Shaking those thoughts from her mind before she became too depressed, Seren threw back her bedcovers and quickly got dressed. The house was dark and deserted downstairs, but once she got the kitchen fire started, Rori joined her. Shortly afterward, his uncle entered the kitchen and Seren turned to smile at him before catching herself. She quickly got back to her task, tending the potatoes and onions she’d sliced over the skillet and flipping the eggs that sizzled beside them.
Not good, Seren. You’re letting your heart loose again. It’ll just be harder to catch when it’s time to leave in the spring.
Heeding her own advice, Seren dished out the breakfast and remained mostly quiet during the meal. Instead, she listened to Brennon tell Rori all about the things he’d seen in town and the mistletoe he’d brought back.
“I’m going to check the perimeter with the dogs in a little while. I’ll take some of the mistletoe along with me to place along the border.” He sipped his tea, his silvery eyes lost somewhere.
“Seren, would you and Rori mind hanging some around the house? I’ll bring a sack up from the barn before I leave.”
Seren looked up from her tea and nodded.
“Very well,” Brenn said, pushing away from the table. “I’ll go get it now.”
When Brenn left, Seren stood to clear the table. Rori lingered for a while, helping her move the dishes into the sink basin before disappearing upstairs. Seren began washing the plates, glancing up through the small window facing the main road every now and then. The view from this point in the house was more even with the hilltop, but she could still see the stretch of land below their high vantage point. The fifth or sixth time Seren peered through the window she noticed something different about the monotone landscape. A splash of brilliant color stained the grey road. A wagon, heading away from Dundoire Hollow. Curiosity got the better of Seren and so she simply stood there for awhile, watching its gradual approach. The covered cart was painted in the greens and reds of the late season, and garlands of pine and fir hung like draped ropes from the roof.
Seren squinted her eyes, trying to see better over the distance and what little light the break of dawn provided. A flash of silver ran along the harnesses of the horses when one of the animals shook its head. Bells, perhaps? A few people, some adults, some maybe a few years older than Rori, climbed from a door in the side of the vehicle. The driver, a man dressed in colorful, worn clothing, stepped down from his bench as Brenn approached from the direction of the barn. The wolfhounds accompanied him, their stances more curious than confrontational. Seren abandoned the sink and headed for the window farther down the wall, standing on her toes so she could see better. The stranger speaking to Brenn wore an odd hat and held the stem of a long pipe between his teeth. A tendril of white smoke curled from the end, like the downy feather of a goose. But what caught Seren’s attention the most was the tone of his complexion. His skin was a warm, earthy brown. Darker than her own and much darker than any Faelorehn she had ever seen.
Could he be Fahndi? she wondered, breathlessly. And if so, what was he doing traveling this part of Eile in the dead of winter? Then, Seren realized something else. If he was Fahndi, maybe there was a chance for her to survive outside of her tribe after all. Perhaps there was a future for her as a traveling merchant.
Leaving those thoughts behind for the moment, Seren simply watched the exchange below. For several minutes, Brennon spoke with the man and his companions until they all shook hands and Brenn pointed in the direction of the barn. The man returned to his spot on the wagon’s bench and urged the horses forward. With a slight lurch, the cart pulled through the standing stones guarding the path. As it moved forward, Seren noticed one corner dipped slightly with every turn of the wheel on that side.
Furrowing her brow, she quickly finished up with the dishes and hurried upstairs. Just as she stepped out into the main room, Brenn pushed open the back door. He carried two bulging sacks over his back, the olive green stems poking through sporting flat leaves and white berries. The mistletoe. He dumped the bags on the stone floor beside the door then straightened.
“We’ll be hosting some guests in the barn tonight,” he announced to Seren and Rori. “They’re a traveling merchant family and their wagon has sustained some damage. They needed somewhere to stay for the night because it will take a good portion of the day to fix the broken spoke.”
So that explained why the cart seemed to limp.
Rori drew in a breath, probably to spew a stream of questions about their guests, but his uncle spoke first.
