Grandma Fawna steps forward. “Grandmother Ivy’s asked me to preside since my clan has been most involved with these troubles.” She reaches out and puts her hand on Iris’s shoulder. Grandma takes a few moments to explain to everyone how we found Iris in fox form and what happened up at the bluff. Murmurs and small cries of surprise and anguish carry through the women because nothing in recent memory has happened like this. Then Fawna says, “And now Iris will tell us her story.”
Iris sits up straighter and draws in a deep breath. She begins, “For a long time I have felt a pull from my youngest daughter, Hyacinth.” She pauses to let everyone get over the shock of speaking a shunned elf’s name. “She has come to me in dreams. Her voice has visited me on the wind. I have seen her reflection in pools of rainwater and always she did not look well. Soon I came to realize that my daughter is . . .” She bows her head and tries to speak, but no words come out. Ivy reaches for her hand. My mother, Fawna, Willow, and the other great-grandmothers surround her and lay their hands on her shoulders. Iris slowly looks up at all of us. “She is dying.”
We all gasp, including Briar and me. This is unheard of. Elves live for nearly two hundred years, but Hyacinth is my mother’s age, not yet fifty.
“I know the rules of shunning and that Hyacinth made her choice when she married Orphys Corrigan and left. But I felt my daughter was calling to me and that she perhaps had regrets.” She holds her hands out and pleads. “How could I not go to her?”
I hear the whispers behind me.
“How could she not?”
“I would go.”
“Nothing could stop me.”
“And so I called to her and then I shifted so I could travel unnoticed,” Iris explains. “It took me weeks to find her. She is far away near the coast in a city with many buildings. At first I visited secretly, watching her daily life. I learned she has two children. My grandchildren. By watching them tend to their ailing mother, I grew to love them.” She bows her head again. “I didn’t realize they had called me there.”
Briar and I clasp hands. “Clay and Dawn,” I whisper to her, and she nods.
“The children have known for some time that Hyacinth was ill. An erdler disease that afflicts those who go dark. They had been waiting for the right moment. They drew me in and when the time was right, they pounced.”
Then Iris looks down at Briar and me. “I don’t know how they found you,” she explains. “I don’t know if it was a coincidence or if they knew where to look. But they came for you, too. There was nothing you could have done to stop it.”
“But Iris,” Mom says thoughtfully. “Why? What do they want with all of us?”
“It’s not us that they want.” Iris shakes her head and looks down at her hands. “It’s something here.” She looks all around the kitchen. “On this land handed down from first-firsts. Something that they believe will cure Hyacinth.”
“Ahhh,” says Mama Ivy from her rocking chair. “Now this is beginning to make some sense.” Then she laughs softly. “I should have guessed, but I’m getting too old and feeble, I suppose.”
“What is it, Grandmother Ivy?” Fawna asks.
Ivy shakes her head. “Not something I can reveal to everyone, I’m afraid,” she says. “Only first-firsts may know.”
All but the first-firsts leave Mama Ivy’s kitchen, including Briar and me. Though we protest and try to argue that we deserve to know what’s going on since we’re the ones who found the fox, Grandma Fawna tells us firmly to leave and we do. When we come back out to the clearing, the little ones have been sent to bed. I see my older cousins sitting around the slowly dying bonfire to play games. The uncles are gathered at the edge of the woods to strum their guitars, drink hot cider, and tell hunting stories.
Briar and I join our cousins by the fire, but we’re not much interested in their games and stories. We huddle together on a pallet with thick blankets over us. Since there are so many people here, most of us will sleep outside near the fires tonight. The snow has stopped for now, and for the first time lying here, I feel the exhaustion of the past two days settling into my body. “What do you think they’re talking about?” I ask Briar as we gaze at Mama Ivy’s house where the first-firsts’ walking sticks have been arranged in Xs across the door, barring any entry.
“I don’t know,” she says. “But if whatever Clay and Dawn want is in that house, it will be up to your sister to protect it soon.”
