darned if I can see how I could have done better.” Marc looked upset. Neste couldn’t tell if he felt like a failure or regretted Adam’s defection.

  The pain in Neste’s leg throbbed even though she still sat. “I think I’d better get home,” she said. “Can someone take me in the wagon?” Her voice shook as she asked, but she knew she’d never manage the walk back.

  “I will,” Hoel promised. He helped her stand and position her crutches under her arms.

  “Rest up, Neste,” Marc admonished her as she inched out of the office. “The barn is too empty without you.”

  Neste wondered what he expected her to do with a broken leg and no horse to fly. “I will, barn leader,” she promised.

  Hoel helped her into the aisle. Adam walked toward them, a bundle slung over one shoulder, his other arm around Isabella.

  Neste stopped and stared.

  “I’m sorry, Neste. I tried to tell you,” Isabella said. “Adam and I have been promised a room behind the tannery.” She blushed as she looked up at Adam and smiled. Neste realized she’d been so wrapped up in her flirtation that she’d never seen any relationship between these two. Although she had no right, she felt betrayed.

  “Good luck, Isabella.” Neste refused to look at Adam, refused to wish him well, and didn’t look after them as they left the barn.

  As she stood there with Hoel, still reeling with implications from the brief encounter, Kenn hurried up. “Oh, Neste, I’m glad you’re still here.”

  Still here? The riders must be talking about her presence in the barn. “Helo, Kenn,” she said warmly. “I made it down here on my own but need a ride to get home.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  Kenn was too preoccupied to even ask about her leg. Neste could see dark shadows under his eyes, and he rubbed his neck before he spoke. “Could you give me some advice before you leave? About a winged horse? I really don’t have a lot of experience with their injuries. I could use your expertise.”

  “Of course. What is the problem?” This must be what had been worrying him. If she could help, she must.

  “It’s Mallt. Her wing’s injured, and I don’t know how to fix it. I think the chest muscle is hurt, but I’m not sure. It’s not healing properly, and I just don’t know enough about the anatomy.” He raised his hands in a helpless shrug.

  “I’ll have to see it. Is she in her stall?” Neste forgot her leg pain as she hobbled after Kenn.

  In the stall, Robyn stood near Mallt’s head, murmuring and stroking her neck. Kenn went right to the injured wing. “I felt along the wing and compared it to the other one. I don’t think it’s broken. There’s a couple of feathers bent or missing, but I’m most concerned about the muscle.”

  Neste handed one of her crutches to the apothecary and felt along Mallt’s neck, shoulders, and front leg. “It’s not hot, so not seriously hurt. Muscle strain, I think. See how she’s holding this wing oddly? If
we ease it down along her body and strap it, she won’t hurt other muscles while these heal. A compress, like you’d use on a person, would help. I’ll make some molasses treats—it never hurts to pamper them when they’re not feeling well.”

  She looked up to find Hoel watching her through the open doorway. Kenn sighed in relief and helped Robyn secure her injured wing. Neste hobbled into the aisle. “I’m ready to go now. I couldn’t let the mare suffer,” she told Hoel.

  “Of course you couldn’t,” Hoel said proudly.