Phoenix (Tuatha De Danann Book 1)

by Vanessa Skye

  The woman steps closer, and I can see her beautiful smile. Her eyes are a rich, deep brown reminding me of tilled earth and fertile soil. A wreath woven from living ivy sits on top of her head then cascades green leaves down her back and through the long straight auburn curtain of hair hanging almost to her knees.

  “Beannachtaí, weary travelers,” she says with a single nod. “I am Rhiannon, leader of this forest community. Might I enquire as to your intentions this night?”

  At first, her words seem strange, yet the more she speaks, the clearer they become. Her accent reminds me of my mother’s, and this, combined with the exhaustion and confusion, bring tears to my eyes.

  Baird bows his head in return and peers at me until I do the same.

  “Beannachtaí, Rhiannon. I am Baird, and this is my daughter, Alys. We are travelers from the south seeking food and shelter for the evening, at your leisure, of course.”

  Rhiannon examines us with her intelligent gaze, taking in our clothing and lack of weapons. Her face crumples as she catches me trying to wipe tears discreetly off my cheeks. “Of course. We would never turn a fae in need away. Please follow me.”

  She gestures and fae hidden among the trees emerge, tucking arrows into quivers on their back and slinging bows over their muscular shoulders, before falling into step behind us. Our additional escort is made up of six men and two women, each covered with multiple scars and with hands hovering near their swords.

  They flick their gazes over Baird quickly, but the males linger a little longer on me.

  “You are not armed and quite strangely dressed, friend,” Rhiannon says, illuminating our path with her lantern as we walk.

  “Our clothing is common, in the south at least, but we lost our weapons and food to a gan tallann raid,” Baird replies, as if we should have expected as much.

  Rhiannon nods. “Ah, yes. The displaced Talentless are always bold as winter approaches.”

  “Indeed.”

  The woman stops at the base of what looks like a huge redwood, raises her lantern to reveal a set of steps similar to the spiral staircase leading to the steeple of Cill Airne Cathedral, except these are made of wood and corkscrew around the trunk of the tree.

  I strain my neck as I look upward—they seem to go on forever.

  The ground disappears into the dark below as we climb to dizzying elevations, and my tired legs protest while I desperately clutch the wooden railing made of living vines growing along the edge of the never-ending stairs. My heart races as I realize one misstep and I will be nothing but a greasy spot at the bottom.

  A fae chuckles behind us. “Your faeling doesn’t appear to like heights, friend Baird.”

  I glance back just in time to catch his wink and notice no other fae even touching the railing, let alone white knuckling it like a lifeline.

  I let go and resist the urge to squeeze my eyes shut and press into the tree trunk. “Don’t look down. Don’t look down,” I mutter.

  “She is tired and used to living in the earth,” Baird says. “It has been a long few weeks.”

  Rhiannon smiles at me. “Of course. We will soon reach lodgings where you can rest.”

  “You have our eternal gratitude,” Baird replies.

  “Later I hope you will join us for a celebratory feast. It is not often we have visitors this late in the season.”

  “We would, but as you can see, we are not appropriately attired…”

  She flicks her hand as if swatting a fly. “Do not be concerned, friend. We can provide you clothes tonight, as well as weapons, food, and sturdy travel clothing for the rest of your journey, wherever it is you might be headed.” She raises an eyebrow at Baird.

  I hear Baird chuckle under his breath.

  “You are most generous. We seek an audience with the king.”

  “Ah, of course. I assumed a beauty such as your daughter would be presented as a possible wife.”

  Wait, wife? What? A small squeak at the back of my throat escapes before Baird silences me with a fierce glare.

  “Yes, she is suitable, particularly as she is of war—although she has yet to complete her studies.”

  Rhiannon stops on the stairs and turns so fast I almost bump into her. “Of war? I assumed she was of music.”

  Smiling, Baird nods. “Most do.”

  Rhiannon starts walking again, and I finally see a warm glow above us, getting closer with every step.

