“Shut your filthy mouth,” snarled a Rolfman, striking the side of Cedric’s head. The blow made his vision dance. A dizzy spell took him and were it not for the cross supporting him, he’d have tumbled to the ground. They continued to roll the snaking coils around his entire body, binding him to the metal.
At last, they stepped back. Their eyes glinted as one tugged a crude, iron crown from his satchel.
“By decree of Lord Rolfere, supreme ruler of these lands, I hereby deem you the Cursed. The Warning—scarer of crows and man.” The Rolfman raised his tone, so that all the workers could hear. Cedric knew the words by heart, he’d heard them so many times. They burned him now in a way he’d never felt before. “For your crimes against the lord, for the theft of the ruler’s field and crops, you are doomed to stand watch here until the end of your days. May the gods have mercy on your filthy, rotten soul.”
They turned their backs and made to retreat.
“May Rolfere burn in the fires of the afterlife,” Cedric shouted, thrashing against the wire until blood streamed down his body. “May you face the same fate. You maggots. You are unworthy to tread the land. You are unworthy to even die upon it.”
Rolfere’s henchmen stalked away, laughing, under the late summer sun.
Cedric tilted his head back against the cross, iron clanging against iron as his crown struck the pole. He turned his bloodshot eyes to the heavens, sides heaving. Each breath made the barbed wires cut deeper into his bare chest and ribcage. Little jolts of pain met every flex of every muscle.
He rolled his gaze across the fields, not lifting his head. A dozen or more iron crosses bore emaciated scarecrows with glazed eyes—some dead, some yet breathing.
Lemuel picked corn nearby, a man Cedric had known since childhood. “Lemuel, set me free. I must go to my wife and babe. They will perish with none to care for them.”
The man worked in silence, head down and gaunt features a wall of rock, unyielding.
“Lemuel!” Cedric screamed.
Lemuel moved on to another section, where the scarecrows did not shout and flail.
Cedric could not remain still. The image of Lina and his baby boy drove him on. He thrashed against his bindings, slicing his flesh and drawing ribbons of blood. He cried out to any who wandered near.
At last, he had no more strength for it. His body throbbed as he leaned against the pole.
“You must resign yourself, Cedric.”
Cedric looked up at the sound of the cracking voice. A thread of shame wove through him when he realized he didn’t remember the speaking scarecrow’s name.
“I cannot. The face of my wife drives me on. I must be free. We must rise against our oppressors and take back the land.”
The other scarecrow’s thin, twisted body sagged against his barbed restraints. Ghostly pale-blue eyes peered back at Cedric. “They will not listen to you. They’ll not aid you, no matter how you rail. And can you hate them for it? Did you listen to my cries as they strung me up here? No. We never do. They’ll continue on in fear and dread—as we did—until they too are driven to desperation. And in the end, there will be no workers of the land, only a field of scarecrows.”
Cedric could find no worthy response. He stilled, eyes closed.
I will not give in. I won’t relent.
The warm kiss of the suns lulled him into a kind of half-sleep. A place in his mind that moved back through the years to a time when he dreamed of the fairfolk. A time when they seemed to flit in the shadows and the echoes of their tinkling songs could be heard at night. Before Rolfere and his men. Before tyranny and blood.
~*~
As the twin-suns sank out of the sky, the workers returned to their shacks, filtering out of the fields with the last baskets of the day. Cedric watched them pass, unable to muster strength to scream their names. His dark eyes hunted each one, but they would not meet his gaze.
The scarecrow’s words whispered through him. Did you listen to my cries as they strung me up here?
No. Of course not. To protect his family, he had plodded onward in silent obedience.
We are a helpless people. There is no savior to rescue us—we cannot even band together.
His thoughts flitted again to older days. Looking down at his torn body, he cursed the iron they laced him with.
“Have you ever called to the fairfolk?” he rasped.
The scarecrow with the pale-eyes twisted his head, slowly as if his neck were a rusted door hinge. His lips opened and closed a few times, jaw working. He licked his lips and then spoke. “It would do no good. They left our lands when Rolfere came. They cannot hear us now.”
