“Thank you, sir.” Cael was still out of breath, but smiled when he spoke. “I ran from your house. Keelia said you were out here.”
“We’re headed to the barn for another load,” said Father. “Hang on. Leila—” he turned forward “—drive us ahead.”
Leila had been eagerly waiting her turn for a drink. She glared back at Ethan before releasing the wagon’s long hand brake and nudging Garrett with the reins.
As my father turned in his seat, Cael shouted at my brother. “Hand the jug here, Ethan. I’ll pass it forward.” He reached toward my brother and grabbed the narrow neck of the canister. “Are you thirsty, Neal? Would you like some water?”
With a grunt, Father smiled and accepted his offering. But instead of drinking, he grabbed the reins from Leila and handed her the jug. She grinned as she finally enjoyed some nourishment.
When we arrived at the large barn doors, I tried to exit the wagon by stepping over the sideboard, but Cael sat on its outside edge, blocking me. So I slid to the rear and dropped to the ground. Then I ran across the trampled snow and heaved a door open while Father maneuvered the other.
Cael leapt down and strutted to the open barn. “Take a rest, Rhiannon,” he said, flashing a grin. “We’ll have this loaded quickly.”
He grabbed a pitchfork and scooped a bundle of hay into the back of the wagon. I had to leap back to keep from being struck.
“You’re a great help, Cael,” said Father, tossing another huge pile onto the wagon. “He’s right, Rhiannon. Enjoy a moment of rest. We’ll finish this load.”
The two men looked like they had worked together for years, tossing the dry grass in a coordinated effort. I stood helplessly next to Ethan, who gawked at the pile of hay—already larger than our previous hauls. Cael heaved a final load onto the back and stabbed his pitchfork into ground. He stepped back, admired the tall pile, and closed the barn door in unison with my father.
Father grinned and patted Cael on the shoulders. “Up,” he commanded, motioning to the wagon. He stepped onto the front bench and waited while Ethan and I scrambled aboard.
After an endless jostle of slow, bumpy travel across the field, the wagon stopped. Excited to resign my uncomfortable position against the hay pile, I leapt down into the snow. With the same active movement as at the barn, Cael leapt to the ground and rushed to the back of wagon.
“Come on,” he said, “let’s battle this beast.” With a loud yell, he began singing.
I heaved myself to my feet, brushing myself off while staring at Leila and Ethan. We smiled at each other—this was one of my father’s drinking songs. Father began to sing along with Cael, scooping hay in rhythm with their music.
As I reached into the large pile of hay and began to gather some, I caught a glimpse of my sister laughing behind us. Ethan had joined Father and Cael in the harsh melody.
Despite its annoyance, Cael’s method for improving the day worked. The music lightened the mood and soon the wagon was empty. While Leila drove us back to the barn for another load, Cael, Father, and Ethan continued a chant about whiskey, swine, and the old smokehouse. Determined to keep my dignity, I could do no more than smile politely while Cael sang loudly and stared at me from across the wagon.
“What do you think?” he asked, pausing during the next chorus. Father and Ethan continued to sing. “Could I be a bard?”
I smiled again. Trying to keep the imminent explosion of laughter contained, I shook my head. Cael could be amusing.
“Do you know these songs?” He stared at me. “I’m certain Sean has taught you.”
I shook my head. “No,” I answered. “I’ve only heard them from Father.”
“No!” Cael stretched his face in disbelief. “That can’t be. Where do you think I learned them? Sean and I have forgotten many nights thanks to strong drinks and these loud songs.”
I felt my face warming, and shook my head energetically. “That doesn’t sound like Sean,” I told him. “He doesn’t like to drink.”
“Ho!” Cael slapped his knee and pulled on my father’s shoulder. “Did you hear that, Neal? Your faerie daughter thinks Sean doesn’t like to drink.”
Father turned around and smiled. I couldn’t tell if he was agreeing with Cael, or just thinking about ale. Regardless of the reason, I was upset. Father sang louder and more off-key.