  “Still, you left quite late for such a trip. There will be much poorer weather between Meiriceá and Éire this time of year.”

  “It cannot be helped.”

  We step onto a landing and my breath catches.

  That warm glow turns out to be hundreds of flickering iron lanterns hanging on branches and reflecting through the endless span of windows of the various house-like structures surrounding us. Large log buildings with thatched roofs rest on the largest branches and circle the massive trunks with long suspended walkways made of planks and rope, stretching between the trees and connecting everything together. It’s the most inviting place I have ever seen, filled with music drifting through the air, and I have the sudden urge to dance.

  Fae go about what I assume is their usual evening business, but many cast curious glances our way as they pass. They all wear clothes similar to Rhiannon, and everyone, including the kids, wanders around with a sword in a scabbard hanging from a woven belt.

  Now I understand her comment. Clearly, in this society, not carrying a sword is an aberration.

  “Come,” Rhiannon says, gesturing toward an arched wooden bridge, “I will see you settled in your lodgings for this evening and send someone to draw you baths before the feast.”

  Sturdy, ornate, carved handrails rest on either side of the bridge, and I’m delighted not to be walking on one of the suspended walkways that stretch over certain death far below.

  As I follow, I notice Rhiannon is as tall as I am, as are most of the fae I’ve seen. In fact, my six-foot frame seems almost average in this world. I roll my shoulders, losing my slouch, and breathe a sigh of relief as my spine uncoils.

  She waves Baird toward a doorway on the other side of the bridge and leads me through a door to the left.

  I step inside and smile. The room is warm and welcoming, with a crackling fire in the stone fireplace and an engraved wooden canopy bed covered in cozy-looking white blankets and taking up most of the far wall. I am filthy and smelly, the day’s traveling having taken its toll, and I almost cry when I spot the deep wooden tub in front of the fire.

  “Someone will bring scented water and drying cloths, and I will return with new clothing a little later.”

  Rhiannon closes the door softly behind her, and I take what feels like the first relaxing breath I’ve had in days.

  I clap and giggle like a little girl when I enter the small room to the right and get a chance to take care of business without being forced to squat in a field while Baird waits, back turned, for me to finish.

  I peel my stained sweater off and throw it into a corner. My green shirt is no better, but I have nothing else. Even the plain pants and tunics the fae wear will be a welcome change to my sweaty, inappropriate clothing.

  I pull off my hiking boots with a grunt and scrape off my disgusting socks with a grimace. They need to be burned. No amount of washing will redeem them.

  Sitting down on the bed, I moan as I sink into the soft folds of fabric. The mattress looks like it’s made of clouds, or feathers…or pure happiness—I don’t know or care—but I want to stay in this room forever and sleep in this bed for several centuries, at least.

  There is a soft knock on the door.

  I pop my head up. “Yes?”

  I sit up quickly as a plainly dressed woman wearing a linen wrap around her hair and carrying a huge cauldron of water steps inside and hangs the large pot over the fire to heat. Next, she draws more water from the small bathroom and pours it into my bath along with several delicious-smelling oils then places some impossibly fluffy towel
s next to me on the bed.

  “I-I seek f-forgiveness on b-behalf of my people.” She stares at her feet and fidgets with her hands.

  “Huh? Forgiveness? What for?”

  “I-I’m sorry.” She wrinkles her brow but still refuses to meet my gaze. “I was told you were robbed by the Talentless?”

  “Oh…that.” I only have a vague idea what this poor woman is talking about and silently curse Baird for not giving me more information.

  “Y-yes. I am truly sorry for wh-what they did to you…”

  “It’s, um, it’s okay. I forgive you.”

  She risks a peek at me and nods. “Thank you. You are kind.”

  She protects her hands with some rolled fabric and pulls the pot, which is now steaming, off the fire and pours it into my bath.

  The hot water sends the scent of the oils into the air, and I catch a hint of lavender, and maybe…rosemary, as well as some warm, comforting scent I don’t recognize.

