The Blessing of Equinox

by Kathryn Reynolds

  Moving around the tree, the Lady came to the back wall of the garden. With a simple gesture of her hand, the vines parted to reveal a long, thin shelf built into the wall. Drawing the Unseelie blade from its sheath, she rested the scabbard against the wall below and laid the blade upon the shelf.

  “What do you offer for imbuing this blade?” the Lady of Spring asked, turning back to face them.

  Marsilia hesitated, glancing up at Fjell. His brow was furrowed in surprise as well as he glanced down at her and twitched his shoulder to indicate he didn’t know about this either. Biting her lip, Marsilia looked back to the Lady.

  “I didn’t know there was a price,” she confessed. “What would be appropriate? We have a large rose carved ruby.”

  Sighing, Lady Ylva shook her head. “That damn kerling didn’t explain any of this to you, did she,” she said, a statement of irritation and certainly not a question. “I can imbue this blade with the grace of my season, but it will only ever be half as potent if you do not make a sacrifice to go alongside the blessing.”

  “What sort of sacrifice?” the witch asked quietly, feeling her stomach tighten.

  “Anything dear to you,” the Lady answered. “A beloved memory, a cherished gift received, a physical part of yourself, to name a few options.”

  “Must it be from her?” Fjell asked, stepping up beside her.

  “For Spring’s blessing, yes,” the Lady said. “For Autumn’s, it could be either of yours, but Spring is the beginning. It must be the one who began the quest, who was driven to it by love and necessity.”

  Marsilia remained quiet for a long moment, staring vacantly at the flower petals on the ground before her as her mind grasped at flitting thoughts. When she spoke again, her voice was subdued. “What I give will be lost to me? If I cut my hair, it will not grow again; if I give a memory, it will leave me forever?”

  “Yes, child,” Lady Ylva said gently, quietly. “The greater the sacrifice, the more potent the magic will be. But remember that you mustn’t sacrifice what you need for your quest - your magic, your love for Eudon, your heart. To trade one boon for another will do you no favors.”

  Tears welled in her eyes as she considered. What could she spare that wouldn’t affect her quest? What could she give that would make a worthy sacrifice?

  She was pulled from her inner turmoil as Fjell’s hand enclosed hers. Glancing down at their hands, she slowly looked up to meet his gaze. His brown eyes met her with sympathy and encouragement. Coming to a decision, she gave him a weak smile and squeezed his hand.

  “I’m sorry I won’t get to tell you how pa came to adopt me,” she said with as much strength as she could muster, a tear sliding down her cheek. “You’ll have to ask him once we’ve saved him.”

  Fjell’s eyes widened and as she started to turn back to the Lady Ylva, he grabbed her, turning her back to face him. “Don’t,” he said stiffly. “Not that. Ye don’t know how that will affect ye. Cut yer hair short and give her that; ye’ll still be beautiful. Don’t give up how ye met yer pa.”

  “My hair seems a paltry sacrifice,” she answered, her voice rough from swallowing back her tears.

  “He’s right,” Lady Ylva said, her voice laced with concern. “A memory that pivotal to who you are now could alter your very personality, your entire drive for this quest. Try for something less ingrained in your being - your first kiss, a favorite prank. Something you cherish with fondness but that will not alter who you are if lost. You cannot afford that sort of abatement right now.”

  “Will that be enough, though?” Marsilia asked, looking between the dwarf and the Lady as he continued to hold her in place, his expression barely containing his concern.

  Slowly, Fjell released her, his brow yet furrowed as he watched her. She was certain he was ready to grab her up again if he felt her sacrifice too great.

  “I would not suggest it if it were not enough,” Lady Ylva answered evenly.

  Taking a deep breath, the witch nodded, meeting the Lady’s gaze. “My first kiss, then.”

  The Lady of Spring motioned her forward. Stepping up to the shelf and blade, the lady took her hands and laid them atop the blade, covering them with her own. “Focus on that kiss, on every aspect you can remember of it,” she instructed.