“I’d feel better if you two stuck to the house until I return from dispensing the mistletoe. The family has promised a grand Solstice celebration tonight to show their gratitude, so Rori, you can assuage your curiosity then.”
The boy clamped his mouth shut and proceeded to pout silently.
Brenn grabbed the larger burlap sack and reached for the door handle. “I’ll be back after sundown,” he called over his shoulder, as he pulled the door open and stepped out into the white landscape.
The click of the latch catching made Seren jump slightly. Something was off about Brennon this morning. She had first noticed the difference during breakfast, but couldn’t put her finger on it. Now, as she recalled the way he’d spoken to her and Rori, and by the way he’d walked through the door, it was more clear to her. He moved about as if something pained him or slowed him, like a man trudging through a mire. And the shadow he’d cast seemed darker, more substantial than it should. Could it be the darkness from his nightmares, coming back to haunt him? She hoped it was just her imagination playing tricks on her.
Shaking her head against such dismal thoughts, Seren walked over to the remaining burlap sack and lifted it up.
“Ready to fill the house with mistletoe?” she asked Rori.
Grinning, he nodded and headed her way. For the next hour or so, she and her young friend placed sprigs of mistletoe everywhere an evil spirit or tenacious faelah might enter. Along the window sills, around the door frames, above the hearths. Seren also made sure to place some on the bed posts in Rori’s and Brenn’s room, as well as her own. After that chore was done, she and Rori prepared the meat and fruit pies they’d be eating for Solstice dinner.
“We should make extras for the travelers,” Rori stated, his hands buried in the pastry dough.
Seren thought that a good idea as well, and soon, she found herself wondering about their unexpected visitors once more. She couldn’t wait to venture down to the barn later to get a better look at them.
Once all the food for the Solstice was prepared, Seren and Rori retreated into the great room and got a warm fire burning. Seren retrieved her basket of yarn from upstairs and proceeded to work on the scarves for Brenn and his nephew while Rori got to work on one of his own projects. Nola the cat, woken by Seren’s trip upstairs, padded out of Brenn’s room to join them. For the remainder of the day, they worked in near silence, only the rumble of Nola’s purr and the whisper and crackle of the fire to keep them company.
Dusk was beginning to fall upon Ardun when Seren thought she noticed a change in the cadence of the subtle sounds around them. She paused in her weaving and went still. A soft, sweet lilting melody brushed against her sensitive ears.
“Do you hear that, Rori?”
The young boy had been busy twisting together strands of flax fiber to make a new string for Brennon’s bow. Since this skill was based mostly on touch and not sight, his uncle left the task to him. Seren had been doing something similar with the scarves she was working on: weaving the vibrant strands of dyed wool together using only her fingers. It was a technique exclusive to the Fahndi, and Seren was particularly good at it. Not too surprising, considering her peers had ostracized her from their circles. She’d had to come up with some way to occupy her time while growing up. Pushing those negative thoughts aside, Seren focused on Rori.
The boy had paused in his braiding and cocked his head to the side. “Hear what?” he asked, in response
to her question.
“Music,” Seren whispered, her voice soft and pliant.
“Music?” Rori repeated.
“Yes. It’s coming from the barn.”
Rori noted the crisp squeak of the reed basket shift as Seren set down her work. The soft swish of fabric soon followed, and he knew she’d stood from her chair and moved away.
“Seren?” Rori queried, setting aside the half-finished bowstring and small block of beeswax he’d been using to bind the twine.
He slid from the chair and went straight for the window, knowing exactly how many steps to take, and in what direction, to avoid crashing into the table.
He could tell by the way the light fell outside that it was twilight. The darkness pressing into his eyes growing a bit darker as day descended into night.
“They are playing music,” Seren said, once again in that reverent tone.
“Maybe Uncle Brenn is back!” the boy exclaimed.
Seren didn’t think so. Although the sun had set, the boy’s uncle would have come to the house to fetch the two of them. She let Rori know as much.
He merely shrugged. “We could go down there and see what’s going on. He’s sure to be home soon.”