  She places several glass bottles on the broad carved lip of the tub, and I feel a familiar ache as I watch her work. She’s slouched, almost curled in on herself, in the universal posture of the bullied and downtrodden. I know this pose all too well, and my heart goes out to her.

  “What’s your name?”

  She looks straight at me for the first time, her eyes wide, before glancing behind her. “My…my name?”

  I nod.

  Her gaze lands everywhere but on me. “It-it’s Ro-Rowan…”

  Finally catching her eye, I smile. “I’m Ale…Alys. It’s very nice to meet you, Rowan.”

  She blinks then wipes the front of her plain beige shift several times with shaking hands. “Th-thank you,” she whispers before disappearing out my door as silently as she came in.

  The bath is calling to me with its inviting steamy water, and I can’t stand it any longer. It’s a wonder I didn’t strip and climb in while I still had an audience. I throw off the remainder of my clothing and sink my toes into the tub.

  Yelping, I jerk them straight back out again.

  Steeling myself with a deep breath, I step one leg in, and then the other. It’s hot, but I don’t care as I sink into the depths with a moan and feel every last tense muscle relax.

  I soak until the steam dies and the water starts to cool before investigating the bottles Rowan left. They all smell wonderful, and I find one I think is shampoo.

  I lather my unruly hair, twice, and holding my breath as long as I can, slide under the surface and twist my head back and forth gently to rinse off. Ever since I was small, I have loved floating underwater, enjoying the peace as the liquid drowns out the constant noise outside. More than once, Mom yelled at me to stop it before I drowned myself.

  Surfacing, I scrub with the sea sponge and most of the remaining shampoo. By the time I finished, I am as pink, clean, and sweet smelling as a baby.

  The water, one the other hand, looks more like a deep muddy puddle than a bath.

  I scowl when I see there doesn’t appear to be a fae equivalent of cream rinse. My hair resembles a bird’s nest after a hard night in a hurricane. I’ll never get the knots out of it without at least some kind of conditioner. I may as well shave it off and start over, or show up at a party looking like the underside of a stray dog.

  I grimace, twisting one towel around my hair and another around my body, and try to come up with some way I can get out of going to the feast. I’m so tired I don’t have the energy to eat anyway.

  A sharp rap sounds and the door opens before I can even say anything.

  Rhiannon comes in carrying a mound of emerald green fabric draped over an arm and a pair of shoes in her hand.

  She arranges the material on the bed, and I realize it’s a beautiful silk dress with sparkling crystal gems sewn along the bottom hem.

  “It’s…wow! That’s gorgeous,” I whisper.

  She is wearing a similar gown, but hers is a dark red that sets off her brown eyes and deep auburn hair.

  “Um…” I unwind the towel around my head and show her my epic mess of matted hair. “Have you got anything to help with this?”

  She laughs. “Of course, child. Let me help you. Sit on the bed.”

  She picks up one of the bottles sitting on the edge of the tub, pours some oil into her cupped hand, and rubs her hands together before smearing them all through my hair, from roots to tips, then repeating the action a few more times.

  She pulls a mother-of-pearl comb out of a nearby drawer, sits behind me, and sets to work. In no time, my hair is knot-free and hanging down my back in a long red drape.

  “Sit by the fire until it dries. Your father will be along shortly to take you to the feast.” She stands and heads for the door. “See you there, Alys.”

  “Thank you.”

  As my lips twist around the word, I realize I didn’t say thank you the way I normally would, but rather go raibh maith agat.

  Whoa! When did I start speaking another language?

  I settle onto the thick, fluffy wool rug in front of the fire and run my fingers through my now beautifully soft hair. Whatever Rhiannon used tamed my usual puffy waves into tightly wound springs of hair curling down my back in a fiery cascade.

  With a sigh, I give in and get up, wondering toward the bed and fingering the gown Rhiannon left. The dress is beautiful and girly and so not me, but I can’t deny the hint of excitement tickling my belly at the thought of trying it on; but after checking under the gown and even in the shoes, I realize there doesn’t appear to be any underwear. I’m a little disconcerted to discover fae go commando over here on Tír na nÓg.

