by Annie Bellet
“I greet you, Blodeuedd. I seek the Ilswyn.” Áine’s voice came out as a hoarse whisper and she licked her chapped lips.
“Follow me.” The woman offered a warm hand and twined her fingers in Áine’s own cold ones. With her other hand, she called a ball of light into being from the air.
They walked hand in hand between the standing stones that lined a path like silent soldiers keeping watch. The air was very still. As the women passed between the final stones, Áine gasped.
Winter was left behind and she saw grass beneath her feet in the pale golden light of Blodeuedd’s fairy lamp. A warm, summery breeze danced around her, bringing the smells of apples, smoke, and fresh blooms with it.
Blodeuedd led the amazed woman through an orchard and toward a little thatched house. The trees were in fruit and flower both at once.
“What is this place?” Áine said. She’d started shivering again in the warm air and her feet and hands ached as feeling returned. She could feel the tiny scratches and scrapes and speaking made her wince.
Blodeuedd let go of her hand and opened the door to the house. “This is the Ilswyn.” She beckoned her guest inside.
The inside of the little hut was well appointed with neat shelves lining one wall, many skins and pillows covering the floor, and a large stone hearth warming the space. Áine sank down gratefully onto a thick sheepskin and rubbed her stinging feet. Blodeuedd set a kettle on the hearth to heat and dished out a bowl of cooked apples and nuts from the pot steaming on the fire.
After the first couple bites burned her tongue, Áine sat back and blew on her food to cool it. “What is the Ilswyn?” she asked. “Where am I now? How will I find Seren? Is she here?”
Blodeuedd laughed softly. “Those are many different questions, but I will do my best to answer them for you.”
“Thank you, I do not mean to be rude.” Áine flushed and ducked her head.
Blodeuedd settled down to lean against the hearth. “I take no offense. Eat and listen. The Lady you seek, Seren, is not here.” She held up a hand as Áine’s face fell. “The Ilswyn is a gateway, a place within Cymru-that-is that touches upon Cymru-that-could-be. Seren dwells in the land of Cymru-that-could-be, though her home, like many of the Fair Folk, also touches upon your world.”
“I can go through the gate and find her?” Áine said around a mouthful of hot spiced apples.
“Yes. I will show you the way once you’ve eaten and rested. We must go before dawn; this side of the gate is only open when the veils grow thin.”
“Why,” Áine hesitated but curiosity claimed her, “why are you helping me? How did you know me?”
Blodeuedd laughed, a soft sound like the breeze through a field of wildflowers. “Those are different questions again, are they not? I knew you because the wind whispered that you’d need of me. No one finds the Ilswyn without my help. I hear the desires of those with greatest need and come for them.” Her eyes grew dark and sad as the mirth abruptly left her fine features. “As for the other question, well. I help because I am bound to help. I must guide all who have the will.”
Áine thought about this for a moment. “But,” she paused, “I was turning back. I would have given up if you’d not appeared.”
Blodeuedd regarded her for a very long moment, head cocked slightly like a bird’s. Finally she spoke. “This is true. But you turned back not for desire but for belief.”
Áine laughed and it sounded bitter even to her. “Strange coming from one who loves two men cursed by a fey Lady and stranger still from a woman whose tears turn to pearls when they touch the earth. I should have believed.”
“Nonsense.” Blodeuedd’s sharp tone surprised Áine. “You were raised by a human, given none of the gifts that are your birthright and left to wonder your whole life about where you fit and why.”
“My birthright? Am I truly one of the Folk then?” She closed her eyes, remembering Tesn’s stories, remembering the selkie.
She’d never really believed, even with her odd gift of knowing the pain of others. Wisewomen were supposed to have access to mysteries long lost to ordinary men and women. Besides, she could touch cold iron, a thing no fey was supposed to stand.
“You are, and are not. Most likely your mother found a changeling man and lay with him, for I think you are not even truly half-blooded.”
“But it means I might have a father somewhere.”