I wake to a faint purple sky with a few morning stars blinking down at me. The sun’s not yet up but the moon has gone to bed. Tomorrow a new year will start in Alverland, though in Brooklyn, there’s still ten days until New Year’s Eve. I stretch and sit up, pushing the blankets back. Briar and many of my other cousins snooze around me. I’m thirsty and I have to pee, so I slip out of the pallet and head toward Ivy’s house.
The walking sticks have been moved, and clearly the first-firsts have finished their meeting. I knock softly. When there’s no answer, I tiptoe into the big, empty kitchen. Only a few embers smolder in the cold hearth, but the room is still warm from all the activity into the wee hours of this morning. After I go to the bathroom, I help myself to water and find some leftover slices of bread and cold roasted chestnuts in the kitchen cupboard.
As I sit down at the long table to eat my snack, Willow comes to the kitchen door. Her hair is wild down around her shoulders. Her eyes are pink-rimmed and the delicate edges of her nostrils are raw. “Oh Zeph,” she says, and flings herself at me, tears streaming down her face.
I catch her in my arms. “What happened? What is it?” I ask, stroking her hair. “Is it Ivy?”
Willow looks up at me. “They want me to take over Mama Ivy’s house now.”
I smile, despite how upset she is. “But Willow, that’s great, isn’t it? Don’t you want to?”
She pulls back and wipes her sleeve across her nose as she settles into a chair next to me. “I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to protect”—she stops and motions all around—“this from the dark elves.”
I lean forward and whisper. “What is it, Willow? What are they after?”
She shakes her head. “Can’t tell.”
I roll my eyes and slump back. “Yeah, yeah,” I say, annoyed. “First-firsts only.”
“Hey,” Willow says. “I’d gladly trade you. I don’t want all this responsibility. I didn’t ask for it. Sleet and hailstones, Zephyr, I don’t even know if I can handle it with Mom and Fawna off in Brooklyn taking care of all you guys. You always make fun of me for being traditional and sticking around Alverland, but what else am I supposed to do? I was born first. You weren’t!”
Now I feel like a big jerk. “Sorry, Willy,” I say. “Maybe if I knew what Clay and Dawn want, I could help you protect it so you wouldn’t feel so much pressure, because this is my fault.”
Willow shakes her head. “It’s not your fault. They played you, Zeph. “
“But I, well, Briar and I, fell for it.”
Willow shrugs. “They sucked Aunt Iris in, too.”
“Can you imagine?” I say. “Tricking your own grandmother!”
“I know. Evil, right?” she says. We’re both quiet for a while, then Willow sighs. “I guess I have to go through with it. It’s the only way to keep things safe.”
I reach out and wrap my arms around her neck. “It’ll be okay,” I tell her.
Later that morning, Mama Ivy calls me into her bedroom. “I need your help,” she says from her rocking chair. “Be a dear and open up that cedar chest over there beside the cupboard.” She points a gnarled finger across the room.
The chest smells like the fresh spring forest when I lift the lid.
“You’ll find some old tunics in there. Just put them on the bed,” she instructs.
I lay them carefully across the bedspread. Each one is more beautiful than the next. One is deep blue like a midnight sky with red embroidery around the cuffs and collar. The next is rose colored with green stitching.
Another is mossy green with burnt-orange cuffs and collar. The final one is off-white, the color of trillium flowers, with tiny gold stitches swirling down the bodice and around the hem.
“I inherited these from Aster,” Ivy explains.
“The first mother?” I ask.
Ivy nods. “She brought them from the old country. You see all that fine embroidery? No one does it like that anymore. We’re all in such a hurry nowadays.”
This almost makes me laugh, the thought of elves in a hurry. Obviously Ivy’s never been to Manhattan!
“Now, take this blanket and put it over the tunics and then go get your sister Willow.”
I do as she says even though I have no idea why we’re playing hide-and-seek with tunics.
When I bring Willow back to the room, Mama Ivy has her eyes closed. The skin on her face and hands resembles bark with all its intricate lines and gullies. “Mama Ivy?” Willow whispers, touching her hand. I’m relieved when Ivy’s eyes flutter open.
