Rhapsody

by Elizabeth Haydon

  “Here you are, dear,” she said, handing him a plate of leftovers. “Why don’t you take this with you out to the shed and clean up a bit? The foreharvest dance is a big thing in these parts—do they have one where you come from?”

  Gwydion accepted the plate with a smile. “No, ma’am,” he said respectfully.

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it; it’s the last dance before the marriage lottery, so you best have fun while you can.” She winked at him, then set about finishing her work.

  “Marriage lottery?”

  “You don’t have one at home?”

  “No,” said Gwydion, following her to the door. She swung it open for him and walked back toward the two men, who were washing with the others at the well.

  “You must not come from a farm community, then.”

  “No, ma’am,” said Gwydion. He thought of the place he lived and hid his smile.

  “Well, you better get ready. It looks like the others are almost ready to leave.”

  “Thank you,” Gwydion said to her gratefully. He took a scrap of the bread and ate it hurriedly, then followed Asa to the shed where the hired hands slept.

  Gwydion leapt from the wagon as soon as it came to a stop. The ride had been rocky, but pleasant, and the farmhands agreeable, if not talkative. He had sensed a reserve from the beginning, and he wasn’t sure if they were distant because he was unfamiliar or because of his mixed bloodline. Without exception the men were human, as were the farmer and his wife and everyone else he had seen thus far. The pure, homogeneous makeup of this place was so unlike the rest of the world, where half bloods dominated.

  The village was ablaze with light, lanterns set on barrels and strung in trees, making for a festive mood. The community was obviously not a wealthy one, but the farms seemed substantial and the people reasonably fed and clothed for the most part.

  Noticeable was an absolute lack of luxury, and Gwydion’s eyes took in the details of decoration that had been fashioned out of simplicity—fresh-cut boughs of evergreen trees and fragrant flowers festooned the main hall that apparently served the community as house of worship, meeting place, grange, and school. Long tables laden with baked goods and harvest foods were set to the sides of the large open room with a dirt floor, and muslin love knots were tacked everywhere.

  Despite being used to a far more wealthy and sophisticated life, Gwydion found himself taking in the homespun celebration with delight. There was a simplicity here that felt easy on his shoulders; it stood in marked contrast to the dull and ponderous ceremonies of festivity he was used to.

  Excitement was starting to fill the air as people began to arrive, young women in pale-colored broadcloth dresses, young men in clean muslin shirts. There was a musician with a stringed instrument he didn’t recognize and two others with minarellos, sometimes called groan-boxes back home. They were dragging barrels over to a place behind the food table. The village was making ready to celebrate the upcoming harvest, both of crops and of marriageable young people.

  As the room started to fill, Gwydion began to sense that he was not going unnoticed. More than once a group of young women passed in front of him, looking him up and down, then whispering to each other in excitement and young laughter. This made him quite uncomfortable, but it was momentary; the group would disperse quickly or move on, to be joined by others or by some of the young men. He gauged the girls to be about his age, fourteen or so, while the boys seemed four or five years older, although there were a few that were younger.

  Gwydion went to the refreshment table and was encouraged by an older woman to help himself, which he did gladly. No one asked him who he was, despite notice being taken that he was not local. Many others were apparently here from outside the village as well. When addressed by the villagers, an unknown young man was generally referred to as Sam or Jack; now he understood the farmer’s greeting earlier.

  An older man came into the room carrying a large wooden box, and a swirl of excitement rose up from the crowd. He made his way to the table and the woman behind it began clearing an empty spot for the contents of the box, which turned out to be a large number of small parchment sheets and several inkpots with quills and writing reeds.

  Here the crowd began to separate by gender, with the young women continuing to mill about while the men hurried to the table, searching through the papers for specific ones, and, upon finding what they sought, scribbling on them with the quills. Gwydion was familiar with the concept of dance cards, and it seemed to him that perhaps that was what these were. He decided that this would be a good time to get some air.

  The night had come while he was inside, and now the sky was totally dark. The lanterns and candles illuminated the area, and people continued to arrive, amid laughter and arguments and other sounds of excitement. They jostled past Gwydion as if he weren’t there.

  He was aware as he watched them of the seriousness of this festive ritual. Despite the light mood there was an undertone of solemnity, of portent, that was palpable. In a community such as this, mating and the propagation of families was essential to its survival.

  Gwydion left the area around the meeting hall, looking to find a dark place where the stars were visible. He was well versed in astronomy, and suspected that he would be able to discern where he was once he got a clear look at the night sky.

  The lanternlight played havoc with the visibility, and he needed to get a good ways away before he was able to see anything. When he finally could, it didn’t help much. He didn’t recognize any of the constellations, or even a single star. A very bright one hung deep in the sky by the horizon, but even that was unknown to him.

  He felt a cold wave of fear wash over him. Until now he had expected that it would be relatively simple to navigate home once he had ascertained where he was. But if even the stars were foreign, he was much farther away than he had originally thought, though the season was certainly the same as the one where he had been. Nothing was making sense. Gwydion sat down on a bank of barrels and fought the panic that was rising in his throat.

