by Anne C Miles
“Probably sleepwalking. I’m dreaming about gnomes. Can you believe it? Gnomes. Definitely have been listening to Peter drone on about dragon flicks too much.
“The weird thing? I do remember how I got the splinter. I saw an old table with a banged-up corner. I couldn’t resist touching it. You know how I love texture? The table gave me a splinter. It was so real.”
Sara concentrated, trying to remember anything else. The only sounds were the soft rhythmic beeps of Marilla’s monitors and the rasp of her breathing.
Sara listened, letting her heart remain open, reaching for answers.
Maybe it was real.
She threw up her hands, confessing aloud to banish the thought. “I’m visiting a parallel universe in my dreams. You know? Sleepwalking isn’t crazy enough for Sara Moore. No, I have to do the entire artist crazy. Lose my mind completely. Maybe I’ll cut off my ear. Maybe then Mom would get it, finally admit I’m a real artist. Would she think my art matters, then?”
She shook herself. Enough. It wasn’t real. Sara returned to her task. She filled the sink with warm water and dunked the stems, clipping each on a diagonal before placing them in the vase. “Brought cottage roses. Your favorite.
“I’m doing twenty hours a week now at the Tank, helping with the hybrids. It’s changing how I work with clay. The plants inspire me. I only have Practicum and Organic Chem this semester. Chem is with Peter, so that’s fun. He says hi, by the way.
“Let’s see, what else? Dad is MIA, as usual. Probably has a new bimbo. Lunches with Mom are the usual. Lots of her telling me it isn’t too late for a real career. I can still be just like her. No life, all work. I can still go to grad school. Yada, yada, etcetera.
“Oh! You’ll never believe who’s in my art class. Remember Chantal? Snooty diva from Prospect? The one who used to talk smack about us? She went to Assumption? Yeah, her. Anyhow, she’s in my senior practicum. You’d think she’d have learned to be nice in four years, you know, be an adult and everything, but no. She hasn’t. I heard she went to RISD. Tough school.
“I don’t know. Funny to transfer home midsemester, the year before you graduate, and move all the way back from Rhode Island, don’t you think? She came in a month before break last year. You think she failed out at RISD, and they accepted her here, anyway? Her daddy donates heavily to the school.”
Sara made a face as she came back to the room with the vase. “There. These should last awhile.”
Sara placed the arrangement in a shaded nook next to the window. She settled into the hospital-blue recliner and picked up her paperback. “Okay, where were we? Chapter two? I thought we were farther along?”
She looked at Marilla, watching for a change. Breathing. Beeping. Anything. There was no change. Not for the first time, her eyes caught on the print above the bed, a framed inspirational quote with a dramatic photographed landscape.
A sky full of lightning glowered over the scene. Shelf clouds resembled a monster, reaching for the farmhouse below. The verse highlighted beneath read
The Lord answered Job out of the storm
- Job 38:1
Why is that inspirational? Religion is so weird. Sara leaned back in her chair and began to read aloud. Sunbeams cascaded over her shoulder. Two chapters later, she was jolted out of the story by a tap at the door.
“It’s time for her exercises,” the nurse said. “You can keep reading if you like.”
“Thanks, Phoebe. I have my first classes today, and I’m probably already late. I better go.”
Sara stood and bent to kiss her sister’s cheek. “I’ll be back soon. You wake up, Marilla Moore. I miss you. I really do. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry for everything.”
She placed the book on the nightstand, pointing the bookmark toward the window.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE BELL AND Rider was as well-known for its keeper as it was for its mead. Both were lively spirits.
Dane walked in, and Bell tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. Her small hand tightened into a fist. She released it, collecting mugs from the bar as she swept toward the kitchen.
“Lile will serve you,” she called over her shoulder as she passed him. She retreated. Indignance pulsated from beyond the door after it slammed behind her.
Dane claimed a bar stool. Well, she was angry after all. Why are women so confusing? He signaled Lile for an ale and nodded a greeting to the man beside him. Not anyone he knew. Lile plopped an ale in front of him.