She’d never given it much thought. Tesn had always been enough and after there was only grief and then the love of the twins and Hafwyn’s calm mothering. She sighed. She’d avoided thinking too much about the future, what would happen when she took to the road again as a wisewoman. She didn’t want to leave the security she’d found in Clun Cadair.
A thought pricked her like a thorn. Am I doing this because I only want to stay? Because if I free the twins everyone there will have to accept me? They will accept me? It will not change what I am, will it?
Blodeuedd’s bitter laugh brought her back to the conversation and she shoved her own uncomfortable thoughts away. “Ha! Much care fey fathers have for their daughters. If he is out there somewhere, perhaps wandering the Isle, judging by your emerald eyes, he’s like as not never wondered after you.” Blodeuedd’s bitter laugh brought her back to the conversation and Áine shoved her own uncomfortable thoughts away.
“What is your story?” Áine asked, looking at her with the intuitive eye of the healer and reading deep pain in the beautiful woman’s ageless face.
“Too long and too short.” Blodeuedd shrugged. “I wanted somewhat other than my father wished for me and betrayed another to follow my heart. It went unwell for all involved.”
Áine nodded and wisely chose not to press the woman any further. Her body had warmed and she took the cup of tea Blodeuedd offered with a nod of her head. Her limbs were heavy with exhaustion and she sighed, wishing only to sleep but knowing there was still a journey ahead with an end she could not foretell. She ate a second bowl of the apple and nut mash and finished her tea.
Then Blodeuedd stood and offered her hand. Áine took the woman’s slender pale fingers in her own and rose. Her host handed her a water skin and a cloth sack that revealed itself to be half-full of bread and apples when Áine looked inside. She thanked Blodeuedd who waved it off and walked out into the warm night.
The women walked to the far end of the valley. The night’s black faded to grey as they reached a single wide slab of pure white marble rising out of the valley into the sky far above their heads. Blodeuedd stepped up to the stone and rapped on it three times. A doorway opened and mist swirled out from it to rub against the women.
“This is where I leave you, Áine.” Blodeuedd turned to her and, leaning forward, kissed her cheek in farewell.
“How will I know where to go?” Áine said, hating the uncertainty that gripped her.
“You asked why I chose to come to you even when you turned away,” Blodeuedd answered. “I came because your heart was strong. Follow your heart, Áine. If you want what you’ve come for enough, you cannot fail. Such might not be true in Cymru-that-is, but such things are the very foundation of Cymru-that-could-be. Follow that if all else fails you.”
“Thank you, Blodeuedd. I will not forget what you’ve told me.” Áine turned to the doorway.
She paused again, staring into the shifting mists beyond. I’ve fought off a starving wolf with nothing but a firebrand, I’ve wrestled cattle, spoken with selkie, saved men’s lives, survived a flood, and uncovered a secret kept for seven years. What is one more step forward?
Áine took a deep breath and walked across the threshold.
Seventeen
Áine walked straight through the shimmering fog that phosphoresced around her skirt and cloak and hands as she moved. She could not tell how much time had passed before she stepped out of the mist and onto a soft, grassy knoll. Dawn had broken here and the sun’s light fell welcoming and warm on her cheeks. She closed her green eyes for a long moment.
Whe
n she awoke she found herself sprawled on the thick grass, her head pillowed on her arms and the sun dipping down now into the other side of the heavens. Her limbs were still heavy with sleep as she shifted to sit. She sipped water from her flask as she looked around herself more fully than her earlier exhaustion had permitted.
Áine stood in a clearing. All about her trees bloomed with pink, blue, and white blossoms. The forest floor was free of brush and carpeted with the thick green grass dotted with bright patches of tiny purple and yellow flowers. Birds sang merrily, unseen in the thick foliage above her. Joyful laughter bubbled up in her throat and she grinned at the beauty around her as a child might.
The mirth died away as she realized she had no idea where to go. Standing, Áine looked around for some sign of a path or perhaps another magically manifesting guide. Each direction looked as good as another for there was no doorway behind her anymore, only forest.
“An unaimed arrow never misses.” She recalled Emyr, no, Idrys telling her one evening as he and Llew joked and told stories.
