by Annie Bellet
Understanding as clear as the chiming of a bell came to her. She saw before her the root of the twins’ confusion and loss and what they’d had to refuse. A rebuke hovered on the tip of her tongue but she realized also in that moment of clarity how inhuman Seren truly was. She doesn’t see human desire as we feel it, only as a toy to be played with and set aside. Pity touched Áine’s heart for the Fair Lady, mixing with the anger into churning lump in her stomach.
“Thank you, but I’ll wait outside.” Áine turned away from Seren and left before the Lady could say more.
Eighteen
Áine dreamed. She soared over the forest and circled a holding. She angled her strong white wings to drift lower. Below she recognized Clun Cadair and dropped lower still until she came to rest on the edge of the meat shed. The air was cold and an icy breeze ruffled her plumage. Emyr stood just beneath her but did not look up. The tall black hound at his side, however, turned and stared toward the roof. Idrys.
She awoke then with the howl of a hunting hound ringing in her mind and found herself curled up at the base of a blossoming cherry. It took her a few moments to recall where she was and why.
Áine stood and folded her cloak, tucking it away into the cloth sack after she pulled an apple out for her breakfast. She noted that the loaf of bread she’d torn a piece from the night before seemed to be whole and undamaged again. Silently she thanked Blodeuedd for yet another kindness.
Áine walked to the deep pool below the waterfall that cascaded and sang beside Seren’s home. Kneeling, she sipped some water and scrubbed at her face with her wet hands. She dried her cheeks on a sleeve and stood up to find Seren watching her from beside the pond.
“Morning,” Áine said with a politeness she did not feel.
“Sleep well, I hope?” Seren said in a tone that made it clear she also felt the question a formality only.
Áine bit into her apple and merely nodded. Not wanting to have to throw the core away in these woods, Áine tucked it back into her cloth sack. She could bury it later, when the cold silver gaze of the Lady wasn’t watching every motion.
“I am ready for my first task,” she said after a few more moments when it became clear that Seren wasn’t going to open the topic.
“Indeed.” Seren folded her arms. She was dressed in a deep-blue gown with a lighter blue underdress peeking out at her sleeves and throat. Intricate embroidery in varying shades of red decorated the neck, hem, and sleeves as well as the cloth sash she had tied low around her hips. Tiny glittering stones were sewn into the collar and cuffs and her blood-red hair fell loose to curl gently at her waist.
Áine sighed, unconsciously smoothing down the front of her own undyed woolen dress.
“Well, halfling, to make the charm I will first need two white stones from a beach to the north and east of here.”
“Any two white stones from that beach? And are they perfectly white or blemished somehow?” Áine asked, wondering at the simple sounding task.
“Nay. They must be two perfectly white stones exactly alike. And there are only two on that beach that are so.” Seren shook her head, not entirely hiding her disappointment that the girl had thought to ask. “When you have found them, return to me and I will give you further instructions.”
“But,” Áine started. Seren smiled and disappeared between breaths, one moment there and the next gone as though she’d never been.
“Don’s tits,” Áine muttered. Then she flushed. Tesn always told her swearing just brought on trouble from the Gods. Emyr would laugh. She wondered what Idrys would have said and then smiled to herself as she recalled him muttering far stronger curses. Her heart hurt and she rubbed at her chest as though she could ease the ache somehow.
Áine shook herself. Standing around feeling lonely wouldn’t help anyone. She slipped her bag over her shoulder and secured the strap between her breasts and then set out through the wood, traveling to the north and the east in search of a beach with white stones.
* * *
The forest gave way after a time to gently rolling hills. The tall grass caressed Áine’s waist as she walked. The breeze brought her the faint scent of brine, drawing her ever further east toward an ocean she could not yet hear or see.
Colorful birds darted among the stalks of grass and grasshoppers, voles, and mice scurried from the disturbance of her passing feet. One mouse paused, and Áine saw it had tiny human hands instead of feet, with beady, scarlet eyes. She bent low to look more closely, but the odd creature disappeared back into the grass. Áine shook her head and moved on, watching this strange world with curious eyes.
The sun rose high overhead and though the day was warm, its light never quite reached the bright oppression of true summer. Áine paused around midday and sat down to rest for a moment in a patch of bright blue wildflowers. She drank water from her flask and then opened the cloth sack to get bread and another apple. Remembering her plan to bury her apple core, she removed her cloak from the pack and looked within. There was no sign of the remains of her breakfast.
It then occurred to Áine for the first time that she’d felt no urge to relieve her bladder either, not since that morning when she’d left Clun Cadair. She’d been so tired and chilled on the journey to the Islwyn and then exhausted and amazed after that it hadn’t even occurred to her to attend to such a natural function. She considered but cast aside the notion that she might be dehydrated or sick. She felt fine; if a little weary of walking.
“Well,” she said aloud, “that simplifies life for the moment, doesn’t it?”
Áine gave her head a little shake as she realized she was half-waiting for an answer. She sat on the bed of flowers and ate her midday meal, enjoying the play of sunlight on the glossy blue petals that shivered in the light breeze. A little family of swallows danced in a daring spiral around her, circling closer and closer until their nerve broke and they skimmed away like tiny feather ships on the rolling meadow.
