On Fallen Wings

by Jamie McHenry

  “Certainly,” said Madeline, placing her palms at the fold of her gown. “I’ll wait here, if that’s okay?”

  “Thank you,” I whispered into Madeline’s ear as I stood.

  Raisa moved away from the window. I waited awkwardly while she hobbled slowly across the room toward the kitchen. She motioned to a narrow door and opened it before I briskly caught up to her. The room behind was dark and cold. I followed her silent instruction to enter, although with caution.

  Once I had stepped inside, she followed me and closed the door behind her, flooding the air with darkness. I waited, petrified. Anything, please—say something. My heart directed my fear. This was terrible; I was trapped. I wondered if Raisa could hear the rapid pounding inside my chest. I turned, seeking a chance to escape the torture, daring myself to shove past her toward the safety of light on the other side.

  A curtain opened, revealing sunlight so bright that I had to shield my eyes with my sleeve. After a sweeping reveal from another curtain, and more light, I lowered my arm to let my eyes adjust to the scenery.

  It was breathtaking. On the other side of the glass, rows of colorful, leafy trees lined an open field that dropped off suddenly to a deep gorge. Somewhere deep inside the gorge was the river—I knew it had to be. On the opposite side, rolling hills of long golden grass painted the horizon.

  Raisa flopped into an old worn armchair and stared out the window. “What do you see?” she asked, breaking the silence.

  I looked around the room; it was empty, except for the armchair and Raisa, so I remained standing. “I see rolling hills of grass,” I said. “I see beauty.”

  “You shielded your eyes when I opened the curtain,” said Raisa. “Why?”

  I stepped back. “I couldn’t see. It was too bright.”

  “It’s purely because you weren’t prepared.” Raisa kept staring. “The light hasn’t changed, the sun has barely moved, yet you look freely past the glass.”

  I nodded, unsure of what life lesson she was about to share. This was the kind of thing she loved doing at Fae gatherings. It was okay when I expected it, and I often enjoyed her stories. I had no idea that she was always like this. “So, from darkness, a day comes forth. Only we cannot know its glory until it arrives?” I told her, hoping to avoid a lecture.

  Raisa shook her head, but didn’t speak. I shifted my stance, nervously balancing my weight from one foot to the other, and waited.

  “Yallom and I looked out this window every day we were married,” said Raisa. “And I’ve continued to look every day since he died.” She turned to look at me. “I open the curtains the same way and sit here in my chair, in the same spot, every day.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Raisa revealed a cautious smile, sending me the message that this wasn’t merely a story. “And I still miss him.”

  I stopped breathing.

  “After Yallom died, I thought the world was lost from me. I said goodbye to the day in this room. I closed the curtains and dreamt about him, seeking his return.” She paused, and I wiped my eyes. “Then every morning, I returned to this room and opened the curtains.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Hush, child.” Raisa interrupted me. “He never came home. I allowed my dreams to turn to despair.” Her voice shook. “I was so distraught that I forced myself to forget.”

  I gasped. “You forgot him?”

  “For thirty years, he was all I had known and loved. We had been together most of my life. I couldn’t imagine living without him. After he was gone, the pain was so awful that I chose to leave him out of my memories.” Raisa stood and hobbled toward the window. “My indifference made me sad.” She turned to me. “And crazy. I tried many times to fall asleep and welcome death,” she said. “That’s when your mother came to care for me. Every morning after that, nature reminded me that it wasn’t my turn. She wouldn’t accept me. I wasn’t ready.”

  “Not ready?” I asked confused.

  Raisa nodded and held my hand. “I discovered I had a purpose.” She squeezed. “The day I realized that, was the day that Delucia died—the day the leaves stopped falling.”

  I covered my mouth with my free hand and hid my exclamation. The story was about me.

  “That’s when I was chosen.” My voice quavered. “Seven years ago. Delucia was my Giver.”

