Fallen Emrys

by Lisa Rector

  You don’t think Owein will be suspicious? His clothes will be ready in minutes, Seren said.

  How do you suppose he thinks I heated the water? He’s making a lot of guesses about immortals. This one shouldn’t surprise him.

  Satisfied his outfit was clean, I pulled it from the bucket and wrung it out. I snapped his linen shirt with a flick of my wrists and a flash of heat. His shirt dried instantly. I shook it until it softened and then folded it. I proceeded with his pants and his stockings. Completing the ensemble, I finished with his cloak. Owein would be the cleanest man at the festival.

  I scurried back to the barn. The men were still around the fire. Some shirtless and others asleep. So much for baths. They deserved a night of indulgence; I supposed. I knocked on the barn door. I didn’t want to leave Owein’s clothing outside in the dirt, so I closed my eyes to search with my light’s power, but at the same time, wondered if I was strong enough to pick up the weak internal light of any mortals who might be inside.

  The door cracked. Owein stuck his head around the edge. “I thought that might be you. No one else would just knock. Back so soon?”

  His eyes lingered on the bundle in my hands. “Are those my clothes? Cleaned? You’re incredible. First hot water and then laundry service. I should marry you.”

  Heat crept over my face, and I coughed. Another one of Owein’s peculiar phrases. I was sure. “Good night,” I muttered and raced into the night.

  ***

  I can’t wait for the festival tomorrow. Owein says we should arrive about midday. After laying out clean garments by the creek side, I stripped off my dirty clothes. I had met Seren farther upstream in a wooded section, away from the prying eyes at the inn and campfire.

  I wish I could go with you. Cowering in the forest is not fun.

  I know. I’m sorry. Give me time. Owein and I came up with a plan. Given my magnetism, he knew I’d charm the king. Being under the king’s protection would give Seren the opportunity she desired for a coming out. Whatever that meant. Owein assured me it had to do with maidens being introduced into society, so why not a dragon? Once I meet the king, I’ll convince him you’re harmless. From what Owein says, he’s a kind man. Generous to his subjects and open-minded. I stepped midthigh into the creek.

  Seren plunked down, creating a damming effect, and within seconds the water flowed up to my rib cage. That’s what we want. A noble man like our Lord Ithel.

  I sighed at the mention of Catrin and Aneirin’s parents. Lord Ithel was our emryn leader and beloved spouse of the High Emrys, Meinwen, our spiritual leader. I wondered what they said about my skipping out of Gorlassar. Having grown up with Catrin, I was close to the family and practically lived in the palace. Her parents understood my rebellious spirit, whereas my father had not. Although Mother was somewhat more forgiving than Father.

  Seren raised her wings, making a secluded capsule while I bathed. Not that I was expecting anyone, but her wings contained the heat that radiated from my light-filled body and warmed the air. I sank into the water up to my neck and sighed as the frigid liquid slipped past my hot muscles. The feeling was impossible to describe. A toasty body dipped into cold water had a tempering effect, neutralizing my broken interior while hardening my exterior. I liked to think it added resilience to my soul as I contemplated life in the water’s cradle.

  My unrest began roughly thirty-three years ago, even prior to my infatuation over Aneirin. I shouldn’t have blamed him for blemishing my heart. Away from his captivating presence, I realized he was more of a distraction.

  But that didn’t lessen the pain.

  I still loved him. But had he returned my affections, would I have been truly happy?

  Life in Gorlassar was delightful—the seasons a constant fluctuation of summer to spring and back again. Snow didn’t fall, as on the ledge outside the portal. The leaves never fell from the trees. Some said the realm was this way because of the dragons’ magic. If they ever left Gorlassar, its paradise would fade.

  I couldn’t be the only one questioning why there was a passage between two worlds—one a flawless existence and another an impure mistake. If the emrys believed such a notion as corruption from the mortals, then why the blasted gateway? The Creator of our world wished us separate because a great evil crept over the mortal land.

