The Blessing of Equinox

by Kathryn Reynolds

  “A small meal will be prepared for when you are done, in the room at the end of this hall,” Hemin said, her tone strained.

  It was clear to Fjell that the wild elf didn’t want to be doing this. That either meant Lady Ylva had disregarded her advice, or the Lady felt obligated.

  Marsilia murmured her thanks, but Fjell remained quiet. It was certainly not full hospitality. For the Lady to not meet them until the morning, even when a meal was being provided, was a polite rebuke. So, the Lady Ylva felt obligated due to their quest and not for any chance of lingering kindness for him. The dwarf suppressed a sigh.

  They came to the third room down the hall and Hemin opened the door. Two elven maids awaited and quickly ushered the young witch inside. Fjell watched in amusement as she glanced back over her shoulder at him in bewilderment. What he would have given to be a fly on the wall to see how she reacted to being fussed over.

  Further down the hall, Hemin opened another door for him. No servants awaited here, not that he had expected such.

  “Leave your armor and clothing by the door and we will see it tended to,” she said stiffly and turned, marching down the hall before he could reply.

  She was always such a persnickety one.

  The room was a simpler one than he’d been offered on his previous visits. A thin bed with only minorly carved head and foot boards sat against one wall, while a marble fireplace sat opposite it. His usual room had been resplendent with fine furnishings and drapes, a desk and chairs. He suspected this room was one suited more for attendants of visiting nobility.

  Still, a bathtub had been dragged in and filled with hot water beside the fireplace. A mirror, comb, razor and bowl of water awaited on a side table, and garments were laid out neatly on the bed. They even looked like they would mostly fit his tall frame.

  Dutifully, he began undressing in a corner, careful to keep the flaking, dried mud from spreading around the room. He had assumed that his fall from grace wouldn’t have spread this far, this drastically. He had expected his usual warm welcome. It had been a foolish folly on his part.

  As he stacked the armor and clothing in a neat pile, he paused, staring down at the gleaming metal. A flurry of conflicting thoughts washed through his mind - if protecting the innocent Lady was worth this; if he really wanted to remain separate from his people; did he instead want to reclaim what had been lost?

  Begrudgingly, he realized he was starting to want that, potential political intrigues in his own kingdom be damned. But why? Admittedly, there was some embarrassment and hurt in how he had been so sure Lady Ylva would welcome him, only to find himself quietly shunned, but it was more than that. More that he didn’t care to think on just then.

  Picking up the stack, he cracked the door open enough to place it in the hallway and then turned to the bath. Whatever path he chose when this was all done, there was one clear matter here and now. Sinking into the hot water, he leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling. In the morning, he would remain as quiet as he’d been in King Nibelung’s hall.

  The water was tepid by the time he managed to wash the last of the mud and grime from his hair and body. Toweling off, he took his time with shaving down the sides of his head and shaping the new growth in his beard to keep a smooth line. When finally satisfied, he donned the garb laid out on the bed.

  It was ill fitted - too narrow in the shoulders, too short in length - but it covered him decently enough. He was just grateful that it was of similar cut to the usual Nordic clothing he wore, and not the ridiculous tight leggings preferred in some societies. Though, the slippers he’d been provided looked foolish with the loose pants.

  Departing his room, he made his way to the end of the hall and the small room that awaited. As with every room, a fire crackled in the center of the far wall, providing warmth and light. No candles had been spared here, though. A stew steamed in a pot over the fire, and two bowls awaited on the table to either side of a sliced loaf of bread.

  Fjell glanced back down the hall. Marsilia’s door remained shut and for a moment, he debated going ahead and eating without her. He quickly dismissed that thought. As much as he wanted to be left to his own thoughts, he also wanted to make sure she was alright, not getting overwhelmed or worrying.

  Dragging out a chair, he sat to wait.

  “It seems you still have some civility, Fjell Ulfson,” a familiar voice said from the shadows, speaking in fluid Norse.

  Fjell was on his feet in an instant, turning back to that unnoticed shadow. Despite his keen vision in the dark, the glare of the fireplace was just enough to continue obscuring the figure.

