[read in conjunction with The Grand Whirligig]
The sky is full. Stars dot the inky surface with their pinpricks of light, and it is as if the moon itself is doing its best to rival them; the silvery orb hovers strangely over the lush land below. The cold, clear water of the river laps easily against the sandy shore, tentatively breaking the dominating silence.
Redren stands quietly at the shore, peering down at the water. Even in the moonlight, fingerlings are visible skittering about among the pebbles that line the bottom. Her reflection, too, stares back at her. //I am older,// she thinks to herself, reaching up to touch her cheek absently. Her lanky youthfulness is gone, though added height has not followed in age's wake, much to Redren's chagrin. Hair turned a dark red from hours in the sun falls about her face, framing her delicate features.
//I am not ugly like my aunt, either,// Redren thinks. //Perhaps I look like my mother.//
Such thoughts bring her back to thinking about Daffydd and Annwyl. She had thought of them all too frequently as of late. The carefully constructed sod house felt cramped with its three occupants, and not because of any lack of space. The newly-committed couple wanted to have a real family, she had deduced. //I am stopping them...they cannot continue so long as I am here.//
Besides, most girls her age should have been married and gone. The lack of any suitable neighbours had seen to her inability to attract any possible mates, and it simply wasn't possible to send her to live with a relative in a nearby city, because there were none!
//Yes, I am right. Daffydd and Annwyl will understand,// she thinks resolutely, reaching down to retrieve her old pack. The sling is comfortable and familiar upon her shoulder.
A note explaining her actions (and assuring its readers that more letters would follow) had been left upon the kitchen table, where it would be found early the following morning. Her absence would not be discovered until then, it seemed: nobody had roused at her exit, to the best of her knowledge, and even Daffydd's cloud was nowhere to be seen.
As Redren begins her first few tentative steps down the dusty path ahead, a pang of remorse hits her hard in the chest. She looks over her shoulder one last time at the pretty moonlit scene. It takes several moments before she is able to master the tears which threaten to cascade down her cheeks; but she does, eventually.
And, with her chin held as high as she dares, Redren heads off down the road before her.
*****
Annwyl wakes first, as she does every morning. She passes Daffydd's chamber door, hearing his soft snores within. She smiles, as she does every morning. It contents her to know he is still there, still with her. They have not married, for want of a priest to perform the offices. But he is still there. And always will be, she is certain.
She goes into the small kitchen and pokes the fire to life. In so doing, she disturbs her little fairy friend, who jingles and tinkles without rancor, keeping her company. She puts more fuel on the fire, until it is blazing cheerily. While it burns itself down to cooking-heat, she goes out and draws the water she will need for their first meal of the day. She lets Redren sleep. The girl has been looking a bit peeked of late. And Annwyl prefers to keep this time of the day to herself. Time enough for family when the sun comes up.
She fills the cooking pot half-way with water and hangs it over the fire. Then she scoops out enough ground wheat flour for the flat bread Daffydd likes with his morning meal. She hums as she works, old tunes. She carries the flour, and a small bucket of water, to the table to knead it into rounds. She pushes aside a slip of parchment that clutters her work surface. It flutters to the ground.
Daffydd comes in, scratching his left thigh and yawning.
Annwyl notices, as she does every morning, how like a child he looks, all dishevelled and stumbly. "Good morning, Dai."
"Mmmrffl."
She chuckles and guides him to a seat. "Here." She shoves a cup of hot, thick, dark liquid before him, putting his hand around the edge. "Get that down you. Your breakfast will be ready in a minute." She looks over her shoulder. "Redren! The dawn's breaking, girl!" she calls cheerfully.
"Mrfll..."
Annwyl bends over and kisses Daffydd on the forehead. "She's been looking a bit wan lately. I thought I'd let her sleep."
Dai merely grunts, and sips his tea.
Annwyl puts the first round of flat bed on the heated rock in the hearth, and turns it when it's ready. She sets this aside and plops another rolled-out circlet on the stone. She presses it down flat as the bubbles appear. She looks up. "Redren?"
After the fourth round of bread has finished cooking, she rises and carries them to the table. "Where _is_ that girl?"
