The Blessing of Equinox

by Kathryn Reynolds

Ahead of her, Fjell seemed unfazed by the cold wind, sitting tall in his saddle as the wind buffeted him. Then again, these were his home lands. He was likely used to the cold wind.

  Rocky cliffs rose to either side of them, blocking the majority of the sunlight from reaching them. Drifts of snow that had hardened to ice swept up against those walls, and only the occasional wind-twisted, stunted tree grew along the banks of the rushing river. A few shelves of snowy ice arched over the water, cut through by the river’s speed as it crashed over rocks into whitecaps.

  Letting Musa follow Meyla’s lead, Marsilia watched the river, how it crashed and then smoothed, only to froth once more. Something in the water caught her eye and she frowned, squinting to try and make it out. It moved along slower than the flow of the water, keeping pace to her - pale beneath the rapids.

  As she continued to watch, a human head emerged from the water, just enough to reveal crystalline blue eyes lined with heavy lashes watching her in curiosity. Pale blue hair waved atop his head, as if it were still under water. The figure emerged further, until half his torso was out of the water, continuing to float along in pace with her.

  Her breath caught. He was by far the most beautiful person she had ever seen. Broad of shoulder and with a strong jawline, water coursed over sculpted muscles as he raised a hand to push his hair back. A knowing smile pulled at his lips as he moved towards the shore, rising step by step further out of the water.

  He began to hum, an enchanting tune of melancholy beauty and Marsilia drew her mount to a stop, enraptured.

  “Back off, nykkjen,” Fjell yelled sharply, ripping the witch’s attention away from the creature.

  She came back to herself and gasped, realizing that the beautiful man was a mere pace from her now, naked and eager, his hand about to close on hers. Jerking back, she flicked Musa’s reigns and the mountain goat bleated as it lunged forward. The creature’s hand snatched at her skirts, ripping a piece of the thin cloth away as she escaped.

  Behind her, the creature let out a horrific scream of rage. Fjell was off his mount, running back to her, sword drawn while his shield and helm remained on Meyla. Drawing to a stop as they came side by side, Marsilia chanced a look back over her shoulder.

  The beautiful man was gone, replaced now by a twisted creature of slick water plants and oozing mud. The handful of cloth from her skirt was clutched in its taloned claw and it sneered, gnashing razor teeth at them.

  “She is protected,” Fjell growled, pointing his sword at the creature. “Ye’ll not be taking this one. Go back to the mortal realm if ye hunger.”

  The creature raised the piece of her skirt to its nose and the face flickered back to the handsome visage as it looked directly at her, breathing in the scent of her skirt. Her skin crawled and she jerked her gaze back down to Fjell. The dwarf’s eye twitched in anger and he took a step forward.

  As soon as he moved, the creature dove back into the river and was gone. Lowering his sword, the dwarf took a slow breath and let it out through his nose before looking up at her.

  “Are ye alright?” he asked, reaching over to examine the section of her skirt that had been torn away.

  “I think so,” she answered, glancing again to where the creature had dove into the river. “What was that?”

  “A nykkjen,” he answered, the word laced with disgust. “They feed on young women. Much like yer dryad friends, but with more drowning and tearing of flesh.” He glanced back at the river as well, frowning. “We drove them out of this river ages ago. I’ll have to let the king know they’ve returned.”

  Marsilia paled at the description. Another gust of wind attempted to take the fur from her shoulders and she clutched it quickly to her.

  Turning his brown eyes back up to meet hers, Fjell grimaced. “And ye probably didn’t need all those details. Just keep yer gaze away from the water until we’re clear of the canyon and if ye hear music, speak up, aye?”

  Swallowing hard, Marsilia nodded mutely. She felt an utter idiot and at the same time, the fear of what almost happened still laced through her, leaving her hands trembling.

  “Hey,” Fjell said, raising a gauntleted hand to cup her cheek. “Yer alright. I won’t let that thing take ye—”

  The ground suddenly turned to mud beneath the dwarf and his hand whipped away from her as the edge of the bank rushed out from under him, into the waiting river. As he skidded down into the muddied water, three nykkjen rose from the rapids, stalking towards him.

