Chapter 3: Vocation
Morning arrived clad in its usual gray mist. Neste dressed in her split skirt and tunic. Before she left the house, she stopped in to see her mother. It dismayed her to see Mum’s face lined and pale this morning, with dark circles shadowing her eyes.
“Bore da, Mum. Rough night?”
She gave a tired smile. “Everything hurts, head, back, legs. Don’t worry, though. I can nap all day. I’m not going anywhere.” She grimaced at her poor joke.
After retiring from a long career as rider for a small barn, Mum had enjoyed six years in her flower garden. Soon after Neste’s father died, it became too painful for her to kneel on the ground or grip a tool. When walking became difficult, she sat by the fire. Then her back ached and she took to her bed. After years of immobility, her muscles wilted. Today they probably wouldn’t support her body even if her joints were able to straighten. Neste and her sister couldn’t fix her, but they could try to keep her comfortable.
“Has Glynis brought your tea?”
Mum waved at the small table near the bed where a mug of tea steamed. “She doesn’t make it as well as you do.”
“You still have to drink it for it to do any good,” Neste teased, trying to lighten her mother’s mood.
“Nothing does any good.”
“It smells like Tad’s recipe. You like that.”
Her father had been boyhood friends with the apothecary. Kenn claimed Da would have been wonderful with medicines, but he preferred to experiment. Research, he called it. He spent hours with Kenn at his shop in town and filled journal after journal with notes about reactions of certain plants with other plants. He didn’t live long enough to enjoy Neste’s own interest in herbs and healing, only long enough to betroth her to Hoel.
“I’ll drink it, you go on. I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will. I’ll come see you later, Mum.” Neste leaned over to kiss her forehead. Da’s painkilling tea had kept Mum strong for years. Now, with the pain so much greater, Neste suspected she drank it for the memories.
In the front room, Neste threw a cloak over her shoulders.
Glynis came in from the kitchen. “Will you be late today?” she asked.
Neste didn’t like her sister’s sharp tone. “It’s the last practice before the Aerial Games opens. I must stay as long as Marc needs me to.”
“I could use your help here. Mum is quite demanding lately, asking for her tea and wanting her pillows straightened. Yesterday she dropped her embroidery needle four times and I had to come fetch it off the floor for her!”
“I know you work hard for Mum. I wish I could help more, I really do. After the Games are over, I can be home more.” Neste turned and looked at her sister. “You could add more feverfew to the tea. It might help the pain.”
“I know you can’t help right now.” Glynis’s shoulders slumped. “Sometimes I feel like I am trapped in this house. All the rest of you escaped to your own lives.”
“Did you want to escape? I thought keeping a home was what you wanted.”
“Someday I’d like to keep my own home, you know, have my own family.”
Neste didn’t know why she was surprised. Glynis couldn’t have wanted spinsterhood and care of an ill parent. No one dreamed about that. “I’m sorry. I promise I will shoulder more of the burden after the Games.”
Glynis retreated to the kitchen with a grunt.
Neste opened the door and walked past the broken gate. Anger pricked her, as it did every so often. Niall lived far away in Merioneth, but her other two brothers were here in town. Aidan rode for another barn, and Cadoc, the youngest, was apprenticed to the blacksmith in town. They could certainly visit more often. She’d have to push her older sister to get out of the house more, to live her own life. Cadoc claimed the master blacksmith controlled every minute of his life. Neste didn’t know much about apprenticeships, so she couldn’t argue with him. Aidan had completed his first year as a rider, and she would have loved to compare experiences with him. This would be his first Aerial Games. Was he nervous or excited? Aidan kept to himself. She probably would never know.
The barn glowed softly from a handful of lanterns, and Neste pushed thoughts of her family to the back of her mind. Some grooms were already beginning their day. Riders were most likely still in bed. She and Adam, though, planned to practice a bit before the rest of the team was ready.
“Neste? Will Rhiryd be able to fly today?”
She turned to see an anxious rider. Smiling, she said, “Let’s check his ankle again, all right, Phelip?”
Neste entered the stall and stroked the horse gently, whispering reassurances. Turning to Rhiryd’s rider, she said, “He’ll be fine. The ankle’s sore, maybe from a hard landing. Takeoffs and landings might be a bit awkward, but in flight you won’t notice a difference. Keep the landing as soft as you can.” She would have preferred to ground the sorrel until the ankle healed, but the Aerial Games opened tomorrow. Marc would expect all his horses to be in the air.
“Diolch, Neste.” Phelip breathed his thanks with relief.
Neste smiled, happy to be of assistance, and continued down the barn. The latch on Llawen’s stall door clinked as she opened it, and the mare nickered in greeting. Isabella nearly had her saddled, the bridle already in place. “Bore da, Isabella! You must have had a premonition that I’d want to ride early!”
The shy girl smiled through long strands of hair. “Bore da, Neste. No premonition. I saw you in Mallt’s stall and figured you were up early for extra practice.”
Smart girl. She knew the extra practice wasn’t for Llawen. “Diolch,” Neste thanked her. “I want as much extra time as we can manage.” She took Llawen’s reins and led her from the stall.
Isabella fed Llawen a molasses treat and kissed her on the nose. “Pob lwc.”
Neste gathered the good luck wish into her heart. She would need it more than the mare.
Outside the damp air made Neste shiver, and she debated whether she should fetch a cloak. She decided it was more important to get in the air. Adam already sat astride Mallt, waiting for her near the takeoff area. Running feet announced Isabella. She came from the barn with Neste’s cloak.
“Diolch again! And you say you don’t have premonitions!”
“Just common sense,” she said, but her smile flashed at Adam, not Neste.