Cael continued. “Didn’t you see Sean at the last Celebration? I’m surprised he didn’t fall into the fire. He could have—”
“Please don’t,” I interrupted. I felt myself flushing with anger at Cael’s thoughtlessness. “I don’t want to hear that.”
“What?” Cael ignored my request. “It’s true.” He started to sing again, and then stopped. “Believe what you want, now. You’ll find out the truth, later.”
Tears welled in my eyes and threatened to fall. I hated getting so angry that I felt out of control. I looked away, not wanting Cael to see that he had succeeded in upsetting me.
With a loud laugh and a louder chant in song, Cael smiled politely and slapped me on the leg. He nodded and turned away.
The men’s singing, which never ceased throughout the afternoon, had changed from a convenient distraction, to an annoying and loud irritation. Every time I tried to ignore them, their harsh verses singed my thoughts and stuck to my memory like honey. Cael’s teases never left me, and his words about Sean vexed my thoughts. My arms burned and my hands were red and cut, but I was hardly aware of them in the face of Cael’s words. Instead, I stared at the stretching violet shadows that trailed behind the wagon against the snow. It had been a long day.
“Go inside, girls,” said Father, when we arrived at the barn the final time. “Get yourselves cleaned up and then help your mother make a meal. Ethan, sweep out the back of the wagon once we roll it inside.”
After quick goodbyes, Leila and I ducked between the rails of the fence and stomped through the snow toward the back door of the house. I was exhausted, while Leila seemed full of energy; she was inside before I had traveled halfway there. When I arrived at the door, I carefully untied my bootlaces before stepping free and onto the dry wooden floor inside. I pounded the boots against the outside of the house, sending a splatter of ice into the air. My feet were dry; I was thankful for that, but they hurt just as much as my arms.
In the dining room, Leila stood near the fireplace, warming her hands while removing layers of thick wool and leather. I joined her and placed my boots close to the hearth. Then I unbuttoned my cloak. The warmth of the fire filled me with a surge of energy. I stood quietly, absorbing the heat while rubbing my hands together. My fingers had numbed in the cold, and now—because of the fire—they stung as warming blood returned.
“Is your father coming?”
I turned to answer; Mother stood at the counter, watching us. “I’m sorry, Mother. I was so cold, I forgot to say hello.”
“That’s understandable, dear. You look like you were working hard.”
“I was,” I told her. “And yes, Father is coming. Cael was helping us. He’ll eat with the family.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Once you are warmed, Leila, will you change and help me prepare the table? I’ve been baking biscuits.”
“Oh, I could eat a dozen warm biscuits!” Leila jumped from her spot near the flames and rushed to the hall. She disappeared around the corner. When given a chance to bake, Leila had never turned it down. She loved the smell it brought to the house, as did I.
I reached into the fireplace, and using a gloved hand, lifted the steaming metal cauldron from a hook above the flames. I removed the pot and carried it toward the hall. “Thank you for the bath water. Should I save some for Ethan or Father?”
Mother gestured no from the kitchen; she was obviously busy. In addition to the evening meal, there was plenty to prepare for the celebration feast. Our camp always filled with eager villagers, who scrambled for a taste of my mother’s meals. She was the best cook in the village, and no one argued that fact.
I tiptoed down the hal
l and carried the pot to the bathing room, upstairs. After setting it in the dark, I rushed back down for a lighted candle. When I returned to the room, Leila stood in the doorway looking for something.
I shook my head and produced the candle. “No you don’t, Leila. I’ll be first. I need to practice as soon as the meal is finished.”
If Lela protested, I never heard or saw it. Instead, I rushed into my room and chose a warm gown and a towel from my closet. When I returned to the bathing room, Leila was gone, and the steaming water was safe in its place. I placed the candle on the stone counter and closed the door behind me.
Finally. Alone at last, I released a sigh that echoed off the wooden walls where my shadow danced. I filled the washbasin with the steaming water, and after stepping out of my musty work dress, I grabbed a sponge to wash.
I caressed the top of my shoulders with the rough edge of the sponge. “Oh, that’s wonderful,” I whispered. My words bounced around the little room and mingled with the steam.