  “Fjell!” Marsilia cried, pulling her bow free of its saddle scabbard.

  By the time she managed to clamber down from her mount, Fjell was already on his feet again. The water rushed around his thighs as he drew his sword up, squaring off against the three monsters.

  Drawing up an arrow, Marsilia began to take aim at one of the nykkjen. It caught sight of her movement and turned towards her, its body shifting once more into that of a beautiful man. Her heart leapt in her chest and she averted her gaze to another of them, but it too was transforming into an enticing being.

  “Shut yer eyes,” Fjell called over his shoulder before lunging forward, bringing his blade down.

  Lowering her bow, Marsilia forced herself to turn away from the fight. As she closed her eyes, she could hear the beginning of singing and reached up to plug her ears, humming long, even notes to herself. Even still, there was a persistent pull, an urge to listen, to turn back and look.

  It seemed an eternity as she stood there feeling utterly useless. To think, she’d offered to go this alone. She’d be dead now in the depths of the river if not for Fjell. As frustrated as she was, another thought edged in. And Fjell would be dead by a nuckelavee without her. She forced herself to focus on her humming, to breath evenly and ignore the desire to look again. They were in this together. If it were dryads, he’d be in her place.

  A hand closed on her shoulder and she yelped in spite of herself, turning on her heel. Fjell stood before her, half covered in mud.

  “I managed to kill one, but the other two escaped,” he said, frowning. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Right, yes,” she said turning to slide her bow back into its saddle scabbard.

  Without further warning, he picked her up and put her in Musa’s saddle before turning to jog after Meyla, who was slowly wandering away.

  Chapter 18

  Fjell lead them at a quick trot through the canyon, glancing back every few minutes to check on her. Marsilia was careful to keep her eyes ahead, to not cast worried glances to the water rushing alongside them. Still, she could all but feel eyes upon her, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

  The icy wind continued to whip them, carrying the scent of snow, and Marsilia shivered despite her fur stole. As they came around another bend along the river, the canyon opened up before them onto a forest covered in snow. Great pines towered, their limbs weighed down by pillowy piles of fresh powder.

  The river calmed and rolled gently along, and the winds died down to a soft breeze. Everything was so quiet, the only sounds coming from the crunch of snow as the mountain goats began to make their way through.

  “Welcome to the Unseelie Woods,” Fjell said over his shoulder. “We should be alright now; the nykkjen aren’t stupid enough to intrude on Queen Mab’s domain. Besides, it’s too cold for their liking.”

  Marsilia stared wide-eyed at his muddied back, her mouth going dry. “Unseelie Woods? Should we even be here?”

  “Ah, it’s fine,” the dwarf answered. “We have a treaty and ye have a quest. This is one of the most direct ways out of our Kingdom and to the western Fae Realm. Just don’t hunt any beasts here, aye?”

  “I certainly wasn’t planning to,” she said, nerves still fluttering in her stomach. Gripping her fur tighter around her, she looked up to where the sun was beginning to lower in the overcast sky. “How much further is the Keep of Spring? Are we going to make it before dark?”

  Glancing up as well, Fjell tilted his head side to side in an
uncertain gesture. “If we keep a good pace, we’ll probably arrive just past sundown.”

  “Alright,” she sighed. She could only hope they wouldn’t be long in this frozen land. As beautiful as it was, she thought she might shiver to death if they were there until dark.

  For what seemed an eternity, they trudged on through endless snow and biting cold. As the sun began to cast longer shadows behind them, the half-frozen river turned away from their path and the snow began to thin. Ahead, tulips and daffodils poked up from the frozen ground - just a few at first, but as they continued, the snowy pines gave way to a field of spring wildflowers in full bloom.

  Marsilia took a breath in surprise, forgetting her aching cold for the moment. Fjell glanced back, catching her eye, and smiled.

  “Ye do love flowers, don’t ye,” he said, turning forward again. “We’ll take a quick rest up here, let the goats nibble a bit and stretch our legs.”