The man pulled a pipe from his belt pouch, not acknowledging him. He tapped its contents onto the straw-covered stone floor. Soon, the air was scented with a sweet aroma. Smoke wreathed the stranger’s angular face and floated away. He was bearded, with fair hair and dark eyes. Maybe he was from Perrhil. The stranger spoke as if launching into a thrilling story to an old friend. “Faisant,” he said. “The fae.”
Dane nearly spewed his ale. He caught himself and swallowed it down, his nostrils burning. “What about them?” It was madness to discuss children’s stories with a stranger, even knowing they were true.
“What do you know of the fae?” the man asked. He took a draw from his pipe.
Dane eyed him, gauging his sobriety, before answering. He could just be a talkative traveler passing time. Dane made the sign of the arc, automatically warding off evil.
“I know what every child knows, milord. The Festival of Lights is held at midwinter, our songs inviting the fae to come. They bring gifts for babes to find on First Morning. They speak only to children, gnomes, or the pure in heart. If you sing with them, you’ll become a majister. Or so the old tales say.” Dane finished with only a trace of bitterness. “In some stories they play tricks. They lie. They disappear. I’ve never liked those stories, though.”
“Aye, they disappear, lad,” the man murmured. He leaned forward, propping his elbow on the bar. “But what if they did not?” He took a long draw from his pipe.
Bell burst from the kitchen, eyes flashing daggers in Dane’s direction. She bustled across the common room, flouncing onto a bench with her back to him. She tapped her foot. Clearly, she expected an apology. Now.
The stranger tracked Dane’s gaze. “A friend of yours?” His mouth twisted, wry.
Dane nodded, miserable.
“Odd for a young, unmarried woman to hold her own property.”
“You’re not from here. We see women as the gnomes do. Bell is respected. Her family has run this inn for as long as anyone can remember. Her father passed away midwinter last. But she has Jax there. And everyone knows better than to anger a gnome.”
Jax sat on a small stool in the corner, still as a small statue.
“I had best go make amends with his deemling.” Dane welcomed the opportunity to free himself from the odd conversation, even if he did dread what was coming next.
He threaded his way through the benches and tables to reach Bell’s side.
“Good evening, Bell.”
His voice didn’t croak or squeak, a small victory. He cleared his throat, not trusting his luck to last two sentences. “I need a room for the night.”
Bell whirled, facing him. “The stable,” she said. “All of our rooms are full.”
Dane blinked. The common room was only half full, and several of the doors lining the balcony upstairs were open, a sign they were available to rent. Scratching the back of his neck, he considered for a moment. Softly, so Bell had to lean in, he said, “All right. I can bed in the stable. I’ll just be here the one night and be gone in the morning.”
“Half silver,” said Bell, rising to her feet.
“That’s outrageous!” Dane spluttered, forgetting his remorse. “Even if it includes supper and a bath, a half silver is more than you ask for three nights. I know, I’ve stayed here enough.”
“You have previously enjoyed a price extended to friends,” Bell said, her face reddening. She stamped her foot for emphasis on the word friends. “And I’ll tell you what is outrageous.” Her voice shrilled as she stamped ag
ain. Her index finger stabbed his chest. “What’s outrageous is promising a friend you will visit, and then not showing up for weeks.” She stamped and stabbed his chest again. “What’s outrageous is making her wait, not knowing what happened.” And another stamp and stab. “What’s outrageous is expecting that girl to treat you”—poke—“as a friend. As a loyal, valued customer. Instead of as a horse’s bottom! Half silver.” She stamped her foot again and crossed her arms.
Dane had the sense to look ashamed. He tried not to feel all eyes in the room on him. Thunder take him, Poll would get a tale tonight, for certain.