  “Though perhaps not as sharp as you once were, hmm?” Lady Ylva asked, stepping from the shadow to stand just within the fire’s light.

  A small, amused smile played across the elder lady’s face. No pointed ears or glowing eyes graced her lined face, for she was once but a mortal woman. Her grey streaked blonde hair was bound in coiled braids and her blue eyes watched him with a keen intelligence. The crown she usually wore was nowhere to be found and her normally elaborate dress was replaced by a simple fitted tunic and apron dress.

  Fjell bowed regardless of her coming to him without her formal regalia. “Your grace,” he said, following her lead in speaking Norse. “Perhaps I feel too safe in your keep is all.”

  “No, I think your mind is troubled,” the Lady answered with a shrug. “Worry and distraction are the warrior’s greatest plight. I’m sorry that I could not formally greet you upon your arrival. What you’ve done has led to some need for delicacy.”

  “I understand,” he answered quietly.

  “And you know how I hate delicacy and politics,” she continued, a hint of sharpness coming to her tone.

  “I was bound in oath to assist the sorceress,” he hastened to say. “I didn’t realize…” He trailed off with a sigh. “I apologize for the inconvenience I have brought upon you, your grace.”

  “Is that all there is to it?” the Lady of Spring asked, raising her chin. “Just fulfilling an oath? Is she even worthy of my time?”

  “She is,” he answered with more vehemence than he’d intended, taking a step forward. Lady Ylva tilted her head in a warning gesture and he quickly backed down, easing his tone. “She is and her quest is. I was roped into all this by another at first, but have taken it on as my own since then.”

  They stood for a long moment, staring at each other in silence. Finally, Ylva nodded slowly. “So be it, I will speak with her about her quest in the morning. Tell me nothing more of it for now.”

  “As you wish,” he answered with a short bow, his back still wrought with tension.

  “I’ve cast the bones,” the Lady said in a hushed tone. “You should let the truth be known.”

  Fjell furrowed his brow, trying to read more of her expression in the stark firelight as he reeled from the sudden shift of direction. “What truth?”

  Glancing to the hallway, the Lady stepped back into the shadows, vanishing even from his site. “The truth that has brought you low,” her whisper answered and she was gone.

  Fjell continued to stare in bewilderment at the shadows. In every time he had met the Lady of Spring she had been casual and laughing, just another warrior amongst her own kind. A Viking woman who would cut down any who crossed her, but equally ready to raise a drink with any who would be friends.

  This had been something completely different. He knew she’d meddled in seidr over the years - could she actually read the bones? Her suggestion that he tell the truth rang with the verve of warning. He felt the hairs rise on his arms as questions tumbled through his mind.

  “Fjell?”

  The dwarf spun to find Marsilia standing in the doorway, watching him in concern. “Are you alright?” she asked.

  “Aye,” he answered, forcing his shoulders to uncoil. “Was waiting on ye. Come on, I’ll serve up.”

  Chapter 20

  Breakfast was served in their rooms the next morning. Marsilia woke with the
sun and no sooner had she thrown back the covers than the door opened and one of the maids from the night before entered with a platter, the other following behind with her mended and cleaned clothes.

  “Good morning, Geva, Ida,” she said, rising to meet them.

  “Good morning, Mistress Marsilia,” Geva replied brightly, putting the tray of food on the table between the carved chairs by the fireplace. Her deep red hair was worn in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck today. “Would you prefer to eat or dress first?”

  “Oh, I can dress myself just fine,” Marsilia chuckled. “Have you two eaten? Come, have a seat.”

  The two maids glanced between each other, sharing an amused smile. “We’ve eaten, mistress,” Ida said, tucking her emerald hair back under her linen hood. “We’d appreciate it if you let us help you dress, though. It is our duty here.”

  Marsilia sighed, looking back to the two elves she’d somewhat befriended the night before. They remained distant, despite her best efforts. She had a hard time understanding. They treated her as some sort of nobility, no matter how much she told them she too was low-born.

  “If it will make you happy,” she finally acquiesced.