Áine washed down her last bite of bread with a swallow of water and smiled as the birds left her. Her smile dropped away abruptly as the emptiness of the landscape struck her. She tucked her apple core away in her sack and laid her cloak back on top. Then she stood and turned slowly in a circle as she considered the strange feeling that had come over her so suddenly.
She was alone.
Though she searched her memory, she could not find a time when she had been without the company of another human for any real space of time. She’d spent time gathering herbs or food of course, a few hours on her own here and there. But she’d never gone far from a village without Tesn. And after Tesn’s passing, Áine had been surrounded by people. Though she’d felt alone and lost at first, they’d still been there, loud and very present.
Life buzzed around her: insects, birds, little skittering furry bodies, and the hush of wind through living plants. But there was nothing human here and she felt an emptiness spread out around her, unnatural and vast.
Tears rose unbidden to burn behind the eyelids she closed to shut them in.
“Áine, stop it. This isn’t helping anything. You have work to do. You hardly need your hand held to collect a couple of bloody rocks,” she whispered the words aloud to herself as she scrubbed at her eyes with the cuffs of her dress.
The sun was making its way past zenith in the shimmering sky when the smell of brine rode the breeze to Áine’s nose. The hush of wind in the grass gave way to the rhythmic rush of waves as she quickened her pace toward the sea. Áine broke the brow of a hill to see the grey-green expanse of the ocean. Below her lay a little cove, the beach covered in stones of grey, white, and black.
Picking her way carefully down the hill, Áine slid the last few feet down a tide-cut bank to the beach. She unslung her pack and left it hanging from a clot of low-growing shrubs by the embankment, out of the reach of the sea spray or the tide.
Áine sighed as she examined the beach. It was perhaps three times the length of a man and half again as deep. Seaweed and bits of drift
wood marked a ragged tide line reaching nearly to the top of the beach. At least the tide was on its way out which gave her time even as it revealed more of the beach. Every fifth stone looked white. She shook her head.
“Two pure white stones exactly alike,” she muttered. “At least that rules out some of these.”
Tesn had often told her that the only way to conquer large tasks was to start.
* * *
Áine straightened and stretched. The sun had sunk quite low but she looked on her growing pile of white stones as progress. Using driftwood, she’d cordoned off an area to start in and begun sorting all the unblemished white stones out into her cloak which she’d tied into a makeshift pouch. She was thankful that there were few perfectly white rocks to choose from, though four were large enough that she’d had to lift them and set them aside rather than carry them.
As she searched, she’d decided on a method to start ruling stones out. She’d place the ones she’d found two by two into a spiral and try to get a better idea of which might match up. Sighing, Áine looked out over the beach. She wasn’t even done by a third, and night was coming on, bringing with it the tide.
With a start she realized she’d broken one of the rules of being near the sea; never put your back to the waves. She knew the tide was far out now with the waves’ rush receding. Áine turned to the ocean and squinted into the setting sun.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. There, at the low tide line stood three large, white stones. They were half her height and easily as big around as she. Áine looked down at her makeshift pouch full of white stones and shook her head.
“It can’t be that,” she said aloud, “Don’s tits, is it so simple?”
Áine carefully set down her pouch behind the high-tide line and brushed off her skirt. She walked down the beach, the wet stones slippery with seaweed that clung to her feet.
The water lapped against the far edge of the stones and dug into the silty areas between them in little eddies. She examined each stone. They were laid out in a perfect line with each the same distance apart. No sea life grew on the stones and she could find no blemish on any of the exposed surfaces.
Áine pushed on the right-most stone and managed to rock it in its base. She bent and wrapped her arms around it, then pressed upward from her thighs to lift the rock. It shifted with a sucking sound but she couldn’t yank it free. With a growl, Áine released the stone and walked toward the top of the beach.
She stripped off her dress and boots and laid them near where she’d hooked her pack. Then she found a somewhat flat length of driftwood and walked back down to the stones.
The breeze off the ocean made her shiver, but Áine thought having a dry dress and shoes was more important than avoiding a little discomfort. The tide had turned and she would quickly run out of time to get these stones free.
Áine dug into the silt and gravel at the base of the first stone. Water rushed in, chilling her feet. She ignored this and kept digging. Water swirled around her ankles before she thought she might have freed the stone enough to lift again. This time, her shoulders and thighs screaming at the effort, she pulled the stone free from its silted cradle and managed to waddle up the beach to the tide line. Áine dropped the stone far less carefully than she would have liked and sat down hard.
Her hands hurt and she sucked the grit from a wound on her left pointing finger where the nail had half broken away. Spitting out her mouthful of blood and dirt, Áine stared down the beach. One stone down, two left. She rose and clenched her teeth.
The second stone was mercifully less entrenched than its sister had been. The waves brought the water up to her knees and she resisted their pull back into the sea. With the second stone down safely at the beachhead, Áine took a moment to call a ball of light. She grinned wildly as it worked a second time, the globe flickering above her head. It moved as she moved, casting strange shadows and lending iridescent patterns to the waves.