“Now then,” she says, as if we’re in the middle of a conversation already. “Since the clearing out back is now yours, you’ll preside over the solstice celebration tonight,” Mama Ivy tells my sister.
“No,” says Willow, shaking her head. “I couldn’t, I—”
“Hush, now,” Ivy says with a laugh. “Of course you can. I wouldn’t ask you if you couldn’t. But you can’t wear that old tunic. We have to find the right garments for you.”
Willow looks around the room, confused.
“Close your eyes,” Mama Ivy tells her. “That’s the best way for you to see.”
Willow closes her eyes.
“Let the tunic choose you.”
Willow stands quietly for a moment and then she moves across the floor, as if drawn to the bed. She hesitates, then reaches out her hand to hover over the blanket. Her arm moves back and forth, left and right, then suddenly stops. She reaches down and places her palm firmly on top of the blanket.
“Ah!” says Ivy. “I love that one, too. Pull the blanket back,” she tells me.
When Willow sees what she’s chosen, she presses her palm against her cheek. “I don’t think I could wear this,” she says, lifting the gorgeous off-white tunic. “It’s far too beautiful. What if something happened to it?”
“Oh drivel dravel,” says Ivy. “This is meant to be worn. By you.”
Willow picks it up very carefully and holds it against her body.
“But you’ll need a cloak, too,” Mama Ivy says. She points to the trunk again. “See what’s down there at the bottom, Zephyr.”
I reach deep into the trunk and sure enough, at the very bottom, wrapped in a layer of linen cloth, is a heavy deep-red cloak with white fur trim around the hood and cuffs. Gold braid, small gold coins, and intricate blue, yellow, and green embroidery form a crest across the back. Willow gasps when I pull it out.
“This was Aster’s cloak that she wore when she made the long walk from the old country. Some believe that just by being worn by the first mother it is imbued with magic.” Ivy’s eyes twinkle.
“Oh Grandma Ivy!” Willow drops down and lays her head in Ivy’s lap. “Thank you.”
“No, my dear,” Ivy says, stroking Willow’s long, golden hair. “Thank you for doing your duty and taking on this huge responsibility when you’re so young.” Ivy pats her back. “We’re all in good hands with you, Willow,” she says. “That I know for certain.”
That night more clans arrive for the solstice celebration in Mama Ivy’s—no, illow’s—clearing. The moon is large and bright, so even beyond the bonfires into the edges of the forest, the woods feel lit up. As is the custom, Willow, wearing the beautiful tunic and cloak, greets everyone, including Ash’s family (which is a distant part of my father’s clan).
We have a huge bonfire under the bright full moon and a terrific feast of smoked venison and trout, baked potatoes, butternut squash stew, fried rabbit, fresh bread, corn and beans, dried-berry cobblers, and roasted chestnuts. Then, as is our tradition on the solstice, each family takes a turn entertaining everyone else.
My family hasn’t had time to prepare, so it takes us a few minutes to get ourselves together. Willow and I have our lutes, Grove has his mandolin, Dad has his guitar, Mom plays the flute, and the little ones play pennywhistles and hand drums.
“What do you want to sing?” Dad asks, as he plucks his A string and we all twist our tuning pegs to match him.
“How about some of your songs?” Willow asks.
My dad looks surprised. Willow doesn’t usually want to sing my dad’s songs. She’s more of a traditionalist, going for folky elf stuff that’s been sung around these fires for centuries.
“I miss hearing your music,” Willow admits, which makes my dad beam with pride.
“All right then, Miss Willow. What would you like to hear first?” Dad asks.
“Mom’s song,” Willow says.
“‘Aurora Dawn’ it is,” Dad says, then counts us all in.
As we play, everyone else dances or sings along, or at very least sits and taps their toes to the music. Even Iris and Ivy, both bundled up in rocking chairs by the fire, nod to the beat, smiling as if everything in the world is okay. And that’s the way it should be, I think as I strum my lute and harmonize with my dad. Music should make people feel happy and welcome and part of something larger than themselves.