The heated water was exhilarating; it replenished my energy and soothed my sore arms. I slowly washed my shoulders again, before soaking the rest of my body. During Moon Season, a hot bath was the most satisfying experience under the sky; that day’s wash—after a long day in the wet snow—felt exhilarating. I glanced at the empty stone tub in the corner of the small bathing chamber and wished I had more than a quick moment to clean.
Refreshed and no longer smelling of grass, I returned to my bedroom, brushed my hair, and added a pair of warm stockings for the evening. Outside my window, the day had ended. The moon brightened the snowy landscape; even the trees, still covered with white, glowed with mysterious beckoning. It was magical. I stared east, mesmerized by the enchantment of the newly decorated forest, and closed my eyes.
“Sean, if you can hear me,” I whispered. “Please accept a moonlit message of peace. I’m thinking of you. And, I love you.”
Laughter and the familiar chant from the afternoon, raced up the stairs and broke my trance. I blew out the tiny flame of my candle—dreaming would have to wait—and went downstairs.
When I arrived at the dining room, Father, Cael, and Ethan sat at the long table, drinking from tall goblets and singing with energy. I stared for a moment, wondering if my father had already introduced our guest to his ale. He lifted his hands and revealed a tall red bottle.
“Rhiannon, will you help with the plates, dear?” Mother called from the kitchen.
Leila handed me a stack of wide pewter plates. I accepted them with a weak smile and returned to the table.
Cael looked up from his goblet. “You bathed,” he said. “That was fast.” His words were slow and drawn out; Father’s ale was already affecting him
I ignored him and placed a plate in front of my father, whose cup had introduced the verse of another song. I turned away without answering Cael. Drunken men were annoying and rude. I wouldn’t allow myself to be embarrassed by an idiot, especially in my home.
“Mother?” I asked, loudly and on purpose. “Did you know that the Fae have no cure or relief for drunkenness?”
“Yes, dear,” my mother answered. “You’ve told me before. Why do you ask now?” She handed me a platter of steaming potatoes, onions, and carrots.
I nodded my head toward the table while balancing the heavy plate. “I wanted you to know that it’s better to forget he exists, and allow him to slumber in his perceived wisdom, than to try to cure a drinking man.”
My meaning was sincere and true, but all the same, no one understood. The men at the table erupted in a spray of laughter.
“Wise you are, Rhiannon,” yelled my father, his voice dusting the rafters. He held up his goblet and spilt ale onto his face. “I’ll drink to your words.”
Annoyed, I spurted a groan and returned to the kitchen until the evening meal. Even at my mother’s polite prodding, I refused to go back into the dining room as the victim of the men’s rudeness.
Our meal was a quiet event; the women sat silently, while Cael and Father drank heartily from the bottle between slabs of meat. I ate more than usual—so did everyone—and wrestled Leila for the final large biscuit. With a smile, I conceded. Of course, the marks on my hand from her fingernails were a painful reason to stop trying.
As I turned to step from the bench, tight pain twisted every part of my body; the heated relief from my bath had faded. With a muffled groan, I stood and grabbed my plate.
“Are you all right, dear?” asked Mother.
Surprised, I glanced up. Then, unwilling to draw attention to myself, I nodded and turned to see if anyone else had noticed. Fortunately, Cael was deep into his goblet and Father leaned back to puff large wafts from his long bone pipe.
“Leila will help me clear the table,” said Mother. “Rhiannon, go begin your practice. Tomorrow will be a long day for you.”
“Thank you, Mother,” I answered. Today had been a long day. I placed my empty plate on the kitchen counter and approached the warmth of the fireplace. Turning, so that my back faced the flames, I retrieved my boots and stepped into them. Steaming and hot, their fleece lining massaged my toes. I wriggled my feet before working to tighten the laces.
“Are you going to Stone Meadow?” asked Ethan, stretching from his usual seat on the bench in front of the window. “What about the bandit?”
“That’s why I’m here,” said Cael. He wiped his mouth and slid the goblet away. “I’m your private guard for the night.”
