by Jamie Day
I froze as their intentions reached my soul. Slowly, I raised my eyes to stare at my accusers.
“You took the scrolls,” said Donavon, prodding me with an urgent continuation.
I nodded again, afraid to speak.
“Where did you put them?”
“You know this,” I said. “I—I gave them to Cael. He was going to use them to save Sean.”
Donavon nodded and smiled at Orson. Then he glanced back at me. “Yes, we know what your claims have been. Cael Bauer, you say?”
“Yes.” I started shaking. What was happening?
“Why do you blame another man for treachery—something you admitted to have done?” Donavon leaned closer to face me.
“I never said that Cael took them,” I told him. I was having trouble breathing in the sweaty room. “The bandit took them—Darian. He stole them from the Dorsey home.”
Both men continued the visual interrogation. The silence continued.
“Why do you ask these things?” I said. “What has happened?”
“We can’t keep the man forever,” said Orson. “If he didn’t take the scrolls—”
“Wait!” I interrupted his sentence. “Of course Darian took the scrolls. That’s why they killed Sean. The men in Morgan never got the ransom.”
I was horrified. These men, with their questions, were challenging my story. They hadn’t said it outright, but their voices, their stares, insinuated that I had lied.
“Are you questioning my word?” I asked. “Do you think I’m lying?” My face burned with indignation at the unfairness of their accusations.
“We’re letting the bandit go,” said Donavon, “after the celebration.”
“It’s too dangerous, keeping him here.” Orson spoke as if he was giving a well-rehearsed speech. “We need another way to find the Fae Scrolls.”
“What about my security, my protection? Who is going to keep me safe?”
“You were given the chance to leave Aisling.”
The blood drained from my face and hands, leaving me cold. I shivered unexpectedly. Darian had already found me twice. I had no reason to believe that he wouldn’t come after me again the moment the Elders set him free. The panic of that moment constrained each of my senses and left me wanting for air; I couldn’t breathe.
“Are you all right, Rhiannon?” My kinsman reached toward me.
“No.” The word barely escaped. Then a pulsing, raging torrent of pain filled my head, urging it to burst. I yelled at them. “You’re letting the man go—the man who is trying to kill me? The man who is responsible for the death of Sean Bauer.” I fought to see the two elders through the moisture in my eyes. “Why would you do that?”
“This isn’t about you,” said Orson. “If you fear for your safety, then return to the sanctuary arranged by Colin Druce.”
“I won’t go back to DarMattey,” I said.
“Then return the scrolls to the Fae.”
I allowed the Elders to leave through the front door and watched them walk toward the dark road. I was guilty, in their minds—they had told me so—and the minds of the village. The Elders, like the Fae, represented everyone in Aisling. The village was offering me a choice: leave, or die. As the two Elders disappeared into the dark night, I became resolute in my choice. I wasn’t going back to DarMattey.
Sun Season
Father called my reaction to the Elders foolish. Mother wouldn’t discuss it. Leila and Ethan agreed with Father. We would have spent the next few days arguing about our differences, but a celebration was coming. The solstice gave us something to anticipate and pushed our dispute aside for the moment.
I had always enjoyed Sun Season, and watching Mother work on Leila’s faerie gown reminded me how much so. My sister was radiant.
“There you are, sweetheart. I think it’s finally ready.” Mother pulled the last pin from a hem she had finished sewing and stepped back to admire Leila’s gown.
Leila tugged on her sleeves. “It feels tight,” she said, smirking and twisting as she looked down and examined herself. “I don’t think I can move in this.”
“It’s perfect,” I assured her. I reached out and stroked Leila’s hair. “You’ll get used to the feel. After a few seasons, the gown will become a part of you.”
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Mother told us quietly. She gathered the spools of silk from my sister’s bed and stuffed them into her sewing pouch. Then she closed the bedroom door behind her.
“Is she still not talking to you?” asked Leila, glancing over at me.
I shrugged and grabbed the brush from my sister’s dresser. It was my turn to offer some beauty strokes.