Cedric shook his head. The action made his coiled muscles groan. “I cannot believe that. They are a stealthy folk. Surely, they remain. I do not think they would abandon the land thus. They are born of it. It is their mother. And who can abandon their mother to a foreign oppressor?”
“You dream, Cedric. And I cannot blame you. You will find many wild thoughts come to you in this place. Even if the fairfolk remained, they would not heed our cries. It is not by chance that we are bound by iron.”
Cedric grew still a moment. Deep in the recesses of his memory, he found the words he sought. The tune was rusted in his mind, but after some time, it came back to him. A tune his old grandmother sang. Clearing his throat and licking his chapped lips, he forced his voice to bend to each swelling note.
“Here in times of twilight, while twin-suns kiss the earth—I cry to you, oh fairfolk. I cry to you between the time of moon and sun. Gentle kiss of night, farewell streak of scarlet. I cry—”
“Save your strength, Cedric,” said the scarecrow. “It will do nothing. They will not hear you where they have gone.”
Cedric tuned the man’s words out, pressing his eyes closed. His voice rose, breaking with the passion that lingered still within. Desperation and a flickering hope gave him strength. Lina and the babe. For them. For his people and the land, he sang.
“Here in the coming dark, I cry to you, oh fairfolk. My knees and heart bowed to embrace your earth. Fingers sunk in soil, seeking roots of stone. This soul united with you, by ties of earth and air. Here in the times of twilight… while…”
His voice sputtered into silence. Nausea swept through his stomach. He sagged against his ties, wincing as they cut into his tender, swollen flesh. Tears slipped across his face as the twin-suns slipped into darkness, plunging the world into the same.
A night breeze stirred the air, brushing against the back of Cedric’s neck.
He wept for the hopelessness of it. He wept for Lina.
~*~
The tinkling of distant, tiny bells. Cedric stirred from feverish dreams. Raising his head, he cracked his bloodshot eyes open. Every muscle in his body tensed. He sucked in a quick gasp of air and did not let it out again for a moment.
Fairfolk flitted before his eyes. Tiny figures so perfectly formed. Elegance in their wings and in the curve of their bodies. One hovered close to him, her golden hair glistening in the moonlight. She peered into his face out of dark eyes, her entire form no bigger than his hand.
“I knew you would come,” he breathed.
A quick glance through the cornfield told him the other scarecrows slept. He felt the urge to wake them, and yet he did not wish to share these precious beings floating before him. He turned his gaze back to the fairy most near. “Thank you. Thank you for hearing my song.”
“You summoned us.” She cocked her head. “Desperation was in that song. You are Cedric, steward of the earth.”
Tears slipped down his dirty face. “Yes. Or I was. Now I am another nameless scarecrow, a victim of Rolfere.”
A tiny sigh escaped the fairy’s lips. She turned and spoke in a language he could not understand. A moment passed and the other fairies produced an earthen cup of water. The closest fairy took it. She eased nearer, wincing as if in pain.
“They bind you with iron.” A pure voice, soft as the leaves whispering under the kiss o
f a spring breeze.
“To keep you away.”
She pushed forward, quivering, and he gulped down the water as she pressed it to his lips. With a muted cry, she dropped the cup—it was as large as she, but her cry came from nearness to the iron rather than from any strain.
His throat soothed by the cool, sweet water, he spoke with more ease. “Thank you. You are most merciful.”
She rubbed her face, her features twisting into shadows. “I am not always so. This mortal—Rolfere—he angers us. By his orders, you scrub the land too rough, not letting her rest as you used to.”
Cedric found it difficult to respond. He lost himself in the intricacies of her lithe form, in the realization that all those childhood tales were made manifest before his eyes. Blinking, he pulled himself from under her spell. “Yes, Rolfere must be ended. His reign must be torn down. But… I summoned you for a much more selfish need. My wife… she is thin and ragged. Our babe is newly born, and sucks the life from her. I stole to give her enough to live by. But the Rolfmen have taken it from her. She will die without aid.”