  Across the road a slight movement caught his attention, and he turned to look. Someone was moving behind the identical bank of barrels that lined the roadway, crouching low and peering over the tops of them toward the meeting hall. Gwydion decided to investigate. He had left much of his gear back at the farmhouse, but he still had his dagger, and he drew it now and ran silently across the road, circling around behind the line of barrels.

  When he was in position he rose carefully and rested one hand on a barrel, looking around it to spot the intruder. To his surprise it was a young woman, hiding behind the line of barrels and watching the comings and goings of the crowd.

  He couldn’t see her face. She had long straight hair with just a hint of a wave to it, and it hung like a silken sheet down her back. In the dark it appeared to be the color of pale flax, and Gwydion was struck by the desire to run his hand down it.

  He reached out and instead tapped her on the shoulder. She started and gasped, reeling around to face him and nearly toppling the empty barrels into the road.

  The look of shock on her face did nothing to diminish his instantaneous impression that she was undoubtedly the fairest thing he had ever seen. Her face was delicately formed, with large, dark eyes fringed with black lashes and an upper lip shaped like a longbow. Unlike the other young women at the party, she was clearly of mixed blood, as he was, and thin. As she backed up toward the barrels her hair fell over her shoulders, obscuring much of her upper body and the corsage of flowers that adorned her breast.

  “Don’t be frightened,” Gwydion said as gently as he could. “I’m sorry if I startled you.”

  The girl took a deep breath, and her enormous eyes ran rapidly over his face. She blinked abruptly, as if trying to clear away sudden stinging tears. It took a long moment for her to be able to respond, and when she did the wonder in her voice made his stomach tighten with excitement.

  “You’re Lirin,” she said. The words held as
much awe as he had ever heard uttered before.

  “Yes, partly; you are, too?”

  She nodded slowly.

  Gwydion coughed to cover the flush he felt creeping into his face. “Uhm, are there many of you, I mean, Lirin, around here?”

  “No,” she said, and the amazement was still in her voice. “Except for my mother and brothers, you are the first I have ever seen. Who are you?”

  Gwydion thought about how to answer her. He wanted more than anything to tell her the truth, but he wasn’t sure himself what that was.

  “I’m called Sam,” he said simply. “What about you?”

  The young woman smiled for the first time, and Gwydion felt a strange stirring he had never experienced before. It was heady, and frightening, and dizzying all at once, and he was not sure that the control he normally had over his face or voice was still in place.

  “Emily,” she said, and then she looked behind her. Two young men were approaching, bantering between themselves, and looking around the area. The young woman backed up, almost into him, and then ducked quickly behind the barrels again. Gwydion sat down next to her, hidden from view as well.

  Together they watched as the men searched around, looking down the dry dirt road and over the neighboring fields. Just then the music started, amid a swelling of laughter and applause from inside, and the men turned back toward the hall. Emily waited until they were out of sight, then let loose a long sigh.

  “Do you know them?” Gwydion asked, wondering what he had missed.

  “Yes,” she said curtly. She rose up onto her knees to see better. Catching sight of no one else, she relaxed, then stood once more and brushed the dirt off her skirt.

  Gwydion stood as well. In general he had little use for women, young or old; being motherless, he had little experience with any. But this girl was different somehow. There was an innate intelligence in her eyes, as well as something indescribable, and he was fascinated by her. Perhaps it was that she was the singular example of her race whom he had seen so far. Or it might have been the mild humming in his eyes and his utter inability to break his gaze away and stop looking at her. Whatever the reason, he wanted to make sure she didn’t walk away.

  “Why are you hiding? Don’t you like to dance?”

  She turned to face him again, and Gwydion felt the strange sensation once more. It began in his groin, but rushed rapidly to his head and hands, leaving those areas weak and perspiring a little. “I love to dance,” she said. Her tone was wistful.

  “Well, then, shall we? I mean, would you like to?” His voice sounded inane to his ears.

  Emily’s eyes filled with regret, and she shook her head. “I can’t,” she said sadly. “Not yet. I’m sorry.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  She looked behind her again. Seeing nothing that bothered her, she turned back around. She gave him a direct look. “Doesn’t this all seem, well, barbaric to you?”

  Gwydion stared at her in astonishment, then let out a laugh. “Yes, actually,” he said, trying not to be rude at the same time he was being honest. “Yes, it does.”

  “Well, then, imagine how I feel.”

  Gwydion felt his liking of her instantly increase. He put his hand out to her. “Come out of there,” he said.

  Emily gave a backward glance, then took his hand and allowed him to assist her over the debris around the barrels. They walked a little farther down the road, then looked back toward the hall. The dance was in full swing, with merry music issuing forth and the sound of excited voices filling the night air. It was warm, with a soft breeze; a perfect night.

  Gwydion had so many questions that he didn’t know where to start, but he was sure that he did not want to frighten her off by overwhelming her with his need for information. He pointed to the corsage.

  “Are you here with someone?”

  Emily’s brows furrowed; then her eyes followed his finger. Rapidly, understanding crossed her face.