She slipped into the cloak and swung aboard Llawen. The mare flexed her shoulder muscles and fluttered her wings as she walked over to Adam and Mallt.
“You go first,” she told Adam. “I want to watch how you handle her.”
Adam nodded and galloped Mallt toward the cliff. Neste couldn’t fault the approach or the take off, which were both technically perfect. She followed, and as soon as Llawen attained altitude she waved Adam into position next to her. “Follow me first, then I want to watch you!”
Again he nodded. Neste flew the complicated part of the dance routine, concentrating on modeling it perfectly. She almost pulled it off. The second time through, she followed Adam. Critically she examined every wingstroke. With a twist of her hand, Neste urged Llawen closer to Mallt than the mare wanted to go. Persistent training overcame a horse’s instinct to fly clear of other Flying close enough to tangle wingtips if they weren’t careful, she watched Adam’s legs and hands as they guided the mare. Again, technically correct. She guided Llawen to a safer distance away, and put the other pair through the routine again. They flew it correctly. Why didn’t it look right? Something about Mallt’s wings looked wrong. In a flash of understanding, Neste realized the other pair just went through the motions. No passion ignited their performance.
She remembered once when she was quite young a bard came through Tremeirchson. The townspeople gathered in the tavern to hear him, but his songs disappointed her. Mum had told her that he just sang the songs as duty. He wasn’t passionate about his work. She told Neste that passion lit a flame inside that glowed through a performance and brought out the brilliance. The
fountain in town had a pillar of flame in the middle, too. It represented the passion a balanced life could achieve. Mum’s words had stayed with Neste, and now she realized what Adam lacked.
She waved them in to the barn, and they landed in unison. A few riders hung around the yard, and grooms scurried about readying the horses for the last day of practice before the opening of competition.
“How terrible was I?” Adam asked, but his attempt at humor fell flat.
At least Neste assumed it was humor. Without responding, she dismounted and took off her helmet. Adam did the same. The grooms hurried from the barn to cool and water the horses before the main practice began. Isabella fed Llawen another molasses treat. She really did spoil the mare.
Neste led Adam to an oak tree near the barn. A person who stood under its canopy could admire the vista of the valley spread out below, carpeted in grass, and the stark reddish cliffs that rose behind them. Beyond the cliffs, the majesty of Yr Wydda dominated the sky. Neste had no interest in the view, though. She pulled her braid over her shoulder and twisted the end.
“What is it that you truly want to do with your life?” she asked Adam.
“Dw i ddim yn deall,” he said, his green eyes darkening. “I don’t understand.”
She mentally debated what to say to him. “You seem to fly without much passion for it.”
He looked surprised, then shook his head. “I am a tanner’s son who cannot tan leather. Becoming a rider seemed the glamorous thing to do. My friends were so jealous. Only a few townspeople are chosen, you know.” She nodded. Most riders came from people connected to the barns, like herself. Adam leaned against the oak tree, knee bent and one booted foot flat against the solid trunk. “I made a decision in the excitement of the moment,” he continued. “It’s not something I grew up dreaming about like you did. It’s an awful lot of work, actually, and I haven’t got the skill to see the reward.”
Neste couldn’t respond as her mind whirled. She had loved watching the horses fly and dreamed of caring for one, but flying hadn’t been in her dreams. Even so, she was determined to improve. “You’ll get better,” she murmured.
“Na, I won’t. In your heart, you know it. I’ll always be average, and that’s not good enough for Hoel’s barn.”
“Marc is barn leader,” she protested.
“Not for long. He’ll retire and Hoel will assume leadership. Then things will change. I’ll never be good enough.”
“Practice, practice,” she murmured.
Adam directed the full force of his smile on her. With one eyebrow raised, he asked, “Will you continue to ride with me?”
Neste responded. She couldn’t help herself. A smile spread across her face, and her stomach fluttered. “Of course.”
Caught up in Adam’s smile, Neste jumped when Hoel appeared at her side. She felt a blush tinting her cheeks and turned her face upwards in contemplation of the oak’s spreading canopy.
“How did it go?” Hoel demanded.
“Very well,” Adam replied smoothly. “I think I’m getting the hang of it.”
Neste took a deep breath and looked at Hoel. His eyes narrowed and lips set, he responded to Adam. “It’s not your opinion that counts.”
“He’s better,” Neste assured him.
Hoel looked from one to the other. “Time to line up. Fetch your horses.” He stalked off to where his own groom was holding Lleu.
“Maybe I should just give up any extra practices.” Adam now sounded discouraged.
“So are you saying you won’t try to improve?” she asked.
“If it were up to me, I’d never mount that nag again.”
Neste sucked in a shocked breath. She’d never heard of a rider that didn’t want to ride. “Would you give her up? No precedent exists…” Her voice trailed off.
“Na, I know. It’s not done. I will make do.”
“Make do? Mallt is young. She’ll fly fifteen or more years. You’re content to be average that entire time?” Neste twisted the helmet strap in her hand. His attitude agitated her even though she could do nothing about it.
“I have no choice.”
He turned and walked back to the barn, his shoulders slumped. Neste stared after him. At the trough near the barn, Hoel took Llawen from Isabella and headed in her direction. Dismayed, Neste felt tears threaten. She didn’t want to handle Hoel’s jealousy after Adam’s despair. He didn’t say anything though. Adam came out of the barn with Mallt and looked toward the oak tree. Hoel handed Llawen’s reins to Neste, then slid his arm possessively over her shoulder. Adam turned away.
“You know,” Hoel said, “the group dance can be modified for four horses.”
Neste’s stomach twirled. “Oh, na, he’ll be ready, he really will.” She hoped it was true. Hoel nodded, his mouth set in a straight line.
Wings Over Tremeirchson Page 5