  Well, that was all fine, but the emrys weren’t as perfect as they thought they were. Perfect people wouldn’t snub their noses at another plane of life. A perfect people wouldn’t believe they were better than another species. I pondered the stories from my youth. The mortals died because they were evil. They killed because a darkness hid inside them. They envied because they set themselves above one another.

  I didn’t see a difference in the last one. We set ourselves on a pedestal. Immortals created in our master’s image. Almost faultless. Righteous guardians. We could do no wrong.

  Then I read Siana’s story—a story the elders tried to hide about an emrys, Urien and Anwen’s daughter, granddaughter of the High Emrys. Siana left Gorlassar over two thousand five hundred years before I was born. She felt the unrest. She had questioned as I had. The immortals’ indifference burdened her. The emryn species had been young, without the extravagances I was used to, but even after fourteen hundred and ninety-nine years, Siana saw how almost a couple of hundred immortals were not like the Creator, how uncaring they were and too regal to fight for any worthy cause.

  What was the point of living when we were all the same? Not having strife, not having meaningful trials, sicknesses, and infirmities. Where was the joy in that? How could a person understand and truly experience joy if he or she didn’t experience suffering?

  The questions drove deep into my soul. The thoughts didn’t leave me. I used Aneirin as an excuse to thrust myself from the gallant presence of those I loved, to seek for more fulfillment among the mundane.

  I shook the water off my hair and wrung it out, twisting the long strands around and around and draping the cluster over my bosom.

  I had met an exquisitely mundane crowd.

  And I loved it.

  Adventure. Discovery. Simplicity over the most commonplace things. These people worked to survive. These people toiled for a living. And they were happy, if a bit vulgar.

  Seren stiffened. We’re not alone. Your mortal plaything is trying to sneak up on us.

  I squeaked and sank under the water up to my chin. I told Owein not to follow me! Immediately I was grateful for Seren’s cover. I pushed through the water to the edge of her wing and peeked out. Owein’s approach was to her back so her night vision was useless.

  “It’s no use sneaking around. I know you’re there,” I said.

  “Is that because Seren can smell me? I bathed, honestly.”

  “It’s because you breathe like a dog,” Seren said. “And you stepped on a twig about thirty paces back.”

  Owein laughed. “I’ll hold my breath and swing from the trees as I’m sneaking through the woods next time.”

  “I can’t see where you are. Come out of hiding.” I squinted into the trees exactly when Owein stepped out from behind a rock where he’d been crouching.

  Owein locked eyes with me. “How in all of Bryn are you still in the creek? You’ve lost feeling in your limbs, haven’t you?”

  Oops.

  No point in denying it. You heated his bath water and speed cleaned his clothing, Seren said.

  “Turn around so I can come out and dress. In fact, go back to that rock. No peeking. I’ll know if you do,” I said.

  Owein covered his eyes before ducking out of sight. “I knew, since you have a dragon and came from another world, you’d have gifts. Thanks for the hot water, by the way. Had to show off, didn’t you? That’s some ability. What is it, an affinity for heat?”

  I shook myself off and zapped myself dry. I pulled my clean clothes on, constantly glancing in Owein’s direction to make sure he was behaving. “Not exactly an affinity for heat. All right, you can come out.”

 
Owein eyed me up and down. “It looks as though your limbs are still attached and functional. You were in there for—”

  “Oh, maybe half an hour.”

  Owein whistled. “That’s phenomenal.”

  I shrugged.

  He tapped his chin. “What other secrets do you have?”

  I finger combed my hair while smiling slyly. “You’ll just have to wait to find out.”

  Chapter Seven

  The festival was huge. From across the highlands and as far as the lowlands, subjects had flocked to Cynwrig. Owein steered the company away from Talfryn’s capital city—whose walls and houses appeared to bulge from the city’s seams, threatening to topple down the hillside—and brought us to its outskirts. Tents and stalls spread out before us, forming neat rows. Bright banners and streamers hung from one side of the street to the other.

  Oh, Seren. This is spectacular. Have you ever seen anything like it? I peered this way and that, snooping into every single booth with my dragon sight so Seren didn’t miss a detail.