  They rode to the center of the field before dismounting. As Fjell helped her down from the giant mountain goat, he paused and frowned at her. Taking off one mud-splattered gauntlet, he rested the back of his fingers against her cheek.

  “Yer frozen through,” he admonished.

  “Well, yes,” she answered dryly. “I wasn’t exactly dressed for deep winter.”

  “Why didn’t ye say something?” he asked, dropping his gauntlet to pull the other off as well. He frowned, pressing his warm hands against her cold cheeks.

  “What could be done?” Marsilia asked, looking back up at him. Her heart skipped a beat at the concern in his brown eyes and she felt her cheeks flush. “I didn’t want to slow us down.”

  “Aye well, ye freezing to death would slow us down a lot more,” he countered, taking up her cold hands in his own.

  “The cold didn’t seem to be bothering you very much,” she said, looking down at how his large hands completely enveloped hers.

  “I’m also dressed in thick wool,” Fjell said. “Just speak up next time, eh? We could have figured something out. I’d like to keep ye around a while.”

  “I will,” she promised, looking back up with an embarrassed smile.

  The dwarf met her with a small smile before clearing his throat and releasing her hands. “Right, we should get moving again soon.”

  * * *

  The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time they came upon the Keep of Spring. Under the light of a bright moon, a forest of blooming trees shed silvery-pink petals around them. Rows of flowers lined the road to the keep’s gate. The gate itself glowed in the moonlight, pale wood against pale stone, all intricately carved. Unlike the knotwork carvings so prominent in dwarven designs, these carvings instead flowed with intricate swirls of vines, leaves and flowers. Marsilia almost expected the leaves to flutter in the wind.

  “Anything I should know for addressing the Lady of Spring?” Marsilia asked, riding alongside Fjell.

  “Refer to her as yer grace or Lady Ylva,” he answered. “Curtsey, be polite, the usual. Don’t fret, she’s pretty laid back.”

  Stopping before the gates, Fjell slid easily down from his saddle, and led his mountain goat the few feet forward to knock upon the wood. A few minutes passed as they waited until finally the gate began to slide open.

  A short woman stepped through, clad in purple and silver livery. Her lilac hair was tied up neatly in a bun, revealing pointed ears, and a stern expression graced her face as she looked Fjell’s dirty form up and down.

  “Good evening, Hemin,” Fjell said with a polite nod. “We seek audience with yer Lady, and lodging for the night before we continue our quest.”

  The elven woman glanced up at Marsilia, considering her for a moment before returning her gaze to the dwarf. “What matter do you bring before her grace?” she asked sharply.

  “My companion seeks the Blessing of Equinox,” he answered, seemingly unphased by the clear disapproval the woman displayed.

  Hemin looked up at Marsilia again, the staunch disapproval on her face fading to uncertainty. “I see,” she answered. “Your name, girl?”

  “Marsilia,” the witch answered and the elf raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting more. “Just Marsilia. I’m a white witch from the fae wood between England and Wales.”

  Considering her for a moment, the elf finally nodded. “Very well. You may wait inside while I bring your requests to Lady Ylva.”

  Turning back to the gate, the elf passed through the thin opening. A moment later, the gate opened further to allow them entrance. Taking hold of Musa’s harness in one hand and Meyla’s reins in the other, Fjell lead them through.

  Inside a courtyard laid out before them and torches burned to either side of the Keep’s entrance. Soft grass covered the ground, speckled with small flowers. More budding and blooming trees dotted the yard and a few finely crafted benches rested below them. A willow tree to the right hung over a still, peaceful pond that reflected the moon’s light in silvery iridescence.

  Another elf came forward, taking the reins of the two oversized mountain goats from Fjell. The dwarf came around beside Marsilia and aided her down before the stablehand took their mounts around the side of the keep. The witch couldn’t help but notice the uncertain glance the stablehand gave Fjell as he departed, and she looked up to her companion in silent question.

  He met her gaze as his eyes began to glow from the nearby fire. Giving a quick shake of his head to silence her questions, he nodded to the keep. Hemin awaited them in the now open doorway, and Marsilia hastened to follow, ignoring the sore aches in her rear and legs from the long ride.