The fairy did not speak. Her companions flitted about behind her, murmuring to each other.
Cedric pried words from his mouth. “I wish only that you would look upon them and… and find some way to spare their lives.”
The fairy sighed. “I can promise nothing.”
He nodded. “You are the fairfolk. You owe me nothing. Even in coming to me, you have blessed me. I knew you did not abandon us. I knew you could not leave your mother.”
A fragmented smile—distracted and incomplete—stole over the fairy’s violet lips. “You seem to know much of us, Cedric. You honor our mother, and in so doing, honor us. Then before we pass, you will know my name.”
She darted forward before he could reply. Hovering next to his ear, she said, “Rhoswen.” With another pained cry, she flew back to a safe distance. The tinkling sound of the fairfolks’ wings followed them as they darted off into the night.
“Rhoswen,” he whispered.
A fairy name—a fairfolk promise.
~*~
Cedric did not tell the other scarecrows about his nighttime visitors. Partly because he wished to hold their memory all to himself, but mostly because he could not find the strength to speak a word. Out of glazed eyes, he watched the workers filter into the fields.
The twin-suns rose with a fury, their scalding heat burning all who worked amongst the corn. Cedric’s bronzed skin blistered. The iron cross heated and he attempted to lean away from the poles to find relief from the burning of his back and shoulders. When he tried to stand on his own, his legs gave out and the barbed wire bore into his flesh more cruelly.
His haggard body was more a series of gouges, seeping wounds, blistered skin and crusty edges than the form of a man.
He passed in and out of consciousness through the day, his mind often dwelling in dream worlds where he saw Lina’s face again. Her eyes blue like unclouded skies, her smile bright as it had been in the days of their courtship. Often, the fairies rose in his mind, as well. Rhoswen bringing him water and singing melodies of an ancient tongue he could not understand.
At midday the Rolfmen came, bringing scraps of cornbread and tiny clay cups of water. They teased and harassed, poked and prodded Cedric before at last shoving a half slice of bread into his mouth. He chewed quickly, ravenous with hunger, but could not swallow the coarse meal for the dryness of his throat. The Rolfmen laughed and poured the water into and against his lips. Half of it escaped down the front of his chest.
He tried to plead for more, but could not speak around the bits of cornmeal clogging his throat.
They moved on, and he passed out once more.
Twilight came—the earth’s only mercy. The twin-suns hid their faces as a slip of a moon took the sky. Cedric tried to keep himself awake, but exhaustion pulled him into murky depths against his will. Only when the tinkling sound returned did he stir into consciousness again.
Rhoswen came alone. He could barely see her features by the paling light of the moon, but he noted that her shoulders drooped a little. She held herself aloft with a few slow beats of her gossamer wings.
“Rhoswen,” he rasped.
She flitted closer, but always far enough away to avoid the cruel iron crown. “Cedric. The suns have abused you, and the sons of iron still more.”
He tried to smile at her, but the muscles of his face sagged. “I do not know how long I can endure. Some scarecrows last only a week.”
“I bear ill news,” she said, voice laden with a low pang. “I fear it will be your deathblow.”
He grew still. Leaning his head back against the cross, he trembled. “…Lina or the child?”
A moment’s silence.
“Lina.”
A dry sob shook his shoulders. He squelched it by clenching his jaw. Exhaling sharply through his teeth, he tried to fight the burning sensation in his eyes. Tried to keep back the tears.
But Rhoswen wept openly. Her tears were as tiny drops of moisture in a spider’s web, glistening in a morning sun.
“…You… mourn my wife?”
“I mourn for the earth and her children. For their torment.”
A new thought slipped into Cedric’s fuzzy mind. “By the gods… what of the child? What will happen to him?”
Rhoswen turned her back, looking out into the corn. Distractedly, he noticed how intricate her wings were—glimmering threads woven into patterns he had only dreamed of. Her voice was but a sigh in the night, almost buried by the scratching of the corn stalks. “They say the Rolfmen will come for him.”