“I’m sorry, Bell. I really am.” He lowered his eyes and continued in a rush. “I had a surprise order come in for work and had to travel north for more hardwoods. I just returned. I hadn’t time to send word. I have little time to finish this job, but it catches me up on...” He grimaced, not wanting to discuss his taxes in front of the town. “This will set me right for the winter.” He summoned the courage to look at her. “Can we go somewhere else and discuss this?”
Bell’s mouth twitched. For a moment, Dane thought she might laugh, but her mouth settled into a grim line. She stood, marched toward the kitchen, and out the door to the alley outside. Whoops followed them, along with shouts of encouragement, toasts, and offers of physical protection. He hoped that wasn’t a bet being laid in the corner. Then again, his money would be on Bell.
She rounded on him as they stepped into the alley and pushed him roughly against the building. “Don’t you ever.” Push. “Do that.” Push. “Again.”
The wall was rough against Dane’s back. Not for the first time, he wished he could sink into it like a gnome.
“Where were you?”
“I told you, I had to go into the forest for a special job that came in suddenly. Seasoned wood to be brought from the Heye. Then there was much work to be done, and I couldn’t spare two days to ride here and back. I needed the money. Things have been hard since Pa passed, you know. I work sunup to sundown, running the workshop alone.” Dane measured her reaction, waiting.
Bell had lost her father not long before Dane’s parents passed. She sometimes understood his struggles. It was one of the reasons their friendship had deepened.
“And I needed to think.”
Bell’s eyes widened.
“Because we kissed and...”
Bell stepped back, drawing herself up to her full height and schooled her expression into a prim mask. “It was one kiss, Master Whitley. Not a proposal. Not a promise. And blast if you get another. One kiss and you run away?” She shook her head. “Friends. Friends we have been since we were wee children, and friends we remain.”
“I think we are more than friends, Bell.” He watched her closely. Stars, I’m not good at this. “I want to be.”
Bell continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “I won’t tolerate friends who don’t keep their promises or disappear. I’ve had enough loss in my life. Next time you decide to run off into the forest when you are supposed to come into town, let me know. Send word. You live in the wilderness on the edge of the Heyegrove alone with one gnome. I know Pezzik is well able to watch over you, but I still worry. Anything could happen!”
The door never opened. Jax was just there suddenly, next to Bell. His beard lent his mischievous eyes wisdom as he looked them over. “You two about done, then? And Dane has no bruises.” Jax eyed him. “I’ll let Lile know he lost five coppers. And who was the gentleman you were chatting with then, young Dane, if you don’t mind my asking?” He hooked his thumbs around the edges of his vest, rocking back and forth. His cap quivered.
Dane had forgotten the stranger. “I don’t know,” he said. “Odd sort. He seemed to be in his cups, chattering about children’s stories.”
Jax nodded and vanished into the stone wall as suddenly as he had appeared.
“I wish he wouldn’t do that,” Bell complained. “It frightens outlanders.”
“You think he is bad, you should see Pezzik during harvest. She’s everywhere.” Dane looked into her eyes. “I promise I won’t disappear again, Bell. Really.”
Bell’s eyes softened. She bowed her head. A mane of dark curls tumbled around her face. “I can’t stay angry with you. I’m glad you’re safe.”
Dane let out a slow sigh of relief. “Are you still going to make me sleep in the stable?”
“I should.” Bell glanced up at him, withdrawing her hand. “But no. First door on the left after you climb the stairs. Standard rate. I have to go see to business now, but we can talk more later.”
“I look forward to it,” he said. And he meant it. Dane followed her back inside, waving at the roar of approval that greeted him as he entered the inn unscathed. Dane saw the stranger had departed. He’d likely gone to sleep it off. Dane checked the satchel he’d left under his chair. The wrapped package was still inside, though it seemed some wrappings had loosened. The contents threatened to spill out. He sighed, glad the bag hadn’t been taken. Today he’d been lucky indeed. He had escaped a sermon, endured the wrath of Bell, and kept his pack, despite being careless. He murmured thanks to the Storm King as he made his way upstairs to stow his gear.