  The two elven women smiled. Unfurling her black linen cotehardie, Ida laid it out on the bed. “We couldn’t mend the torn area without altering the shape of the skirt. We cut it and added a band of silver to match your fur and regain the length. The closures were also well worn, so we replaced them with silver buttons and reinforcing trim as well. I hope you approve?”

  The witch stared in awe for a long moment before finally closing her mouth. Without further warning, she turned, hugging each of the elves in turn. “Oh,” she breathed, moving from one to the other, “It’s beautiful! Thank you; thank you so much.”

  The two elven women beamed at her in return as she held a hand of each of them. “It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever had. Thank you.”

  “Then let’s get you in it,” Geva said, leaning in with a grin.

  “And then let me adorn your hair,” Ida added, beaming as well.

  Nearly an hour passed before Marsilia finally stood before the tall mirror in her given room. The two elves had administered to her hair as she ate, and ensured her garments were all in place before finally turning her to the mirror. The white witch stared at herself in equal parts surprise and pleasure.

  The silver cloth that lined every edge of her dress gleamed and shimmered in the morning light, matching perfectly with the dryad fur around her shoulders. Her golden hair was tucked up in loose curls across the back of her head, laced with dozens of tiny blue and purple flowers. The medallion Fjell had made her glinted upon her chest.

  “And now you are ready to meet our Lady,” Ida said from her shoulder, as Geva nodded in agreement, smiling.

  “Are you sure you two aren’t sorceresses?” Marsilia half joked. “I hardly even look myself!”

  The two elves continued to smile to either side of her, eyes glinting with mischief. “Maybe a little,” Geva said with a wink.

  “But it’s nearly time for you to be presented,” Ida interjected. “You’d best collect your dwarf and head downstairs.”

  Turning, Marsilia took their hands again and kissed each on the cheek. “Thank you both, again.”

  “This is what we serve for,” Ida said, smiling.

  “Your smile makes it worthy,” Geva added. “Now go on. I hope you’ll visit again.”

  “I hope so too,” Marsilia answered with a bright smile.

  Gathering up the rest of her belongings, she said her goodbyes and stepped out the door into the hallway. Fjell already awaited her there and pushed himself off the wall as she exited, only to pause and raise his eyebrows in surprise.

  “Isn’t it pretty?” Marsilia asked, swishing the skirts so the silver cloth flashed in the dim light of the hall.

  “Aye,” he said evenly, still staring at her. “Yer beautiful.”

  Marsilia beamed at the compliment before her smile slowly faded to something more sober. Distractions could only last so long. The first half of their quest waited. “I guess we go downstairs now?”

  Sobering as well, Fjell nodded. “Considering my standing, you’ll need to do the talking but like with my king, I’ll be there with ye. Are ye ready?”

  Taking a steadying breath to try and calm the nerves rising in her stomach, she nodded. “I am.”

  Marsilia took the lead as they descended the stairs. On the first floor, Hemin awaited before the great doors at the end of the hall. As they approached, the short elf opened the doors and the witch’s nerves flared anew.

  Beyond those great doors was a large, open room with a dais on the back wall. A throne sat there, wrought of gold shaped into a million flowers. Upon that opulent throne sat an older woman clad in rich purple brocade worked through with silver thread. Her grey-blond hair was neatly arranged in a long braid and atop her head rested a crown - silver and rose gold, sculpted into more flowers and adorned with hundreds of gemstones in a rainbow of colors.

  Marsilia barely noticed the swags of flowers and gently drifting curtains that decorated the rest of the room, so commanding was the presence of the Lady of Spring. As they began to enter the room, the witch realized something else - the Lady held on her lap an axe, similar to the one Fjell had wielded when first they met.

  “Mistress Marsilia and her guard, your grace,” Hemin announced, gesturing to the pair before stepping aside.

  “Your audience is granted, child,” Lady Ylva said smoothly, her hands resting atop the axe. “Come and tell me of your quest.”

