Elemech stroked Ealasyd’s golden hair. “Thank you. Now a bit of silence from you, too, while I speak to the woods.”
At those words, her spirit was already flying like a golden shimmer along the rays of sunlight, dancing over the eaves and then swooping down into the earthy mist of the woods, where it skipped as a fluttering presence from flea to tree, bear to leaf. She soon had crossed uncountable spans and slipped into the tight skull of a hawk. From there, she could watch the borders of her lands, where a company was breaking. Two shadows to the North, one bright as the star that rules there—we shall see her again. What a glorious soul. Three shadows to the West. Five facing our woods: a wise man, a thief, a dead man, the lord of Alabion, and our errant sister—
“What did you say?” demanded Ealasyd.
Elemech was flung back into her flesh by the disruption and gentle shoves of her sister. She must have been speaking her vision aloud. However much she had uttered, it was enough to upset Ealasyd, and the girl’s face was red and knotted. Mothering had given Elemech a wealth of patience and taken all her cold retorts away; she realized what was wrong and would address it. Kindly, she explained.
“My youngling, you are confused, when really you have only forgotten. Such is the curse of ever being a child: your mind is always hither and thither. Chasing butterflies and daydreaming. Reality runs out of your ears like warm honey. I do not blame you for not remembering.”
“Remembering what?”
“Your sister.”
“I count three sisters, and all of them are right here,” said Ealasyd. “You are speaking out of tune like that nattering sparrow that comes here from time to time.”
“I am not, dear one. You have another sister. Half of our blood, half of another’s.”
Fast as a flipped coin, Ealasyd’s anger transformed into joy. “I do?”
“Indeed.”
“Oh, tell me about her, Elemech! Please!”
Up she came into Elemech’s strong arms and cradled herself against the hard, stirring lump of her unborn sister, who, too, was interested in a tale and had been promised one. Elemech began her story, and the birds and mice flocked round to hear, the bugs froze on their leaves to listen, and all around the Sisters were still. What a grand tale did the ancient sister weave, so thrilling—and sad—that the mice were upon their hinds and squealing, the birds were flapping their wings, and the bugs were cheering with their clacking teeth. Ealasyd applauded, too, even though she would forget most of it in an hourglass. Though not her new sister’s name. That she would trace in the mud of the cave and make songs of so that it would never flee from her mind again, and so that they could greet each other when soon they met.
Morigan.
—Fin—
About the Author
Christian A. Brown has written creatively since the age of six. After spending most of his career in the health and fitness industry, Brown quit his job to care for his mother when she was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma in 2010.
Having dabbled with the novel that would eventually become Feast of Fates for over a decade, Brown was finally able to finish the project. His mother, who was able to read a beginning version of the novel before she passed away, has since imbued the story with deeper sentiments of loss, love, and meaning. He is proud to now share the finished product with the world.
www.christianadrianbrown.com
Feast of Fates (Four Feasts Till Darkness Book 1) Page 64