Áine smiled at the memory and chose to go east, for that was the direction of the rising sun and the direction of beginnings. She walked until the night’s gloom deepened such that she could not see her way. She stopped and sat, tearing free a hunk of bread from a loaf in the pack Blodeuedd had gifted to her. As she chewed she thought about what to do next.
The ground was soft and the air summer-warm, but even after her enervating journey of the day and night before, she was no longer fatigued. She blamed her collapse and sleep that morning for she’d now wasted a whole day. She thought of the owl woman and wished she could make a light as Blodeuedd had.
Sparkling light started to collect at her fingertips. Áine hissed and closed her fist. The light disappeared instantly. Tentatively, Áine held out her palm and thought of the fairy lamp, wishing for it again.
Golden light gathered just above her hand into a shining sphere that illuminated the woods around her with gentle shadows and limned the branches in its glittering light.
“Thank you,” Áine whispered into the empty air. She’d be doing Tesn’s instruction a disservice to do otherwise. A wisewoman met mystery and power with proper reverence, lest she inadvertently give harm.
She arose, the fairy lamp floating just ahead of her, and continued on her journey into the wood.
Eventually she came to a bubbling brook and followed along it until she reached a large clearing. The sky spread out overhead, full of unfamiliar stars. In the clearing stood a little stone hut. There was no chimney, but soft golden light filtered out through a narrow window and from underneath the sturdy oak door.
Áine hesitated a few feet from the door. She could continue, or she could knock. Perhaps the resident within might know where she could find Seren. She took a deep breath, banished her fairy lamp with a thought, and rapped softly on the door.
It swung open to reveal a tall and lovely woman of the Fair Folk. Her smooth face and cold silvery eyes regarded Áine silently. She did not offer greeting so, after a moment, Áine spoke.
“Lady, I greet you. I am Áine.” She offered a tentative smile.
Her heart had dropped when she’d seen the woman, for the Lady fit the twins’ description of Seren perfectly. However, she refused to let hope push aside reason. The Fair Folk were all supposed to share the moonlit skin and blood-red hair; it was, after all, what marked the fey of Cymru. There was little reason to think she’d come upon the one she’d sought.
“Áine.” The Lady gave a half-smile in return though it did not touch her swirling silver eyes. “What is it you wish, halfling?”
Áine started at the word and did not miss the flash of amused satisfaction in the woman’s eyes. “I’ve come seeking a lady called Seren. Have you heard of her or know where she might be found?” Annoyance made Áine’s tone sharper than she would have wanted for courtesy’s sake, but the woman’s strange manner bothered her.
“I have heard of her, and I know where she might be found,” the Lady said. She paused and looked Áine over, her gaze taking in the frayed hem of the young woman’s dress and the cloth sack slung over her shoulder. “You have traveled far. Come inside.”
The invitation surprised Áine. Though she wanted the information the Lady said she had, Áine hardly wanted to seem rude by pressing that she was in a hurry. So she stepped into the hut and closed the door behind her.
A bronze brazier lent a lovely warmth to the little room. The home was furnished much as Blodeuedd’s home had been, though without a hearth. Instead a wide and comfortable bed piled high with furs and quilts adorned the far wall.
The Lady motioned for Áine to sit and settled herself onto the edge of the bed. Áine sank down onto the skins near the brazier, feeling awkward and travel-stained compared to the clean and calm grace of the fey woman.
“Please, Lady, I do not mean offense, but I must keep going. If you could but point the way, I will leave you in peace. Is the Lady Seren near by?” Áine asked.
Something about the home seemed so familiar but she pushed it aside as weariness playing tricks. She’d never been here, she knew that much.
“She is quite near. Why do you seek her?” The Lady’s full, sensuous mouth quirked in another condescending half-smile.
Suspicion tickled Áine’s mind and she leaned forward, choosing her words carefully. “I seek her because she has gravely wronged the men I love and I wish to put it right.”
The Lady’s smile died and she jerked up straight, her lips tightening into a line of crimson on her moon-pale face. “Wronged?” she said. “Is that how their story goes?”