  Nodding, Marsilia closed her eyes and remembered. A warm summer day when she was no more than fourteen; the cold water of the stream on her bare feet as she sat on the river bed. Her young kelpie friend, his elbows on her knees as they talked. His hesitant request to kiss her, her agreement. The taste of the sprig of mint he’d chewed, knowing what he meant to ask. The soft pressure of his lips upon hers, and how her heart fluttered and then pounded in her chest—

  Suddenly, it was gone. She remembered her friend still, remember how he kissed her a few times after, even knew he had been her first kiss. But she couldn’t remember the kiss itself, couldn’t remember what led to it or how it felt. In truth, she couldn’t remember anything from when she went down to the creek until she was back home on that distant day, helping her pa to grind herbs for potions.

  Opening her eyes slowly, her gaze fell to her hands, still under Lady Ylva’s atop the Unseelie sword. Thorny rose vines pierced through them both, wrapping around the blade. The roses around the shelf were slowly turning red, one by one. A dull ache was settling into her hands, but nothing like the pain she knew she should feel.

  The Lady’s hands eased atop hers, and the vines shimmered, dissolving into the blade, into their hands. Releasing her hands completely, the Lady of Spring stepped back. “It is done,” she said simply.

  Drawing her hands back, Marsilia first looked herself over. The ache of the magic was fading, but faint silver marked her skin where the vines had penetrated her hands and wrists. The scars of her sacrifice. Lowering her hands, her gaze fell upon the blade. Where once the metal had been unmarred, it now was etched in bands of thorny vines and roses. Hesitantly, she lifted it, looking it over in the morning light and it all but hummed with magic in her hands.

  A hand came to rest on her shoulder, and she looked back to find Fjell looking down upon her, his eyes filled once more with quiet concern. She managed a small smile in reply and bent to pick up the scabbard and sheath the blade. Turning back, she held it out to him.

  “I have no skill in wielding this,” she said. “You should carry it.”

  He considered her for a moment more before nodding silently and accepting the blade. Even still she could feel something in her, a tiny pit of something lost. As he continued to watch her, she wondered how much he understood that; what it was to give up a happy memory. Something in his gaze, perhaps sympathy, perhaps understanding, assured her that he knew the weight of what just happened.

  Pulling her gaze from the dwarf and turning back to the Lady of Spring, Marsilia dipped into a curtsy. “Thank you for the blessing, your grace,” she said.The Lady inclined her head politely in return. “It is a long journey yet to the Keep of Autumn. I will have your mounts prepared and brought around front, and provisions gathered. I will also send word ahead to the Lady of Autumn, to expect your arrival this evening. Is there anything more I can do to aid your journey and quest?”

  “No, you have been most helpful and hospitable, your grace,” Marsilia answered.

  Nodding the Lady turned back to the door into her great hall. “Take a moment in my private garden to rest and regain yourselves. I will send for you when your mounts are ready.”

  As the Lady of Spring closed the door behind herself, Marsilia wrapped her arms around her torso, frowning. Without any warning, Fjell turned her around and drew her in against his chest, hugging her tightly. She remained stiff in surprise for a moment, before finally wrapping her arms around him in return.

  “I’m going to have to watch ye,” he said quietly.

  “I’m fine,” she answered, her face half buried against his chainmail covered chest.

  “Nay,” he said. “Ye were ready to give too much; yer heart would bleed
itself dry for others, and yerself be damned. I’ll have to watch ye; make sure ye are taken care of.”

  Pulling back, she furrowed her brow, looking up at him. But whatever words had been surfacing upon her tongue died as he leaned down and kissed her gently atop her golden head.

  Chapter 22

  “Per her grace’s request, you’ve been provisioned with a trail lunch,” Hemin said, leading the two companions through the Keep. “Your mounts have also been well fed and watered, and their tack cleaned.”

  “Very kind of ye,” Fjell stated evenly, following behind the small wild elf and the white witch as they exited the front doors.

  In the front courtyard, their two mountain goats waited amongst the rainbow of flowering beds and trees. A stablehand stood between them, holding the reins, and Fjell wondered how many times Meyla had attempted to wander off. Across the path from their mounts, Lady Ylva stood watching them, her axe hanging from her belt.