  Inside, thick carpets of silver trimmed rich purple lined pink marble floors. Half a dozen doors dotted the long hallway, once more pale yellow wood against white stone. Each door was carved again with flowing vines and flowers.

  Hemin led them to a door partway down the hall and opened it. “You may await her grace’s reply here. Refreshments will be provided shortly,” she said, dipping her head politely to Marsilia before cutting a sharp gaze to Fjell. “Try not to get the furniture too dirty.”

  “Thank you,” Marsilia answered, stepping past her into the waiting room.

  She froze, staring wide-eyed. Tall bookshelves lined two walls, so filled with tomes that some were stacked atop the standing books and shoved in where they could be fit. Silver vases of flowers adorned almost every surface alongside gold candlesticks. A marble fireplace housed a happily crackling fire and half a dozen chairs and lounges were spread through the room, each finer than the previous. Every piece of furniture was carved and polished to a high gleam and even the cushions were heavily embroidered in floral motifs. The entire room itself was bigger than the hut she shared with her pa.

  Fjell moved past her into the room, removing his gauntlets and laying them on a table. “I can’t sit but ye might as well make yerself comfortable,” he said over his shoulder to her.

  “No, I think I better not,” she answered, making her way over to the fireplace. Holding out her hands, she took a moment to relish in the warmth. Spring’s domain wasn’t as cold as Winter’s, but she was still frozen through.

  “Why not?” Fjell asked, frowning over at her.

  Marsilia grimaced, glancing over her shoulder at him. “I’m cold, sore and covered in goat-stink. I don’t want to dirty the fine cushions… and I’m not certain I’d be able to get back up if I sat.”

  Chuckling, Fjell joined her at the fireside. “Aye well, at least yer not tracking dirt all over the carpets. I think Hemin might be on the verge of a fit.”

  “Is that why they all keep giving you uneasy looks?” she asked, watching him as the firelight played against his handsome face and danced in his glowing eyes.

  The door opened behind them and Fjell glanced back, expression unreadable. Marsilia glanced as well to see another short elf in the purple and silver livery place a tray on the table laden with cheese, bread, fruit and wine. Without a word, the elf turned and left, closing the door as he departed. The witch looked back up at the dw
arf again.

  He remained silent, looking at the tray before going over to the table and pouring from the decanter into the provided glasses. Returning with the glasses, he handed her one and met her gaze.

  “Yer smart enough to realize it’s more than just me tracking in dirt,” he said quietly. “We’re asking to see the throne of a foreign power, and I’m in disgrace in my own kingdom. Our quest gives us precedence but it could still turn… awkward.”

  “I thought you knew this Lady,” she said, frowning, her wine untouched.

  “Aye, years ago. When I was in good standing still,” he said looking back to the fire. “I should have just escorted ye here and let ye come in alone. Save ye the hassle of my presence.”

  Lifting her chin, Marsilia gave him a stern look and took his free hand in hers. “No, we agreed - together. I’m glad to have you with me, Fjell, and anyone who thinks less of you be damned.”

  A faint smile pulled at his face as he looked down at her and he lifted her hand, lightly kissing the back of her hand in a polite gesture. “Let’s just get this done, aye?”

  “Agreed,” she answered with a small smile in return even as her cheeks heated from that kiss.

  Chapter 19

  By the time Hemin returned, they had demolished the tray of cheese, bread and fruit. Fjell only wished there had been more - his stomach still felt mostly empty.

  Spring’s head of household quirked an eyebrow at the few remaining crumbs on the tray before addressing them. “Lady Ylva has agreed to quarter you both for the night and will meet with you in the morning. If you will kindly follow me, I will show you to your baths. Fresh garments will be provided while we tend to your current clothing.”

  “Very kind of ye,” Fjell said evenly.

  As Hemin departed, he gave a short bow for Marsilia to go first and then fell in behind her. The short elf led them down the hall and up a set of stairs. The second floor was much like the first, a long hall flanked by doors, but this story also had small alcoves between some of the rooms that allowed residents and guests to overlook the gardens below.