Cedric tried to speak, but his words tangled into an unearthly cry. She turned, her own face stricken. There was not enough moisture left in his body for tears, so his gargled cries stood alone for his grief.
She drew closer, bracing herself against the pain. “Do not howl so. Please. Your anguish is as a tooth broken and throbbing in my mouth.”
He strangled his cries, face twisting with the effort. “Will you… will you have mercy on my son? Will you rescue him from this fate?”
She hesitated. “How… I am not able…”
“Please,” he begged. “I will give him up to you. You may raise him as one of your own, or do as you see fit. Only let him not fall to the Rolfmen.”
She tapped her tiny fingers against her lips, head tilted as she considered him. “You would give him up entirely? Not knowing what will befall him?”
“Anything your folk have to offer will be better than what the Rolfmen are capable of.”
She nodded. “A deal we will make then. You will never ask of him?”
“I will never ask of him.”
A faint, tired smile flickered on her lips. “Then consider him saved.”
~*~
Two hours of the night passed, but they seemed to stretch into eternity for Cedric. He alternated between dry weeping and indulging himself in imaginations of revenge. Sorrow burned in his stomach, and the hate he added to it threatened to tear him apart. He felt his strength ebbing, but he forced himself to remain awake. To wait and watch in the night.
After a time, a slim form, the size of a middling child, slipped out of the corn. She was larger, hair now a nut brown and eyes shimmering green like a sleeping pool of algae—but still he knew her.
“Rhoswen.”
She smiled. The moonlight cast stretching shadows on her face as she lifted a bundle in her arms toward him. Tugging the edge of a worn blanket back, she exposed the sleeping child’s face.
“My son,” he managed through the thickness in his throat.
“He will be happy where we place him,” she said. “I brought him for your goodbyes.”
The baby stretched his little fists, tiny fingers curled up. He snuggled into the blanket.
“He did not even have a name,” Cedric said, peering into the babe’s face. “So young to lose his mother.”
“We will name him. We will care for him.”
; She inched nearer, face paling at the nearness of the iron. Stretching her arms out, she held the child close to his face. He strained against his ties, his numbed body barely feeling the pain anymore. After pressing a kiss to the babe’s forehead, he sank back.
Rhoswen’s eyes glittered with tears. “Goodbye,” she said, slipping back into the corn.
He watched the stalks snap back into place around her. His eyes closed and he breathed slowly. It is done. My son is saved. He is saved. May the fairfolk protect him from Rolfere’s miseries.
He thought himself broken and weary enough to die. He closed his eyes and waited for the darkness to take him.
But the pit of fire in his stomach would not extinguish. Rage and pain lived on inside his fading flesh. Anger wove into a cord that would not be broken, a tie that kept his spirit tethered to his body.
If I die, I will not die bound. I will not die a slave.
He threw himself forward. Still, the pain only ebbed through the foggy depths of his mind. He leaned back again, pushing into the pole. Then threw himself forward once more. The wires sliced through crusted scabs, deeper into tender flesh. His mind stirred out of the fog. He kept up the movement, rocking back and forth until fresh blood streamed from every line up and down his chest, his ribcage, his thighs. The pain zipped in a steady, rhythmic pattern to his brain.
I will… not… die bound.
The corn rustled. “Please, stop!”
He froze, looking up into Rhoswen’s pleading eyes. She stood now at a woman’s height, her form slender and skin pale. Scraps of green covered her, but could not hide her beauty. She had pulled the waves of wheat-blond hair back into a braid. Her wings were gone or invisible.
“Rhoswen, why have you returned?” he managed.
She stepped nearer, tears slipping across her cheeks. “I have spoken with my people and riled them up. We would give a message to Rolfere. A message of fire and blood. I will free you, and you will free the others.”
Without another word, she slipped forward. Her fingers reached out, face twisting with pain as she began to unwind the wire from around him.
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