  Approaching the throne with as much decorum as she could muster, Marsilia dropped into a curtsy before the Lady. “Thank you, your grace. I seek your blessing upon a blade, to defeat a dark witch that has taken—”

  “Is that a dryad fur upon your shoulders?” the lady interrupted, leaning forward in sudden interest.

  “Um,” Marsilia hesitated, raising a hand to her fur. “Yes, your grace.”

  The Lady frowned, considering her. “And how did a young witch come by such?”

  “It was gifted to me,” she answered, taken aback. “By my sisters - I mean, the dryads of the woods where I live.”

  “Interesting,” the Lady said, sitting back in her throne again. “It’s been a long time since I last saw a dryad-sister, let alone one who is also a witch. You were saying something about a dark witch?”

  “Um, yes,” the witch said, feeling off balance by the sudden changes in direction of the conversation. Glancing over her shoulder to Fjell, he gave her a small smile and nod of reassurance, and she pressed on. “A dark witch has come to the woods where I live and is stealing the magic of the fae there. Some I care for lay dying even now. Our only chance of defeating her, of saving the fae I care for, is the Blade of Equinox.”

  “And are you skilled with blades, child?” the lady asked, giving her an obvious look over.

  Marislia felt her cheeks flush. “Well, no,” she answered. “My skills lay in healing, the weather, and the bow. My companion, however, is quite skilled with swords.”

  “Hmm, yes he is,” the Lady said, leaning her axe against her throne and standing to descend from the dais. “Let me see the sword you wish me to imbue.”

  Hastily, the witch freed the elven blade from her belt and held it forth for the Lady. Taking the blade in her hands, Lady Ylva frowned as she examined it. “This is an Unseelie blade, child. How did you come by it?”

  “Another witch in my home woods gave it to me for this purpose,” the witch answered, frowning. A Seelie blade? How had Rohesia come by such a thing?

  “What is this witch’s name?” the Lady continued, drawing the blade from its scabbard.

  “Elder Rohesia.”

  The Lady of Spring looked ready to spit, and cast a dark glance back at Marsilia. “I know the old crone,” she said, her voice holding barely restrained disgust. “What is your relationship to her? Are you her apprentice?”

  “What?
No,” Marsilia said quickly. “Pa and I had to make trades with her a few times when we would run low on healing herbs.”

  “She’s safe to tell who yer pa is,” Fjell offered from behind her, and both women glanced at him.

  Even still, Marsilia hesitated a moment. When she returned her gaze to the Lady, she was met with an expectant gaze. Biting her lower lip for a moment, she finally spoke. “My adopted pa, and my mentor, is Eudon.”

  Raising an eyebrow, the Lady looked past Marsilia to meet Fjell’s gaze for the first time since they had entered. “Is this true? You are certain?”

  “Aye,” Fjell answered. “And I saw him laid low by the dark witch. Marsilia bound Rohesia to her word to keep him alive until we could get back and defeat the fiend.”

  “Clever move, there,” the Lady nodded with approval to Marsilia. “That crone would as likely let him die to sell off his fingers as charms. Very well, Eudon is an old friend to me, whom I’ve missed greatly. For both him and with respect to you, you will have my blessing, and my silence on your relation.”

  Letting out a sigh of relief, Marsilia smiled and glanced back at Fjell. The dwarf smiled down at her in return, brown eyes full of warmth as he reached over to give her shoulder a tender squeeze.

  Chapter 21

  “Hemin,” Lady Ylva called, sheathing the Unseelie blade and turning to a door at the rear of the room. “Ask Tusenfryd to prepare to deliver a message to Lady Isabel and fetch my writing station.”

  “Yes, your grace,” the lilac elf answered, curtsying and departing the room.

  “Follow me,” the Lady said over her shoulder to Fjell and Marsilia.

  The Lady led them out the back of the hall and into a private garden. High walls covered in white roses and green vines rose around the space. A tree in the center of the small courtyard shaded the area with new leaves even as it was choked by a constricting, enormous vine. From that vine layered thousands of pale purple blooms that grew in clumps like grapes. The petals of the two types of flowers littered the ground so deeply the green grass could barely be seen beneath the mix of lilac and white.