Seren took her lower lip between her teeth, considering her options. She had just finished up with the scarves for Rori and his uncle, and it wouldn’t take long to wrap them. And Rori was right. Brenn had to be heading home by now. What was the harm in joining the family in the Solstice celebration early? Besides, it had been so long since she’d had the pleasure of listening to real music.
A shift in the wind carried a more discernible tune up from the base of the hill, and Seren got a better sample of the melody this time around. The joy of it tingled up her spine, and her healing glamour unfurled like a golden rose in the sun. She loved music. Absolutely adored the rhythm and flow of it. Music healed her spirit, the way her magic healed wounds.
Without needing any more encouragement from Rori, she dashed to the kitchen and scooped up the basket of prepared meat and fruit pies. Setting the basket on the floor beside the door, she quickly scrounged up some brown paper and string from the desk. Working quickly but efficiently, she wrapped up the two scarves and tied the bundles with string. Plucking a few sprigs of holly from the garland above the fireplace, she tucked them beneath the knotted twine and left them on the desktop. Rori waited beside the door for her, blinking owlishly in her general direction.
“Here’s your cloak, Rori.”
She thrust the garment at him and turned to retrieve her own from the wall hook. Once it was secure around her shoulders, Seren took up the basket and pulled the door open. Outside, a few of the hounds snoozed in the dry hay tucked beneath the awning. The moment Seren and Rori burst from the house, however, they leapt to their feet and trotted after them down the hillside. Rori worked to match Seren’s pace, his hand outstretched just far enough to keep her flowing cloak within reach. The path evened out, and Seren slowed a little.
Rori could tell they were drawing near the barn because the darkness that shrouded his ruined vision grew brighter. As they passed through the great, wide open doorway, his remaining senses became flooded with action. The faint music grew suddenly stronger, and the laughter of children and the clucking of curious chickens overwhelmed his ears. Fire smoke and incense tickled his nose, and a general thrum of celebration and delight coursed through him.
“Oh, Rori,” Seren breathed quietly. “They have cleared the hay and smoothed out a great circle in the center of the barn. There is a small fire pit, and a boy about your age and a woman are playing a bodhran and a flute.”
He tried to picture it in his mind, and he was sure whatever he envisioned was far grander than what actually existed. He smiled, regardless. It was probably better that way. Before he could take in all the new sensations, someone clasped his hand in theirs and jerked him away from Seren.
“Come along!” It was a girl’s voice, full of mirth and brightness. “My name is Roisin, and that is my brother Cassair and my little sister Aislin.”
Rori assumed she pointed out the other two children, but he had no idea where they stood.
“R-Rori. I’m Rori,” he panted, as the girl dragged him along.
“Come dance with us!” she said with a laugh.
“I can’t!” he managed. “I, I can’t see.”
The girl slowed to a stop, and he almost crashed into her. For several long seconds, nothing happened. Her hand tightened on his and the music continued, but he stood still, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.
“Oh,” the girl called Roisin finally said. “We’ll have to teach you, then. It’s really easy. I’ll hold your hand so you don’t miss any steps, okay?”
Rori’s face split into a great smile as a bright bubble of delight swelled in his heart.
“Okay!” he cried.
His dance partner laughed, clearly in good spirits. After that, he forgot about Seren for the time being as Roisin and her sister Aislin led him around the fire pit to the rhythm of the music.
Seren watched the scene unfold before her, of Rori being so readily accepted by these strangers, and her heart melted.
“Glad to have you join us, lassie,” an old woman said from her seat on the back of a wagon.
Seren jumped, then turned to face the woman, her eyes blinking in astonishment.
“I am Grandmother Peig,” she said, in her raspy voice.
The old woman regarded her with one eye, the one not showing signs of blindness. The piles of wrinkles on her face reminding Seren of rich, freshly turned soil waiting for a new crop, and her good eye sparkled with intelligence and mischief. Despite her shyness, Seren smiled and walked over to the old cart the woman was sitting on, setting her basket to the side.
“I am Seren.”