“Are you talking to her?”
I shook my head.
Leila grabbed my hand and stopped me from brushing. She turned to face me, staring up with her dark eyes. “You can’t keep the silence between you. It brings bad fortune into the house.”
“I’m not sure that I can say anything to bring good fortune these days,” I said, offering my sister a weak smile in thanks. I didn’t want to talk about Mother. As I fought the urge to argue, the mood hit me; I was eager to help Leila; helping her brought me close to the Fae, close to redemption. “What position did Raisa give you for the solstice dances?”
Leila sighed. “Twenty-seven, of course. I’m so nervous. Everyone will be watching.”
Her innocence lifted my heart as if a fluffy cloud had drifted into her room. I hugged my sister and offered my warmth.
“Don’t think about the village while you’re dancing,” I advised her. “Focus on your steps. If you forget, watch Dylia. She never gets the dances wrong.”
“Oh, thank you, Rhiannon. It feels good to talk about the Fae with you. So many faeries are old, and none of my friends understand what it’s like to be one.”
“What about Abigail?” I asked. “She’s young. And Madeline might as well be a teenager; she was always a great help to me.”
“Abigail doesn’t talk to me much,” said Leila, “and I enjoy your advice much more.”
I felt a tear form as a cool wave of energy made me shudder. It was the purity of the Fae; something I hadn’t felt in a long time, since early in last Moon Season. Leila hadn’t been avoiding me; the inner demon of my own guilt had been avoiding her. It was obvious now.
“How is Michael?” I asked, interested in prolonging our talk. “Will he meet you at Stone Meadow?”
Leila’s cheeks turned cherry red. “Didn’t you hear Father?” she asked. “The Dunn family will camp next to us at the celebration.”
I hadn’t known that, and was surprised that Father had allowed such a thing to happen. I was practically engaged to Sean before he had allowed the Bauers to camp next to us at a celebration. Father was extremely protective about his daughters. I wondered if Leila wasn’t telling me honestly.
“Are you certain he said that? That doesn’t sound like Father.”
Leila nodded emphatically. “I’m certain. David Dunn will be on security overnight. He asked Father to look after his family. And Father said yes!”
Her grin revealed an infatuation that didn’t surprise me. Leila had always wanted to know love, and Michael Dunn wasn’t a bad choice. He was strong and Father already liked him. A hard worker—an expectation for the young men of Aisling—he was the opposite of my flighty sister. One day, they could make a perfect match.
“I suppose I’ll be the one to watch over you two,” I said, offering a mischievous wink.
“Oh yes,” said Leila, “Mother already decided.”
~ O ~
The warm morning of the Sun Season Ceremony complemented the bright display at Stone Meadow; tall colorful banners flapped on long poles and thin trails of white smoke lifted to the cloudless sky, announcing their host camps and seasoned offerings. Bards in purple tunics, tooling their whistles and drums, mingled in the growing crowd. It was a celebration, and it was summer at its peak. The solstice. I must have been grinning—I could feel my cheeks stretc
h as we rolled the handcart to our familiar camping spot at the southern edge of the field.
Leila was enchanting. She wore her golden shawl of the Fae with its hood pulled back behind her shoulders. The shawl covered a white gown that trailed to thin leather sandals on her feet. Small white flowers decorated tight braids in her dark hair. Leila swung her arms out and danced in place—the golden shawl draped to the ground like wings—and announced her arrival to anyone watching, showering the air with sparkling gold. “This is wonderful!” she sang, while skipping steps and dancing in circles. Her movement matched the mood of the meadow, and she wasn’t the only one dancing in the tall grass.
When we reached our site, Mother and I began unloading the cart. I piled blankets, and pillows, and bowls and goblets onto small piles around our camp. Then I went into the forest that bordered the meadow and collected an armful of dry branches from the undergrowth. When I returned, Leila was still dancing.
“Do you know the steps?” she asked. She tiptoed for a moment and sprung into a leap forward. “I’ll wager you can guess.”