  Marsilia immediately went and curtsied before the Lady and Fjell followed suit, bowing low.

  “Thank you again, your grace,” the witch said with genuine gratitude. “And thank you again as well for provisioning us.”

  The Lady smiled warmly, taking the girl by her hands. “It was my pleasure. I am glad to have met you, seidkona. Perhaps when next you visit, it will be under less dire circumstances and we can share mead while you tell me how this adventure ends.”

  Releasing her hands, the Lady produced a sealed letter and handed it to her. “I have sent word of your coming ahead to Lady Isabel, but I would ask that you bring this to her directly as well.”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” Marsilia answered, taking the letter and tucking it into her bag.

  With a nod of thanks, the Lady then turned her gaze upon the dwarf. Fjell drew himself up, her previous night’s warning flashing through his mind as she watched him with a neutral expression.

  Switching fluidly to Norse, Lady Ylva flickered a glance to Marsilia before returning her gaze to him and speaking quietly. “Protect the little one.”

  “I will,” he promised, replying in Norse as well.

  “Beyond just this quest,” the Lady pressed, frowning.

  Fjell remained quiet, meeting her gaze evenly for a long moment. He knew what she asked; it was the same matter he had refused to think on the night before. Now, with it out in the open - at least between himself and the Lady of Spring - he didn’t have time to consider or overthink. The Lady’s gaze bore into him, demanding an answer. He glanced aside to Marsilia who was looking between them in confusion.

  “I will,” he repeated, dragging his gaze away from the witch to meet the Lady’s again.

  Nodding in satisfaction, Lady Ylva’s expression softened into a warm smile again as she continued in English. “Then I wish you both a safe journey.”

  Fjell bowed once more and Marsilia quickly followed suit with a curtsy. Without further word, the Lady turned and left them with the stablehand in the courtyard, Hemin trailing silently behind her. As the dwarf started to head to the goats, Marsilia stepped in front of him, frowning.

  “Why is it whenever we meet with someone of power, they must speak to you in a language I do not understand?” she asked, looking up at him with equal parts confusion and worry.

  He couldn’t help a small smile as he looked down at her. “I’ll explain on the road, eh? We need to get going.”

  “Promise?” she asked, still not budging.

  Chuckling, Fjell took her by the shoulders and turned her back towards the mounts. “Aye, I promise.”

  After helping her up into Musa’s tall saddle, he collected Meyla from the stablehand and they rode out the open gates. Every tree along the road away from the Keep of Spring was in full bloom - apple trees, cherry trees, plum trees, though none of them would ever bear fruit. Yet, beneath those trees were piles of vines loaded equally with delicate white flowers and perfectly ripe strawberries. Fields of flowers stretched between the unyielding orchard, peppered through with spring’s bounty - asparagus, leeks, peas, and more.

  Marsilia rode beside him, smiling at the display, her eyes bright and alive. He watched her for a long moment, studying her - her beauty, yes, but her innocence and hopefulness, the light she brought. The surge of protective impulse that had overtaken him in the gardens had not abated. Just a few days ago, he had questioned her every glance, her motivations, her apparent naivety.

  Now he couldn’t imagine any such from her. She wore her heart on her sleeve, was kind and caring and over-eager to help.

  Marsilia turned her smile to him and it sobered to find him watching her. She cleared her throat, a tiny frown making a thin line between her eyebrows. “Is something wrong?”

  “Nay,” he answered, shaking his head. “Ye wanted to know what Lady Ylva was saying to me, aye? She asked me to protect ye.”

  The witch’s brow furrowed more in confusion. “Why would she ask you that in a language I couldn’t understand, though?”

  “So if I declined, ye wouldn’t be hurt,” he said, looking back ahead.

  Marsilia rode in silence for a moment, considering that. Finally, she spoke again. “She said two things to you, though.”

  “Aye,” he answered, but paused. Even though he had agreed to Lady Ylva’s request, he wasn’t sure he was ready to discuss such matters in full. They had a quest to complete, a dark witch to slay, people to save. He didn’t want to worry her about the future, but nor did he want to keep her in the dark about what might come afterwards.