Áine stood in a single motion, ignoring the protest in her tired thighs. “Seren,” she said, her suspicion blooming into certainty. She could see it now, the cold, terrible beauty that Idrys had described.
The women faced each other over the bronze brazier and neither spoke for a long moment. Áine’s heart pounded against her ribs as one emotion after another flashed through her.
She wasn’t sure what to think, much less to say. It seemed almost unreal to be standing before the cause of her lovers’ grief. To be standing before the woman whom the twins had loved first. She’d never thought about what she might feel because she’d thought this meeting further away. Her mind finally settled on simmering anger and desperate hope.
You can free them.
Áine swallowed. “You can free them, Seren,” she said.
Seren shrugged, her anger gone from her features as quickly as it had arisen.
“Perhaps. But why should I? I offered your princes what mortal men only dream about and they turned away. They made their choice. If they were so unhappy, why have they not come themselves to beg my forgiveness?”
Áine knew the true answer to this but it was one she could hardly tell Seren. Idrys is not sure he could refuse you a second time, since he nearly failed the first. And Emyr is afraid of what he might swear to free his brother from his guilt. No, it had to be someone over whom the Lady would hold no sway. And perhaps it had to be someone a little fey themselves, to navigate this realm. It had to be me. She’d worked out this much on her long walk.
“I came because I love them,” she said simply.
“Both?” Seren narrowed her eyes.
“Both. They are different, truly I would not have known their secret if they weren’t, and I love each for himself.” Áine had anticipated this question as well.
“And you wish me to end the curse?” Seren said. Her expression smoothed again and her beauty became an unreadable mask that hid all thoughts.
“I do. Please, they’ve suffered enough. They meant no offense to you, they were but children and…”
“Enough.” Seren said, cutting off Áine’s pleading. “I’ll break the curse.”
“What?” Áine couldn’t help herself. Shock wiped her mind for a moment. That easily? She wondered. Then she saw the hint of the cruel smile on the other woman’s lips. No, it won’t be, will it.
&n
bsp; “I’ll break the curse. Don’t look so amazed, child. I find it insulting.” Seren sat down on the bed again.
“What must I do?” Áine said, suspicion returning in the wake of her surprise.
“Well, at least you’re not completely stupid,” Seren said.
“Not completely.” Áine bit the tip of her tongue to keep in the rest of her response. It would not do to anger the Lady now, not when she had come so far.
“Quit glowering over me and sit, halfling.”
She sat. Seren waited until Áine nearly shook with impatience before she spoke again. “Now, curses are specific things. For it to be broken, I would want certain items. You’ll collect them for me.”
“Will I be able to do so before the twins grow old and die in Cymru-that-is?” Áine asked. She knew the stories and sensed that somehow there was a trick in Seren’s words, though she could not see the whole of it.
“Yes, provided you can complete the tasks I set for you at all. I would not ask if it were not possible with a little ingenuity and dedication.” Seren toyed idly with a small blue stone ring on one of her fingers as she watched Áine’s face.
“What must I do?” Áine repeated.
“Follow your heart,” Blodeuedd’s words whispered in her memory.
“Five tasks. Each will bring to me a part for the charm that you might use to break the curse.”
“Can all five be completed in Cymru-that-could be?”
There was a flash of something in Seren’s eyes as she answered, “All but the last.”
“Where is that task then?”
“Cymru-that-is.” Seren shifted and held up her hand to forestall Áine’s next question. “Enough for tonight. The hour is late and I would rest. I will set you the first task in the morning. Press me further and I might decide to sleep in,” she added sharply.
Áine sighed and stood up. “Good night then, Seren.”
“No need to sleep outside, child. You may stay with me.” Seren stroked the furs beneath her.
Áine shivered as she considered the Lady’s thinly veiled invitation. To sleep in the bed where her lovers had lost their innocence, to rest touching the instrument of their pain, to think it brought anger roaring back into her. She was disgusted with her own sudden and strange desire and shoved that aside in place of the cold rage.