I emptied my arms and brushed my hands clean on my apron. I watched my sister move; her dance was familiar. I caught myself swaying to the delicate tune inside my thoughts. “You know that’s my favorite,” I told her. “You make me want to join you.”
Mother turned to watch us, but kept arranging sliced vegetables into piles on a blanket.
Leila grabbed my hands and pulled me toward her. “Step forward, sister. I want to see you dance.”
I couldn’t help myself. I slipped out of my sandals and joined her. Then we danced in the grass. A faerie and her Giver, we wove a circle of crimson and gold. I inhaled the fresh air—it carried a hint of hickory smoke—and whispered the words that I had often sung to myself at the celebrations. The songs we danced had no lyrics, but I had created my own verses, as many faeries did, and many would continue to imagine.
“You’re wonderful!” said Leila, amid the swirling flashes. “You miss it, don’t you?”
I allowed my motion to carry me to a place on the grass away from her, and then collapsed on the ground. “I miss dancing,” I admitted to her.
She raised her sleeves above her head like a bird’s wings and brought them down in front of me.
I winced at the striking breeze that followed.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t intend to do that.” Leila covered her mouth.
“That’s okay,” I said, smiling. “I enjoyed the moment. Thank you.” I fell back and stared at the sky. “Good memories always come with dancing. They carry me to fantastic places and wonderful dreams.”
My daydreaming soon ended, as Mother found a better use for the sunlight. She put Leila and me to work, chopping more vegetables and stirring the stew she was preparing to share that evening. The sweet scent of onions and pork hovered in our camp when Father and Ethan finally arrived. Tara Dunn and her sons, Andrew and Michael, were with them.
The boys weren’t much help, though. After a few lazy turns at arranging blankets, they excused themselves, with Father’s blessing, and bounded toward the north end of the meadow to play games.
Tara joined my mother at her cooking cauldron, leaving Leila and me to talk some more. I enjoyed my sister’s company and, despite her eager glances across the meadow, I found the afternoon with her a youthful change of pace.
From the crowd, a familiar voice called my name. “Hello, Rhiannon.”
“Sam!” I exclaimed. I chuckled when I saw him. His curly blonde hair appeared almost white in the sunlight, and his checkered shirt announced he was a stranger to Aisling. “What are you doing here? Why are you at Stone Meadow?”
He shrugged and walked toward me. Leila smiled politely and stopped dancing to watch him. Father released a long smoky exhale before lowering the pipe from his mouth.
“I came with my brother and his wife for the celebration,” said Sam. “Jake Harris brought us over the mountain in his wagon.”
“Nia is here?” My voice carried my excitement.
Leila interrupted. “Hello,” she said, grinning at the boy as if she’d never met a stranger before. “I’m Leila Phillips.” My sister sounded ridiculously flirtatious. Her tone carried a lack of caution for any reprisal if Michael Dunn were to hear her.
“Hello, Leila.” Sam offered his hand to my sister and stared at her reverently. “I’m Sam. Are you a faerie?”
“Are you from DarMattey, boy?” It was Father’s turn to interrupt. He dropped a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder as if trying to pound him lower into the grass.
Sam broke his trance and turned to stare at my father, though seemingly not disturbed by the pressure of the hand on his shoulder, and smiled politely. “Yes, sir,” he answered. “I live south of town.” He nodded to me. “I’m a friend of Rhiannon’s.”
“Oh?” Father and Leila spoke together.
I caught my mother stealing a glance. Her look spelled curiosity and caution. I decided to intervene, and end all speculation that the boy was a threat to Michael.
“Sam helped me when first arrived at DarMattey,” I said, loud enough so that my mother and Tara Dunn could hear. “He’s Nia’s brother-in-law.”
The approving sighs lifted into the air like the curling smoke from our small cooking fire. I noticed a nod of relief from Tara Dunn. Still, I didn’t want the poor boy to be harassed, so I offered an escape.