"Mmmmrflllk."
She calls to the fairy, who has been fluttering back and forth with this and that, as she does every morning. "Go and find out what's become of Redren, will you, my sweet?"
The fairy flitters away, a musical wake following.
"Annwyl..."
Annwyl looks up sharply at the tone of Daffydd's voice. "What is it?"
He's holding something in his hand. A piece of parchment. His face is whiter than an owl's feather. "She's gone."
Annwyl freezes in mid-turn. "What? Gone? Who's gone??"
The fairy flutters in, the jingling and jangling of her agitated speech filling the air, but still unintelligable to Annwyl.
"Redren. She's left us." Daffydd looks suddenly old.
Annwyl grabs the note from his hand. The writing is fine and clear. Annwyl finds herself startled to see what is obviously the handwriting of an educated person. She realizes she has never had cause to see Redren's writing before. The note brief and tells little.
"She didn't want to burden us," Daffydd says in a strained voice. "She said it was time she moved on..."
Annwyl sits down heavily across the table from him. The fairy lands on her shoulder, and falls silent. "She must have thought she was in the way."
Daffydd's head falls forward, his face in his hands. "Why??? Why did she leave??"
Annwyl reaches across and takes one of his hands. "We'll find her, Daffydd. Find her, and bring her back."
He looks up. "No!"
Annwyl lets go of his hand in shock.
"She is a fully-grown woman, Annwyl. She's not a child any longer. If she has decided it was time to leave, we must respect that choice." He looks out at the place where a window should have been. "But why couldn't she have told us? Was she so unhappy here that she couldn't face us?"
Annwyl gets up and goes back to the hearth. She digs at the embers. Quietly, so that Daffydd can't hear, she speaks to the fairy.
"Go after her. Find her. Make certain she is all right." She hangs her head. "I cannot but believe it's my fault she's gone."
The fairy looks from Annwyl to Daffydd and, finding neither of them are paying her any heed, she flits to her corner, gathers up her paltry belongings, and flutters out the door.
Contrary to the tales written by certain misinformed scribes, not all fairies are repositories of mighty wish-fulfilling magics. Such is the case with the little blonde fairy in question. Still, she is not wholly without certain useful talents, one of which is the ability to follow after someone of whom she's grown fond through the use of signs and traces unnoticeable to a human.
That, in tandem with her wings, has her close on Redren's heels not long after the little cottage dips below the horizon. She whips around to face the girl in a blur of silver and gold, hovering before her with frantic chimes and gestures.
Redren almost crashes into the tiny fairy, so preoccupied is she in the placement of her next steps. Leaves make a thick carpet for the rock-strewn forest floor, making walking treacherous. It is the frantic tinkle of magical wings that causes her to look up, startled.
"Hello," Redren says tentatively, raising her hand so that the fairy may rest her wings. She then pulls her close, tucking a fold of her cloak around the dainty creature's shoulders; it had gotten noticebly colder since she had begun her journey.
"Are Annwyl and Daffydd with you, little one?" she queries, smiling nervously. The thought that they might follow her had never occurred to her. Daffydd would be angry, if he had decided to trek all the way out here to get to her!
The fairy shakes her head, trilling and fluting urgently up at the girl. Stamping her tiny foot prettily in frustration, she pulls Redren's index finger to her cheek and hugs it, sighing sadly.
Redren bites her lip anxiously. /They miss me?// asks a quiet voice in the back of her mind. "Oh...I...I can't go back, now!" she sighs, her suddenly-weak knees forcing her to collapse onto a fallen tree trunk. "I have to prove that I can make it without their help!"
The fairy chimes forlornly -- the sound of wind chimes in an abandoned monastery.
The cold and impending dark seems oppressive now, where before they were exciting. Redren looks sullenly at the fairy. "Well, I'm stuck out here now. I'll...find a place to work, and make something of myself. Tell them that, please?" Her green eyes are pleading as she reaches up to wipe away a few stray tears. "Tell them I miss them, okay?"
The fairy looks up at Redren, then back the way she'd come. Tiny tears like liquid diamond run down her cheeks. She looks up at Redren again, a look of determination coming over her features. She closes her eyes and grips Redren's finger more tightly... and starts to shake. No, _vibrate_ would be a better word. The tremors carry through Redren's hand and into her arm.