While normally Dane would make his own strings, time constraints for his present job would not permit it. Gut strings, Indra ink, an assortment of fine thin blades for the detailing of the rosette, and the frippery Pell had spoken of. A small quantity of mother-of-pearl and a bottle of blue dye. He couldn’t be sure his tunebells would cure in time and would not risk it. It was all there. He repacked the satchel and hung it on a hook. Yes, it had been a lucky day. He felt like dancing.
Dane reached the bottom of the stairs and spied the stranger. He was setting up near the hearth. Jax stood with him, the two deep in conversation. The gnome stooped and unclasped the man’s lute case, pointing and nodding. The bard smiled, dark eyes crinkling as he listened. He picked up his lute and handed it to Jax. Jax handled it reverently. Jax listened, his head tilted, and plucked the strings one by one. He handed it back to the bard, saying something that made the man laugh. Dane watched with equal parts amusement and trepidation as he resumed his seat.
If there was a song playing, a gnome would be the first to join in singing, his voice lifted in perfect harmony. Music pulsed through a gnome’s speech. There was a cadence in their step, their hammer blows—all their work. It was said in old tales that gnomes were born from the Song long ago, charged by the Storm King to watch over and guide the children in their care, their deemae. A gnome was always humming, tapping, whistling, or singing. Musicians welcomed gnomish companions and considered them good luck. A gnome could accompany any melody, and it was a rare treat to sing with them.
However. Jax was a singular gnome.
Bell slid into the stool beside Dane, nodding toward Jax. “That’s why he was interested. The stranger is a bard, I should have known.”
Gnomes were rarely seen outside the Heyegrove and its surrounding hills these days. Musicians came to Dohnavur hoping to meet one and were directed to the inn. While several local families were deemae, adopted by a gnomic guardian and protector, only a few were seen in public.
“Ah, the stranger’s nattering about fae makes sense; he’s a storysmith. He’s likely composing,” Dane said. “Did you get a chance to warn him?” He nodded at Jax and raised his eyebrows.
“Warn the bard about Jax? No, I thought I’d let him find out on his own. Besides, Jax really has improved. He practices for hours every morning.”
Dane raised a mug to his lips, thankful for the strong brew in light of what was coming.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE CROWD HAD grown while Dane was upstairs. The two barmaids pushed through it, serving customers with patience and laughter. As the bard took up his lute, the room quieted. More than a few locals glanced at Bell with knowing expressions and suppressed smiles. Most gave their attention to the bard and the gnome.
The bard’s lute gleamed; its neck, rosette, and bridge were the standard black. T
he intricately carved rosette was a round Conclave design. The songs played would be approved melodies. The man was Bindery-trained. Odd for him to speak of fae. But then, even Bindery bards loved stories. It was their trade.
The bard tapped a beat against the soundboard of the lute, letting it fill the room in a steady driving rhythm, the sole accompaniment to his verse. Dane smiled as he recognized “The Suitor Song.”
Once there was a deemae, a deemae, a deemae
Once there was a deemae, who had a pretty smile
And she met a young man, a young man, a young man
And she met a young man, whose wits she did beguile.
The young man bent to kiss her, to kiss her, to kiss her
The young man bent to kiss her, his plans they went awry.
The young man met her deema, her deema, her deema
The young man met her deema, and he did learn to fly.
Dane laughed as the bard winked and played the traditional folk melody. He sang the round and gestured for Jax and the crowd to start the next verse.
Jax stepped forward and belted it out.
Once there was a deemae, a deemae, a deemae
Dane had to give the bard credit. His hands didn’t stumble on the strings. Jax’s melody veered in and out of tune. The beat never faltered. What Jax lacked in talent, he made up for in enthusiasm.
Once there was a deemae, a deemae, a deemae
Once there was a deemae, she was a pretty lass.
The locals, used to the gnome’s voice, laughed and clapped along. But some children put their hands over their ears. The smallest started crying.
And she met a young man, a young man, a young man