This is what I missed at the BAPAHS musical. It was all about Mr. Padgett and nothing about us or the audience. I think in some ways, it’s the reason Briar and I started doing the elf circles, to connect with our crowd again. Only we didn’t realize just how strong that connection could be.
When we’re done with “Aurora Dawn,” everyone claps, hollers, and whistles. Briar stands in front of the stage with my other cousins and jumps around screaming like a loon. “Addlers rock!” she yells, which makes us all laugh.
“Zephyr,” Dad says. “Why don’t you sing ‘Flying Dancer’?”
“No,” I say. “It’s your song.”
“But you sing it so well,” Dad says.
Briar overhears Dad and she starts to chant, “‘Flying Dancer,’ ‘Flying Dancer,’ ‘Flying Dancer’!”
“Come on.” Dad tugs me by his side. “We’ll sing it together. You take the verses and I’ll come in on the chorus.”
I set down my lute and walk to center stage. I plant my feet like Dad taught me before the Idle America audition, then I face the crowd, only this time I’m not nervous. I feel at peace when I see the familiar and loving faces of my aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents watching me. There’s no teacher I’m trying to impress or mean girl I’m trying to beat out for the lead or people who will make fun of me mercilessly if I mess up. This time I’m singing for people who love me and care about me, and I want to bring them joy.
My family plays the intro. The notes blend together beautifully and swirl gently into the swaying trees. The music mixes with large, soft snowflakes that cascade down on us. No matter what’s gone wrong the past few days or what might happen tomorrow, right now it’s all good. I draw in a deep breath and begin to sing.
Flying dancer, cold air flows
you’re leaving again
when the north wind blows
But you’ll be back
in early spring
for the one you love,
you’ll return to sing
As the words leave me, I see Briar absorb them. She throws her head back, bows, and jumps, spreads her long arms and dances in near perfect imitation of a sandhill crane looking for its mate. She even picks up sticks and tosses them in the air like the cranes will do in the frenzy of their mating dance.
A passionate dancing duet
a song you haven’t sung yet
you’ll find the one, don’t fret
to sing your song in spring
I sing for Timber now, wondering if I’ll ever have a chance to sing my passionate dancing duet with him, wondering if he’s my other sandhill crane? My other cousins dance wit
h Briar until they’re all flailing like the giant birds, then we all sing the chorus together,
Fly dancer, fly
Don’t let life pass you by
Spread your wings and soar
To find the one you adore
When the entertainment is done, we all go back to feasting and mingling, getting reacquainted with our long-lost cousins from different clans. Ash’s family is lots of fun. They’ve brought their instruments and games. They have tricksters and contortionists in their clan who entertain everyone with their acrobatics and elfin pyramids. Even Ash’s littlest brothers and cousins join in, standing on top of their fathers’ heads or balancing on one leg in the palm of Ash’s hand.
I’ll be the first to admit that Ash has some superfine cousins, but I don’t feel much like mingling. I don’t know exactly what it is, maybe seeing Willow and Ash so happy together or watching everyone have so much fun, but something makes me miss Timber more than I ever have.
I know he wasn’t supposed to be in Alverland and I know that he won’t remember it, but I wish he could be here with me now. He’d love all this. The music, the games, the people entertaining one another. More than any other erdler I know, Timber would get this. So, rather than join in, I sit on a log with my plate of little maple cakes and watch, feeling melancholy.
“Persimmon! Percy darling!” I hear my mother calling for my little sister. “Have you seen Percy?” she asks me.
I crane my neck to look around, scanning the groups of little kids playing hoops and rings, dancing to the music, and watching Ash’s cousins put on shows. “No,” I tell her. “Want me to help you look?”
“No,” Mom says. “It’s all right. She asked me for some elderberry juice but now I can’t find her.”
I set my cake aside and stand up. “I’ll help you.”
Selfish Elf Wish Page 23