  “Let me ask ye this first,” he said slowly. “Yer seeing so much of the Fae Realm now, having the chance to learn so much… What do ye plan to do after we’ve defeated the kerling and saved yer pa and woods?”

  “I hadn’t really thought about that,” she said, trailing off in thought. “I mean, I’ll need to make sure everyone’s alright, that Pa is recovered well and there’s no lingering effects on our woods.”

  “And after that?” he pressed.

  “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “It’d be nice to visit here again, see Lady Ylva and tell her how it all went.”

  Fjell chuckled, glancing aside at her. “Aye, she’d like that.” She was so serious in her answers, yet completely missed what he was trying to drive at. He’d just have to ask her directly. “What about learning more magic, becoming a powerful seidkona?”

  Marsilia blinked a couple of times at the thought and looked up at him. “You really believe I could be, don’t you.”

  “Aye,” he answered.

  “I suppose I could talk to Pa about it,” she said, considering. “I mean, I’d love to learn more. I always want to learn more. But there must be a reason he hasn’t taught any of it to me, right?”

  They rode in silence again, the question hanging between them as Fjell rolled it over in his mind. He didn’t know Eudon except by reputation, but he was coming to know his companion well. Reaching up, he scratched his chin, then smoothed down his beard. “Maybe he was scared.”

  “Scared? Why would he be scared?” she scoffed, but his serious expression stilled her disbelief.

  “Let me rephrase - maybe he was keeping it from ye to protect ye,” he said evenly. “Like I warned ye of before.”

  Marsilia frowned, toying with the ends of Musa’s reins. “Is it really that dangerous to be a sorceress? Would so many of prestige really try to trick or tempt me?”

  “They would,” he answered quietly, “if ye are powerful enough.”

  Fjell watched as she chewed on her lower lip, and he couldn’t help feeling a wave of empathy. How many times in his own youth had he wished to simply be allowed to become who he wanted to be without politics?

  “Would ye feel differently if ye had someone watching yer back?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  Furrowing her brow, she looked over at him. A question began to form on her lips before realization set in and her expression shifted, eyes widening in understanding. “That was the second thing Lady Ylva asked of you.”


  “Yer kind, giving heart seems to have won her over,” he said and started to shrug the matter off but stopped himself. She deserved more than that. “I told her that I’d protect ye even after our quest is done.”

  He paused, frowning. Saying it out loud, to her face, gave the entire matter a sudden weight he hadn’t felt before. He knew what he needed to do, but it was going to be a long process. He pressed on before she could start her customary barrage of questions. “If ye’ll have my aid, that is. If ye decide to pursue yer craft further. I wouldn’t blame ye if ye decide to stay a healer in yer woods. I’ve been just a crafter in my mountain for a long time - I know the allure of the easier path.”

  Silence reigned once again. Marsilia frowned at the path ahead before speaking quietly, gently. “You mean with what you sacrificed? I know I don’t understand the full details, but what I have seen… I can’t blame you for that. I saw how most of your people sneered at you; I’d leave that behind too. Even if it wasn’t your fault, even if you did it to protect someone. That gives even more credence to your leaving! How great would the temptation be to just lay everything out, repercussions be damned, to escape those glares if you had stayed?”

  Fjell’s heart constricted. How had she seen so much in such a short time? He glanced over again to find her watching him, her gaze so full of compassion and understanding, even though he was certain she’d never experienced anything like he had.

  “Ye have a good heart,” he finally said, wrestling himself from those blue eyes that saw too much. “But ye didn’t answer my question.”

  “Question?” Marsilia asked, furrowing her brow at him.

  He chuckled, casting a glance aside at her. “If ye’d accept me watching yer back, protecting ye as it were. If ye choose this path.”

  “Oh!” Marsilia answered, then paused, considering. “Well, I mean, who else would? And isn’t that what friends are supposed to do for each other?” Putting on an overly dramatic false front of indignation, she lifted her chin. “Frankly, sir, I’d be offended if, as my friend, you didn’t stand with me!”