  “No,” she said, smiling slightly. “These are a gift from my father. You don’t come to the foreharvest dance with anyone, that would be counterproductive.”

  “I see,” Gwydion said. Now that she was out in the lanternlight he took the opportunity to study her more. Her dress was velvet, probably a dark blue, and it was cut with a deep, curving neckline. Underneath it at the throat was a modesty piece that matched the lace at the hem, studded with a line of small silver buttons of simple manufacture. A tiny matching ribbon pulled two of the front strands of her pale hair off her face, securing them at the back of her head.

  Her Lirin blood was obvious in her slim build and delicate features, but she was only three or four inches shorter than he was, probably just over five feet. Despite the calluses on her hands, and a small scar on her wrist, she had an absence of the coarseness that some of the other farmgirls had, and there was an air of dignity about her that belied her age. He wished he could tell more about the colors of her complexion and beautiful dark eyes, but the light was too weak.

  He was suddenly grateful for the first time to his own father for the years of intense insistence regarding Cymrian language study. “Well, what are you going to do now? Since you obviously don’t want to go in.”

  Emily looked back at the hall. “I think I’ll just wait here until my brother comes to fetch me at midnight,” she said, sounding a little disheartened.

  “Seems like a pretty miserable way to spend a summer evening.”

  “Well, there are varying degrees of misery. It could be worse.”

  Gwydion nodded sympathetically. He could see that her family must be somewhat better off than most to afford her the trimmings on her dress, though in his family’s circles she would still be seen as a very poor peasant, or at most a common landowner. Her family’s relative wealth, coupled with her appearance, had obviously made her a prime target for the young hunters inside. Unlike the other young women, however, she was unwilling quarry, and he respected her for it.

  “I have an idea,” he said, casting a glance around. “There’s a clear, flat area over there near the meeting hall, but not too near. I’m sure we can hear the music from there. Why don’t we have a dance or two there? If you’re willing, of course.” All his years of etiquette training stumbled over his tongue and he screeched to an awkward halt.

  Emily’s face brightened, and Gwydion’s heart rose. “What a wonderful idea,” she said happily. “I would love to. Thank you.”

  He offered her his hand once more, and led her across the road and over the fields to the small clearing he had seen. They ducked quickly to the side of the building when more people came through the door, but managed to avoid being seen.

  A mazurka was ending just as they reached the field. They stood, facing each other in awkward silence, until the next dance began. Gwydion put his hand on her waist, and was almost unbalanced by the thrill that shot from his fingers up his arm to his head. He took her hand as she lifted the edge of her skirt, and they followed the rhythm of the music across the field, turning in time.

  Almost immediately there was a problem. Though the dance was a simple two-step, Gwydion’s training had been in classical military style, and as a result, the unsophisticated step Emily used caught his foot on the fourth pass. She trod lightly on his toe, and embarrassment flooded her face. He ignored it, going on, but at the same point in the next set of passes it happened again. She stopped, looking humiliated, and turned away quickly.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Sam,” she said. “You must think I have all the grace of a farm animal. Maybe you should go back inside.”

  Gwydion took hold of her shoulders and turned her around. “What are you talking about? I’m the one who doesn’t know the dance. Please don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Start acting like I’m one of them.” He gestured at the hall. “I’m enjoying your company, Emily, and I can’t think of anything you resemble less than a farm animal. Do you know what the next dance will be?”

  Emily�
�s smile returned. “Probably a courting twirl.”

  “Well, can I have another go of it? I think I can handle that.”

  She nodded. Gwydion noticed that he had not released her hand, and she had not pulled it away, so he held it as they stood, waiting for the waltz to begin. When it finally did he was careful to stick to the basic steps and not add any of the flourishes that he had been taught for use at court.

  This time they meshed perfectly, and he could see exhilaration take her as they waltzed across the field in time to the diminished music. When she was excited her eyes caught the light, or perhaps they generated it themselves. Either way, by the time the dance was finished they were sparkling brighter than the illumination from any lantern.

  “Emmy, what are you doing out here? Are you coming in?”

  She whirled around. Gwydion looked over her head to see a small group standing at the edge of the field, staring at them. The speaker was a dark-haired young man of mixed race; he concluded that this must be her brother. In addition there were two young women and one of the boys who had been out looking for her earlier. All wore expressions containing varying degrees of displeasure.

  “Everyone’s waiting for you, Emmy. You’ve missed three dances already and your suitor card is messed up completely. Come on.”

  Emily straightened her shoulders. “I’ll be in eventually, Ben,” she answered with an annoyed tone. “And I couldn’t care less about the suitor card. I didn’t put one in the basket, so I shouldn’t have one anyway.”

  “Everyone has a suitor card,” said the other young man, his annoyance a match for hers. “And I had the first dance. Now get in here.”

  Gwydion watched Emily’s back go rigid. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that, Sylvus,” she said coldly. “I’ll be in when I’m damned good and ready.” He swallowed a laugh at the look of horror on the faces of the young women, and the astonishment of her brother and Sylvus. Ben smiled slightly, and turned to the other boy.