  “Yes.” Raisa released my hand and returned to the window. “Every day I have looked out the window, I’ve seen something different, something unpredictable. And since the leaves in my forest stopped falling, I’ve dreamed about your future.”

  I stood beside her and looked down at the wet tears trickling down her face. “What about your future?” I asked. “Don’t you dream about Yallom?”

  Raisa shook her head. “No. I remember that I miss him, but I don’t dream of him anymore.”

  I wasn’t expecting this. Her words pierced me. What did she know? I couldn’t tell her Cael’s plan. I couldn’t break her heart—she expected too much of me. Nevertheless, I needed her help.

  “Raisa,” I asked, “do you think the Fae Scrolls are safe in the temple?”

  “I do.”

  “I’ve heard talk,” I said, “that someone may try to take them.”

  “Why is this connected to your missing fiancé?” asked Raisa sharply. Her words echoed off the walls. “What knowledge do you have that the Elders do not?”

  I took a deep breath and rubbed my necklace. “I’m bound by a promise. I cannot tell you.”

  Under Raisa’s sudden glare, I was a mouse trembling before a hawk. “Then why have you come for my help?” she demanded.

  “I want you to protect the scrolls. Tell the Elders to post a guard. Move them. Hide them. Do anything you can.”

  “The scrolls are safe. You’ve seen them. You know they are protected.”

  My hands started shaking again. “I can’t be certain,” I told her. “I can’t—” I ran out of ideas.

  “Why do you doubt yourself?” she asked. “You know what to do if you fear for them.”

  “I’m bound by a promise,” I said, crying again. “I can’t break a vow.”

  “No you can’t. If you serve—”

  “Sean’s life depends on it,” I said, interrupting her.

  Raisa froze and was silent for so long that I was finally compelled to speak again.

  I wiped my eyes. “I don’t know what to do. Will you please, please protect the scrolls? And Sean?” I stared down at her, pleading with my eyes. “And me?”

  Raisa looked at me for a moment. She stood and returned to the window, staring outside while I struggled to compose myself. I wiped my face, still caught by small waves of emotion.

  “The scrolls are safe,” she repeated. She turned to me, tears streaming down her own cheeks. “We mustn’t attempt to control everything. Sometimes it is best to allow the actions of others to decide our own. Trust yourself to do the right thing. Search inside for the answer, for you know more than I.” She turned back to the window and placed one frail hand on the pane. “Every day, I come to this window. Every day, I see something different.”

  Father’s Council

  The sun was still high when Madeline and I turned down the road toward our homes, though it seemed like days or years may have passed during my time with Raisa. We hadn’t spoken much during our walk, just casual talk about the season—the sort of talk two women share when they know the other has a secret. I felt strange toward her now, as if I had just attended a party that she hadn’t been invited to. I asked her if she knew why the leaves had stopped falling around Raisa’s home, but she didn’t know, so I didn’t mention it again. She had always been a good neighbor, and a better friend. I didn’t want to spoil that.

  I still had many questions and they lingered in the silence of the journey. Most of all, I feared that Raisa hadn’t been concerned with my warning; the scrolls were still in danger.

  When we reached our little corner of the village, I said goodbye to Madeline with a hug
and ran home. The familiar scent of hickory, leather, and tobacco greeted me inside the door. Although comfortable, it smelled dirty in comparison to Raisa’s clean residence. I wandered into the kitchen to find something to eat. While I sifted through the small barrel of green apples, a sudden feeling of awareness struck me. The house was empty.

  “Mother, Father,” I yelled. “Leila, Ethan?”

  “They’re out for a ride.”

  Father’s deep voice from the dining room made me jump. I turned around. He sat on a thick bear fur, reclined against the wall and smoking.

  “Hello, Father,” I said. “You startled me. Why didn’t you go with them?”

  Father loved riding more than anyone I knew. He never missed a chance to share an afternoon with the horses. He released a thin cloud of smoke and smiled. “I stayed to watch the house. There’s been another robbery.”

  I shook my head. “The bandit. Why doesn’t he go away? There’s enough trouble in the village without his bothering.”