  We passed a stall of piping-hot meat pies. I inhaled deeply.

  Seren sighed. Is that venison pie? You must bring me half a dozen of them tonight.

  The aroma of baked apples and cinnamon spice wafted across the air as I watched a baker pull pastries from an oven. Thoughts of home accosted me. Mother made divine breads with such enticing scents. Heavenly.

  I tried not to lose my caravan as it made its way to various assigned booths, but my eyes lingered on colorful scarves waving in the breeze. I stroked my fingers over the fabric of a purple and pink one. Silk. I eyed the price. I didn’t know what 15z meant or how it related to the prices of items in Gorlassar.

  From a distance, Owein called me. Even though I lagged behind while I browsed, I picked up a bumpy yellow and green squash and turned it in my palms. We didn’t have this one in Gorlassar.

  Owein unexpectedly spoke behind me. “You have all week to shop.”

  I jumped. “Owein! I can’t help it. So much to see. I don’t think a week will be enough.”

  “Let me show you where our stall is before I lose you, and then you can wander. We need to set the furs up.”

  I nodded. “I’ll even be gracious enough to help you unload those stinky furs.”

  “Hey, people like those stinky furs.”

  I wriggled my nose. “It’s a rotten carcass I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing.”

  Owein’s hand slipped down my side, below my ribs as if feeling the weave of my garment. The motivation for his intimate touch was self-serving, but I didn’t mind. Owein was growing on me. He’s not Aneirin.

  “We can’t all be dressed in such fine clothes,” Owein said. “You’ll be taken for nobility. Everyone’s eyeing you. I hope you have money.”

  I pictured the items in my satchels. Enough gems and gold coins to last an eternity in Gorlassar. Emrys rarely exchanged money for goods. We traded items in equal shares. The services of one for the services of another. How far my handful of shining stones and metals would spread, I didn’t know. Owein had paid for the room at the inn, and other than that, we had no added expenses when what we ate was caught.

  We rounded a corner, and Owein said, “Here we are. Same place as last year, right at the edge of the dance floor. Do you like to dance?”

  I couldn’t stop my grin. “Of course I like to dance. Let me guess, you paid extra for the booth so you could ogle the pretty ladies.”

  “No, Arnall paid extra for the booth so I could man it while he sneaks off and flirts with the lasses.”

  “Did I hear my name?” Arnall dropped the wagon’s gate and lifted a stack of furs. “The rest of the company split to their stalls. We’ll meet them at the week’s end for the long journey back.”

  Ah, the long journey… I was curious about Owein’s home in the lowlands, but I didn’t know where I’d be at the end of the week.

  Owein leaned in. “How long would a month’s excursion by wagon take with a dragon?”

  “From a summer’s sun up to sun down.”

  Owein whistled. “If we didn’t have such a load of goods by the week’s end, I’d have you fly me home. So, uh, when can I take my first dragon flight?”

  I shook my head, pretending I didn’t hear.

  A few low bellows and twanging started at the edge of the dance floor as musicians tuned their instruments. Curious, I tilted my head toward the ruckus. I had never seen such instruments—a curving gourd-shaped one with four strings played with a long horsehair stick, a shiny tube with buttons and valves, hollow rods for striking with a mallet, and round drums stretched with animal skin.

  As the musicians began a cheery tune, merchants pausing from the day’s setup bustled onto the floor.

  Oh, the laughing and gaiety!

  I clapped my hands and swayed to the beat. Owein and Arnall were unloading furs, oblivious to my awe and amusement. A man swerved by me with a petite, shy girl, and he winked at me. I put my hand over my heart and blushed. I was used to Owein’s flirting, but from a man I hadn’t been introduced to…

  A hand slipped down my lower back, made its way along my elbow, and around my wrist. “I’ll dance one song with you if you lend me those hands you promised to help with. I could use your good eye for arranging the furs in a pleasing fashion.” Owein pulled me onto the dance floor.