I glanced up and resumed lacing my second boot. Once they both felt tight and secure, I stood and stretched my arms toward the rafters in the high ceiling above. Wincing, I exhaled slowly and allowed the tightness in my back, legs, and arms to pull away. “We’re not going to Stone Meadow, Ethan. I can practice here in the yard.”
“Then the boy can stay inside,” said Father. He slapped Cael on the shoulder and lifted his glass. “And help me open another bottle of ale.”
Mother dashed to the table. She crouched behind Father and twisted locks of his beard around her fingers. “I think we should save this for another evening,” she said, grabbing the bottle. “Tomorrow is the celebration.”
He reached out to protest, but she kissed him on the forehead. Ethan giggled. I put on my cloak and crept to the back door.
“I’ll come with you,” said Cael, grabbing his coat from the floor. “I promised Sean to keep you safe.” He turned to my father. “Thank you, Neal. I enjoyed the company.”
As I pushed open the door, he reached an arm across me to hold it open.
“Thank you,” I whispered, politely.
The night was frozen and still. Steam from my breath blew forward with every exhale and then rose to fade away. The moon’s glow, combined with the reflection from the snow, made the night feel like an eerie blue midday. The silence added to the effect. I stomped toward the stable, where the ground was open and flat. Behind me, I heard the door swing closed and pound against the house. Cael’s heavy footsteps broke the snow.
“So?” asked Cael. He stood uncomfortably close behind me. “What’s next?”
“If you insist on staying, find a place to sit and rest. I’ll be busy for a while.”
After careful examination of my surroundings, I stepped carefully and took my starting pose. The raucous echoes of the day’s songs rattled inside my head. I took a long breath and tried to focus my chaotic thoughts. The moon, the season, a perfect beginning. Silence enveloped me. I closed my eyes and began to dance.
At first, the steps were awkward. My heavy boots weighed down my legs and the snow seemed to grab my ankles. I lost myself in the rhythm my body yearned for; it helped me escape the night. I extended my arms and spun in place, then ducked and stretched, imagining that I stood in front of the majestic stone columns at Stone Meadow. I completed a tiny circle while hoping for a warm comfort in my mind.
Satisfied, I smiled and began a new dance, and a new rhythm. This time, I raised my face to the sky, and opened my eyes to the moon.
“Y
ou look beautiful.”
My trance broken, I stopped dancing and searched the darkness in the direction of Cael’s voice. I found him perched on a pile of cut logs under the roof of the woodbin. “What did you say?” I asked.
Cael grinned at me; his smile touched his ears and his teeth glowed in the moonlight. “You’re beautiful,” he repeated. “I think you heard me the first time.”
“I think you’re drunk,” I told him, scowling. I returned to my original spot—where the snow was trampled firm—and closed my eyes to start again.
“I understand why Sean likes you.”
I stopped.
“He loves me,” I retorted. The peace left me. I turned to face Cael again; he sat reclined on the woodpile and leaned against one elbow. “If you keep distracting me,” I said, “I’ll be here longer practicing—and you’ll get colder.”
“I could watch you all night.” Cael’s smile was like a dagger in the dark.
I turned away, offended.
Cael got to his feet, but didn’t approach. “He’s a lucky man.”
I felt my face warm. “Cael, I don’t want to talk about Sean.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Nothing,” I answered. “I want to dance. I am going to finish my practice.”
“May I stay and watch?”
“Yes,” I said, not bothering to hide my exasperation. “If you let me finish.”
I waited for another response. Chilled silence overtook the night again. I resumed my starting pose for the next dance. Unable to picture the celebration in my mind, I fought the tears that drained onto my face. “Come on, Rhiannon,” I whispered to myself. “You can do this. Be at your best.”
Despite the piercing gaze of Cael, and my struggle with emotion, I managed to complete three more dances in the snow, until my heart pounded against my chest and my eyelids drooped with fatigue. I sighed, wiping loose strands of hair from my sweating forehead. Slumber had begun its call; my body longed to rest.
“Come on, Cael,” I said, without looking at him. I knew he was watching me. I motioned to the house. “Come inside and get warm. It’ll be a cold walk home.”
On Fallen Wings Page 10