  “Tell him that when you see him,” said Father, sternly.

  “Father?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”

  He sucked on his pipe for a moment and stared quietly. He looked down and shook his head. “I miss my faerie daughter.”

  His words tugged my breath. Father never spoke this way. He was a kind and thoughtful man, but rough, demanding, and unwilling to budge. Mother was the only person who had ever swayed him from a difficult decision.

  I shined my apple with my apron and sat down on floor next to him; there wasn’t room on the rug. “I’m here, Father,” I said, resting my head on one of his broad shoulders.

  “Where is the innocent girl who saw no pain?” He blew a long path of smoke toward the fireplace. “My daughter, Rhiannon, where is she?”

  “I haven’t gone anywhere,” I said. “The last few days have been difficult, that’s all.”

  He patted my hair and shook his head. “No, you’ve been gone from us for a long while,” he said. “Almost as long as the season.”

  His words cut me. I didn’t know what to say, or how to respond. I cried.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” I told him. “I’m trying to be happy. It’s hard.”

  “The village needs your joy,” he said. “Can’t you feel it? It’s like our dreams have been pulled from the air and blown into the trees.” He squeezed me. “You’re someplace else these days, and I want you back.”

  “Don’t you miss him?” I asked. “Don’t you miss Sean? Perhaps I carry the grief of Aisling. Maybe my purpose this season is to mourn the missing—my lost love.”

  Father turned his head. I saw him wipe his eye, but he said nothing. Then he looked back at me.

  “I miss Sean, too,” he said. “If I could do something to bring him home sooner, and restore the sparkle in your gaze, then I would. But I rely on other men.” He shifted and released me from his grip. He stood. “There’s no need to worry about what they can do until something is done.”

  “Father?” I asked, looking up at him. The water in my eyes blurred my view. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell the other Elders?”

  He stopped puffing and placed his pipe on the table. “What is it?”

  I shifted on the floor and shook my head. “Promise me that you won’t tell anyone,” I said, staring at him with intensity. “Will you do that for me?”

  “I’ll do what you ask,” he said, nodding, “if what you tell me is noble.”

  Under the rafters and my father’s stare, I shared with him my secret. I released the sorrow I had carried since the day Sean had disappeared. By the dim light of the small fire, and the highlighted window at my side, I told him what Cael had told me. I allowed him to share my grief as I cried. He listened while I talked about the morning walk, about the scrolls, and about Raisa and her story. I said almost everything. I didn’t mention Cael’s stolen kiss—that was too personal, too painful. When I finished, Father sat in his chair, wiping his own eyes.

  “Do you see, Father?” I whispered. “I’ve always been here. I’ve just been trapped under all of the grief.”

  He nodded. “I understand your sorrow.”

  “What should I do?” I said, wiping my face with the sleeve of my dress.

  “You need to release me from the vow. Allow me tell the other Elders.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  He stood and stomped on the wood, shaking the floor. “Rhiannon, this isn’t a game. There’s more to this story than you and I know—there has to be.” He paced the room and walked to the kitchen. He opened the cupboard next to the door. “We need the Elders. They need to know what Cael told you. They need to know about the scrolls.”

  “I can’t!” Tears took control and I bawled into my lap. “Isn’t there someone you can send? Someone who can cross the lake and look for Sean? I don’t want to risk his life.”

  Father opened another cupboard and then slammed it shut. “Who are we gonna ask? Who would cross the lake and risk their own life on a rumor? If they get caught, there could be another war.”

  I rose to my feet and walked to the kitchen. I retrieved Father’s goblet from the cupboard in the corner and handed it to him. “Don’t you know people?”

  “People?” Father looked into his cup. “Not like that.”

  “In your trading, Father—there must be men who are strong. You could pay them to rescue Sean.”