  I laughed. He no longer stunned me with his forwardness. And because I had no inkling of the dance steps, Owein twirled me to his heart’s content.

  ***

  A sparkling clear sky greeted us the following morning. The festival’s streets were so packed, I squeezed my way between shoulders. Owein was right on my heels, pressing a hand against the small of my back, steering me through the throng.

  Owein convinced Arnall to spare him a few hours so he could give me a tour of the festival. Arnall didn’t even resist. I sensed he was being generous, with the hope of the same favor later. They were such good friends that the things they did for each other didn’t surprise me.

  So I might hear Owein over the crowd, he whispered in my ear at every turn. I didn’t balk at his closeness. The festival was tight quarters everywhere. It’s not as though I hadn’t been touched by a man before either, but in this crowd, who could tell one tender, guiding touch from a passerby’s brush?

  I could.

  Aneirin might not have been my sweetheart, but growing up together as friends, we touched plenty.

  I tried not to think of how Aneirin tugged my hands to drag me on some adventure or how he tortured Catrin and me by tickling us under the willow trees until we cried. Or even how we wrestled together when we played skip-the-dragon-scale in the creek.

  My memories sounded silly.

  We were children. And played at children’s games. We’d matured since then, and youthful games slowly vanished to be replaced by mooning glances and the yearning to find a soul mate. Aneirin’s rough-and-tumble touches stopped. He grew too nervous, afraid he’d lead me on. How could I’ve been so blind? Even though I’d been in the mortal world for a week, I missed him.

  And his idiotic furrowed brows.

  “I must be terribly boring because you’re contemplating something deeper than my blue eyes.”

  We had paused beside a stall, and Owein was facing me. Apparently I was staring blankly at his face. I had no idea what he was saying.

  “I’m sorry. Yes. Uh, thinking about home.”

  Owein clasped my hand between his hands. “And someone. I know that face. Arnall might not have the longest, most meaningful relationships, but he’s had his heart broken. I’ve seen that face one too many times.” He chuckled.

  “Oh. I dropped my wall.” I squirmed in Owein’s grasp, feeling foolish. I couldn’t believe it. A mortal read me. And he wasn’t even an emrys with the ability to see into a soul. He read the expression on my face!

  Owein’s hand tightened. “Stop weaseling out of my grip. I’m not trying to court you. I want to be your friend. I understand your heart might be broken.
It’s all right. I’m not looking for attachment.”

  That was a relief. “I appreciate your friendship. Thank you.”

  “You are giving me quite the thrill. Immortal beauty from another world and all. I do believe I’m the envy of every man here.”

  “Oh!” I smacked his shoulder.

  Owein laughed, but the twinkle in his eye died when a scream rent the air.

  Something was wrong. Upset, fear, and horror ballooned through the crowd. I was sure the alarm was more from the scream than the actual reality of what was happening. Once a siren went off, everyone panicked.

  The festival patrons swelled against Owein and me. Most people headed toward the scream, which had morphed into a mournful howl.

  Someone was in a lot of pain.

  And everyone wanted to know why.

  The crowd clustered as people surged forward to the edge of the festival where the tournaments were held. I pushed my way through.

  “Niawen,” Owein said. “We should stay back.”

  “I can help,” I called over my shoulder. “If someone is in as much agony as his wail proclaims, he’ll need me.”

  “How—?”

  “Move!” I shouted at those standing in front of me. They had come to a standstill and pressed up on tiptoes, craning their necks.

  Startled, several people moved out of the way so I could view the catastrophe.

  What I presumed had been a dais for judges lay crumbled as a pile of metal and wood. The tournaments had not yet begun, but nonetheless, a body stuck out from the wreckage.

  “The bricklayer,” someone said.

  And another. “The scaffolding just collapsed over him.”

  I barely heard the murmurs over the trapped man’s cries as men lifted poles and shifted objects.

  As a board was moved, unveiling the buried man, I saw the injury.

  Cries of “Have mercy” filtered through the gawkers. Whispers of “He’ll never survive” burned my nerves.

  Stupid mortals. So stupidly fragile.