The tide had stolen Áine’s digging stick while she carried the second stone. She found a new one but even with her light, she couldn’t see what she was doing with the dark water swirling in, some waves up to her waist now. She’d forgotten how quickly tides rose.
Áine blinked back tears and tossed her stick away. She thrust her arms down into the water, snorting through the waves that crested over her head as she worked to dig free the stone. She tested it and finally it popped loose, growing heavier as she lifted it from the water.
She barely remembered how she got to the top of the beach. Her feet had long since gone numb and her shoulders and legs were one mass of pain. The sharpest pain came from the ankle she’d injured in the flood those months ago. Áine dropped the stone beside its sisters and stumbled to where she’d left her gown. Wet, gritty fingers dragged it over her head and she crawled up the embankment into the grass.
Her dreams gave her feathers and she flew far away from discomfort toward the warm pulse of her own heart.
* * *
Hafwyn stood in the doorway and watched her sons as Emyr saddled a horse in the courtyard. Idrys stood nearby, his black body tense as he watched an owl that rested in the eaves of the barn. The morning air just after dawn was still, the occasional bleat of sheep all that broke the silence. Hafwyn shivered. New leaves had started to green the forest beyond Clun Cadair but still her sons spent their days ranging restlessly across the cantref, searching for Áine.
No matter how their mother argued with them, they both seemed as determined as the other that Áine would return to them, that she was out there to be found. Hafwyn had tried to gently raise the idea that perhaps the curse had been too much for Áine to bear. But even sensible Emyr was convinced that Áine wouldn’t run from such a thing.
“Not her,” he’d said, a grim echo of his brother’s words the night before.
“Good luck, my sons,” Hafwyn whispered as Emyr waved to her and turned his horse toward the woods, Idrys a shadow racing ahead.
She folded her arms tight over her own conflicted heart. Áine had been like the daughter she’d lost, and she’d brought joy back into Idrys. But she was also a wisewoman, a woman outside ordinary society. Wisewomen had freedom other women didn’t, but they had obligations that came with that freedom that precluded a hearth and children. A chief should not marry for love alone, but for the good of the cantref and the people.
Hafwyn sighed as the barn owl stretched its wings and took flight toward the woods. Idrys’s smile warmed her memory and shamed her thoughts. She was the mother of a chief, this was true. But she was a mother first.
It had only been a few months. If Áine returned, Hafwyn would welcome her back.
Nineteen
Tiny yellow larks singing on bent stalks of grass woke Áine. She sat up slowly in the early morning light and groaned. Her muscles had stiffened in the night as she slept on the cold ground. She stretched her arms and looked at her hands. They were red with chill and bits of dying skin clung to abrasions along her palms.
Her feet hadn’t fared much better. Áine stumbled down to the retreating sea and rinsed the dried blood from her bruised feet in the waves. None of the cuts was more than a surface wound. The pain in her ankle worried her more.
Áine massaged the old injury as she turned to contemplate her three prizes. She shook her head. Breakfast, then she’d examine the stones. Pulling an apple and a loaf of bread from her pack, Áine sank down into the grass again.
She felt better for having eaten. The sun rose higher as she chewed the last bite of apple, swallowed, took a deep breath.
Áine wasn’t sure if she wanted two of the large white stones to be the two she sought. She could lift them, that she knew. But it hadn’t been the shortest journey from Seren’s cottage to the shore and Áine didn’t trust this place nor Seren enough to leave one stone behind. If she could determine which were alike, she’d have to devise a way to bring them both at once.
“Too many ifs,” she muttered.
Áine rose and put
her apple core back into the pack and then removed the coil of her red belt. She slid down to the white stones and measured the girth of the first with the dyed leather. The second and third both measured the same. Áine tried the length, but all three were the same. She put on her belt and then, ignoring the stabbing pain in her leg, carried each stone up into the grass, shoving them up the embankment to where she could examine the rocks without fear they’d chip.
Áine resisted the urge to kick the third rock in frustration. Each was exactly alike another as far as her methods could tell. Tesn had always told her that the fey cannot tell a direct lie. Seren had said only two white stones are exactly alike on this beach, but Áine now had three. She sank down into the grass and stretched her sore leg.
“Think, silly girl,” she said aloud, “two of these have to have something different from the third.”
She’d found them all in a line, well below the high-tide mark, so that was the same. It came to her suddenly. The second stone had been less deeply buried in the silt and gravel. Thank the gods she’d preserved their order as she’d moved them. She hoped that something so simple could be the answer. But it was all she had to go on. Now she only had to get them to Seren.
“Only,” Áine snorted and, sighing, rose to her feet. On a wild hope she held her palm out toward the first of the stones. “Rise!” She willed it with a cry.
Nothing happened. Áine shoved down disappointment’s bitter seed and shrugged. It had been worth a try. Now she needed to get serious and find a way to move the stones. Áine had no intention of leaving one behind for later; she didn’t trust Seren half so far. No, she’d have to bring both at once.