The Fahndi girl offered her hand, and Grandmother Peig glanced at it for a few spare moments before taking it in her warm, rough palm and giving it a good shake.
The old woman grunted softly, then nodded in the direction of the children. “Thems my grandchildren. Is the boy yours?”
Seren flushed slightly, though she didn’t know why. “No. I am like you. I came to Ardun and was offered hospitality.”
The old woman clucked her tongue. “So, not the young master’s wife then?”
That made Seren blush even harder. “Brennon is a friend.”
Grandmother Peig trained her good eye on Seren and studied her for an uncomfortable minute. Finally, she turned away with a harrumph, and Seren was left wondering what she might be thinking. Deciding to let it go, she asked the old woman about her family.
For the next several minutes, Seren basked in the beauty of the music and listened to Grandmother Peig tell her tales. She learned the name of Grandmother Peig’s son, Finghin, and her daughter-in-law, Treasa. Treasa was the pretty woman playing the flute. Cassair, the boy next to her, was her son and he was a few years older than Rori. The two girls, Roisin and Aislin, were younger than their brother, but not by much. Finghin and Treasa’s brother, Eoghan, and Eoghan’s son Morain, had spent much of the day repairing a spoke in the damaged wheel of their cart.
“Tampered with,” Grandmother Peig sniffed, lifting her walking stick and jabbing it into the ground. “Townsfolk don’t take too kindly to those who look different than them.”
A small pinch of sadness worried away at Seren’s heart. She glanced over at the family of traveling merchants once again. Their skin was dark, like Grandmother Peig’s, and Seren could only imagine what sorts of hardships they might face because of it.
“Not only are we Lorehnin, but our mortal ancestors hailed from a place in the mortal world where the sun shines brightly nearly all the year, giving them a darker complexion.” She held out her arm and gave a toothless grin. “We have inherited that trait.”
Seren smiled at her good humor, but couldn’t squelch her disappointment. So, they weren’t Fahndi after all. So much for asking their advice on living outside the Weald.
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br /> Shaking away her discouragement, Seren said, “Your skin reminds me of blackthorn wood. Rich and dark and beautiful.”
“Your complexion is a unique shade as well,” the old woman commented abruptly.
Not knowing what else to say, Seren swallowed and answered simply, “Yes, it is.”
The woman gave her a wide smile, then placed one weathered hand on her arm.
“All is well, young one,” she whispered. “I know you are of the Fahndi, but your secret is safe with me.”
For a few breathless moments, Seren was rendered silent with surprise. However, when the woman continued to gaze at her with an expression of kindness and understanding, Seren allowed herself to relax.
“I have lived a long time, dearie, and I have met many people and have traveled to many corners of Eile. I like to consider myself wise, and I know what common folk do to those who are different.”
Her good eye filled with melancholy then, its focus leaving Seren’s face for a while. A small pang of sadness welled up in her. Clearly Grandmother Peig and her family had experienced the same unkindness that had plagued Seren her whole life.
“Now, enough of the dreary,” the old woman said suddenly, snapping out of her dark reverie.
She dug beneath the quilt folded over her lap and pulled out a tin whistle. She brandished the musical instrument in her hand and gave Seren a wicked smile.
“I predict your young man will be back within half an hour. Let’s say we get this celebration going, so he has something joyous to return home to.”
Seren’s eyebrows furrowed. “My young man?”
Grandmother Peig nodded. “Master Roarke.”
Before Seren could contradict the old woman, Cassair, Treasa and Finghin struck up a new, lively tune. Rori, who had barely managed to catch his breath, was once again pulled into a dance around the fire. Eoghan and Morain made the final adjustments on the repaired wagon wheel, then put aside their tools to join in the foray. Seren cast an impish look in Grandmother Peig’s direction before bounding after the revelers, kicking up her feet and clapping her hands in time to the melody. She had only ever felt truly free among her people whenever music was played. Music held its own kind of magic, a magic with the power to drive away all inhibitions in any Fahndi man, woman or child. And Seren was no exception to this rule.
Faeborne: A Novel of the Otherworld Page 24