  It takes a bit of fiddling, but I eventually settle the multiple layers of fabric over my head and fasten the long line of tiny mother-of-pearl buttons holding it together along my left side. The deep V of the bodice fits quite snugly, so the lack of underwear is understandable. The dress alone keeps things pretty secure—not that I have much to work with— but maybe bras aren’t necessary here. None of the other female fae seem to be working with much more than me.

  The dress falls in smooth folds to the floor, with gems glittering along the bottom hem in the lantern light. The fabric is so soft and light against my skin that I feel surprisingly comfortable and beautiful at the same time.

  I slip on the flat silver slippers, and my toes almost weep with happiness to be rid of the hiking boots.

  There is another knock at my door, and happy, full of newfound energy after my bath, and feeling pretty in my new clothes, I practically skip to answer it.

  Looking tall and noble in a blue silk shirt and brown leggings, with a thin crown of what looks like tightly interlaced sticks on his head, Baird smiles back at me.

  “You look much better,” he says as he comes inside.

  I see a shiny new sword hanging in a scabbard around his waist, and he hands one to me, helping me put it on. The woven vines of the belt are strong but surprisingly soft, and the heavy weapon is quite comfortable.

  “They will all be much happier now that we are armed,” he says with a chuckle.

  “Yes, I noticed even the kids carry weapons.”

  “A faeling is taught to use a sword from the moment they are able to pick one up. Now that you have one, you must begin your instruction immediately if you hope to catch up and not look out of place.”

  I twist and turn the metal and leather-covered hilt, and the polished silver of the wicked curved blade gleams in the light of the room. “Are you kidding? I’ll kill myself if I try to use this thing.”

  “Likely. So let us leave it in its scabbard and assume it is only for decoration, for now, okay? At least until we can get proper training into you.”

  Between the magic instruction and now battle instruction—because who needs time for things like eating or sleeping?

  He smirks, patting my hand as I slide the blade back inside the scabbard, and then threads my hair through a circlet of burnished metal so that its intricate silver tri-point rests on my forehead.

  He ge
stures toward the headpiece. “To indicate you are of war.”

  “Oh. What does yours indicate?” I feel bad I never asked before.

  “Twigs signify I am an earth fae. Rhiannon’s ivy shows she is of the forest.”

  “Is it strange that we’re different? I mean, aren’t we are supposed to be father and daughter?”

  He shrugs. “A little. But different talents do occur within families. You could be more like your mother for all they know.”

  “I guess we’d all like to know that, wouldn’t we?”

  He laughs. “True. Are you ready? You are going to cause quite the stir.”

  “I am?” I look down and finger the folds of my skirt self-consciously. “Why? Do I have this thing on wrong or something?”

  He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Have you looked in a mirror?”

  Seeing as I tend to avoid mirrors, I shrug. “No.”

  “Do me a favor and take a look at yourself.”

  “Okay.” I check the etched mirror hanging near the cupboard by the bed. Holy—is that me? The girl in the reflection looks like me, but different. My face is leaner, making my cheekbones more prominent. My eyes are so green they resemble the fake-colored contact lenses.

  Thank goodness they weren’t this green at school.

  “How is this possible?” My skin is fair, and my cheeks have a healthy rosy glow. “My freckles are almost gone even though we have been walking in the sun all day!” I check my arms—no freckles there either. Even my teeth are whiter.

  “This is your world. Your body knows it is meant to be here.”

  Wow. My hair is insane. It looks five times as thick as usual with the brilliant red curls sitting up and away from my face, framing it like a soft cloud, before falling over my shoulders and down my back in perfect coils and spirals.

  And the dress…the dress sets off my features perfectly and enhances curves I don’t have. I want to wear it forever.

  Baird smirks. “You see?”

  I shrug and study the girl in the mirror, turning from one side to the other. I look better, yes, but it’s still…me. And me is tall, red, and weird, and always will be.