  “We trade horses, Rhiannon, to farmers and wagon owners. They aren’t daring men who seek the glory of rescues or hidden quests. They have families, like ours, and responsibilities to life.” He opened the door to the ale room and pulled a short bottle from an inside shelf. “You’re asking for a warrior. Warriors don’t deal with people like us. They have no need of us.”

  Father filled his goblet with ale and returned to the table, placing the bottle on top while he drank. “Rhiannon,” he said, “I should tell the Elders. If you want my help, you must allow me to tell them at council.”

  I shook my head. “Please don’t.”

  Father looked at his cup and then set it on the table. He walked toward me in the kitchen. “Then you need to trust Cael.”

  “Father?”

  He grabbed my arms and shook me as he spoke. “Convince him to rescue Sean. Cael is strong, and he has friends everywhere; that’s one advantage of working for Owen.” Father’s eyes were solid.

  “What if he won’t do it? What about the scrolls?”

  “Are they safe?”

  I nodded. “But he needs them. You should have seen his eyes—I know he’s going to try.”

  Father shook his head. “Don’t sacrifice what you are trying to save,” he said. “The scrolls will do the same for Morgan as they would for me.”

  “Father?”

  “They can’t read them,” he said. “The men who have Sean must simply want to take something precious. I don’t think they care what they can have—they want what they can take.” He glanced out the window and turned back to face me. “If you won’t trust Cael to rescue Sean, then release me of my oath. I’ll tell the other Elders.”

  “No, Father,” I said. “Like you said, I won’t sacrifice what I’m trying to save.”

  Father moaned. “I’m bound by you, child. I cannot break my promise.” He lowered his head. “And I cannot help you.”

  I wiped my eyes. “I understand.” I started to leave and then turned back again to face him. “Father, I love you,” I said.

  Father wrapped me in a rough embrace and whispered. “I love you too, child. I love you too.”

  ~ O ~

  That night, I sat alone by my window and stared at the stars. They were faint—masked by the moon’s rays. Out in the field, the horses stood covered in blue hues. I always enjoyed watching them at night from my window. They were tranquil and calm. I saw patterns in the way they gathered; sometimes they mingled in small groups, and other times larger herds, but always the same patterns. I never understood and didn’t want to burden my mind with wh
y.

  I allowed my thoughts to drift toward Sean. I missed him more than when he had traveled away on his quest for Maeia. When he left then, I knew he would return someday. Tonight, I didn’t know; the uncertainty made the waiting more difficult.

  Despite my Father’s wishes, I knew that I couldn’t ask Cael for help. I didn’t trust him. I couldn’t trust him. With his stolen kiss, Cael had destroyed my confidence in his honor.

  I rubbed the diamond on my necklace a final time and breathed farewell to the night, leaving a trace of my breath on the glass. “Please come home, Sean,” I whispered. “Or give me a way to find you.”

  Exile

  No word came to me concerning Sean during the weeks that followed. The days pulled and stretched, they drained me of hope and weakened my resolve. Father required that I resume my work in the fields with our horses. Both of my parents had been right; while working, my head was clear and it felt rewarding to care for such gentle creatures.

  I took rides on Maeia daily, although many times I walked beside her. I told her my secrets, knowing that she wasn’t judging me, and I cried often. Maeia had become a good friend, my lone friend during those long days, as I never saw anyone except my family. My only connection with Nia’s life was through brief updates, sent to me by messenger. She was too occupied with her own happiness to care about my sorrow—and too wealthy to cross the meadow to visit an aching friend.

  The morning of the thin clouds, however, I knew that I would see her. It was Nia’s Day of Promise. Thomas had asked her to marry him. Despite the fact that he was from DarMattey, our tradition bound her to the ceremony. I was happy for her, and the occasion gave me something to anticipate. I had convinced Father to allow me to travel to Stone Meadow early and Leila agreed to walk with me—once we finished eating.

  I scraped my plate and hurried to the kitchen to wash.

  “Why don’t you want us to come with you?” asked Mother, still at the table. She never missed a moment to toss me a piece of guilt. “We would love to come along. We could make it a family outing.”