“If you’ve come to see Aisling,” I told him, “let’s go exploring. You can show us where your brother is—and Nia.” I prodded the boy, who winced from the handshake my father had offered, and motioned for Leila to join us.
My sister seemed more than eager. “Yes, I am a faerie,” she told Sam, spinning in front of us to display her entirety. “And I’ll be in the celebration.” She grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him into the crowd. “Come on,” she said, “I’ll show you Stone Meadow.”
Leila led Sam across the grass, forcing me to trail behind while she pointed out the families with the tastiest samples of food and providing a small amount of gossip in the process. It was a rare moment when she stopped talking, and that was only to accept an admiring compliment from a well wishing neighbor or relative. Sam’s eager questions about Aisling were a refreshing delight.
“What is this?” he asked, wiping his face and grinning after a second taste of a square morsel Leila had thrust at him.
“It porcupine,” I answered. “Roasted on its quill.”
After that, Sam stopped asking about the food Leila offered, but seemed to enjoy the offerings of smoked boar, seared breads, and plenty of boiled vegetables.
Deep in the crowd, near the northern edge of the meadow, Leila smiled proudly and pointed at Ethan. “There’s my brother.” She tugged Sam’s arm and pulled him toward the trees at the edge of the clearing. “They’re going to play Sticks. Do you want to join?”
“No, thank you,” answered Sam. “I don’t know how.”
“Surely, you’re joking,” said my sister. She pulled him close to the trees and hopped onto a large boulder. “Everyone knows Sticks. It’s my favorite.”
Sam looked down at his hand before climbing onto the boulder next to her. There wasn’t room on top for three of us, so I stood at the rock’s base and leaned against it.
“I’ve never seen it,” said Sam. “How do you play?”
Leila grinned and grabbed one of his hands again, wrapping it in both of hers. “It’s easy,” she told him. “Watch. You’ll catch on quickly.”
I had never been good at the game, and her interpretation of the rules interested me, so I stood close to the adoring adolescents and listened while watching my brother in the field.
The crowd separated, exposing a large patch of short grass in front of us. Then two groups of participants, villagers of all ages, stood opposite in the open field. Ethan stood on one side while Michael, with a look of concern, stood against him. Ethan’s clan wore red bands on their arm and Michael’s wore green. Nelly Frasier held a pointed red flag on a
short pole.
Someone blew a hollowed horn and the teams ran frantically around the field while we cheered them on. I decided to watch Nelly. She chased down a man wearing green and slapped him on his shoulders. The man stopped running, handed Nelly his band, and stomped away from the field. Nelly tossed the flag to Ethan before trotting back to her own side. She spoke briefly with a teammate, who took the green band from her, and then rejoined the game.
“So, the person with the flag tries to touch someone on the other team?” asked Sam.
I knew the answer, but listened intently as my sister responded.
“That’s right,” she said. “The flag is called the Stick. The person carrying the flag is the Champion. Only the Champion may attack an opposing player.”
As she spoke, a woman holding the green flag grabbed a muscular boy near Ethan. With his head lowered, the boy handed her his red band and left the field while dozens of spectators around us cheered. Then the woman tossed her flag into the air. Ethan rushed closer and touched Michael, who was about to retrieve the flag. An even louder explosion of cheers.
“Great move!” Leila thrust her fists into the air. “There you go, Ethan.”
I cheered, too, though not as loud. My brother was a great Sticks player, as good as anyone at the game. Still, it was hard to gloat at Michael’s dejected face as he surrendered his green band to my brother.
“Once the champion is successful,” said Leila, louder than she needed to, “their victim must leave the game, and the Champion must surrender the Stick to another member of their clan. At that moment, they are vulnerable to attack.”
Michael left the field while Ethan handed his red flag to a woman. Another man snatched the green flag and reached for Ethan, but my wiry brother sprinted away to safety.
The game made more sense as the player count dwindled; it was easier to anticipate their strategy with only a handful of them left to watch. Sticks was easier than I had remembered and—as was its intention—looked like a battle.