And then, with a sound like shattering glass, a little ghost-fairy, twin to the one still grasping Redren's arm, flits up and away back toward the home of Daffydd and Annwyl. The more solid fairy left behind releases Redren's finger and slumps limply to her palm.
"Oh! You poor thing!" Redren pulls the fairy close to her body, sheltering her from the cold, harsh wind of autumn. She reaches down with her free hand to retrieve her canteen. /Why must they go to all this trouble for me?// she thinks in frustration, dipping her finger into the canteen and offering a little droplet of water to the exhausted fairy.
"Don't die, little fairy...please don't die! Not just for coming after _me_.... Annwyl would be so sad..."
The fairy's eyes flutter open. Smiling wanly up at Redren, she gratefully sips the water from the girl's finger. Then, with a reassuring pat to the proffered digit, she curls up in Redren's palm and falls fast asleep.
Greatly relieved, Redren tucks the little fairy into the crook of her arm, where she will be safe and warm for the duration of her journey. She smiles slightly at her new companion. "I must admit, I am rather glad to have someone with me," she whispers, before setting off into the wilderness once more.
***
It is the next morning before Redren sees any signs of civilization. Luckily for her sore feet and nearly-frostbitten fingertips, that sign consists of a thin trail of smoke rising up above the treetops.
"Maybe it is a cottage!" Redren says to herself, as much to break the monotonous silence of the woods as to convince herself that it is. "They might let us stay there for the night, little fairy. Wouldn't that be nice, after all this?"
//Daffydd would have a great fire roaring in the hearth on a cold day like this...// the thought comes unbidden to her mind. She grits her teeth and shoves it away, not wishing to think about anything of the sort.
Before she is able to redirect herself toward the source of the smoke, however, a great crashing in the bushes causes her to whirl around in distress. "Who's there?" she cries, ready to flee should it be something more than she can handle.
A voice calls out from leafy boughs. "Ah, no need to panic! I'm not going to hu-- OOF!"
The speaker sprawls onto the ground, a branch twined affectionately around his ankle. A dirt brown hat with a wide brim tips from his head as he attempts to remove his face from the soil.
"...I was going to say 'I'm not going to hurt you'... but I think you may have established that..." He manages a peculiar twist of his body, allowing him to sit up. He looks up at Redren with curious, pale green eyes and a broad grin.
"Hello there."
Redren peers down at the boy, frowning slightly. She looks him up and down, as if determining exactly how much danger this new arrival might possibly pose. Discreetly, she tucks the little fairy into a fold of her tunic, where she is not readily visible, but may observe if she so chooses.
"Good day," Redren replies stiffly, after waiting for the boy to right himself. She smiles politely, now remembering her manners. "I am Redren fer--"
The words, once familiar upon her lips, now make her falter. She makes a sudden show of adjusting the strap of her pack upon her shoulder. "I am Redren. What is your name?"
The boy nods once and springs to his feet. He brushes dirt from his dingy and patched white shirt. He stands taller than Redren, she can now see, in simple clothes. Sandals dress his dirty feet, though he makes no sign of being bothered by the cold air that drifts across his toes.
"I'm Colt. It's a pleasure to meet you, Redren." He grins again, crossing his arms across his chest. "Are you on your way somewhere? Would you like to join me at my little fire? It's not much, but you're more than welcome!"
Without waiting for her, he tramps back through the leafy bushes and disappears from sight.
Redren looks, stunned, at the quivering leaves that are the only remnant of Colt's interruption. She cants her head to one side to look down at the fairy. The dainty creature seems happy enough curled amidst the heavy woolen folds of her tunic, but perhaps some proper food would be helpful to her recovery.
Still...this simply didn't feel right. What would someone be doing this far out into the woods? And dressed in light summer clothes, no less! Perhaps this was a magician. She suppresses a little shiver that has nothing to do with the cold.
On the other hand, the entire purpose of this journey was to make herself known in the world. Who knew? Perhaps this was the son of a great king who would have use for someone with her special abilities. /And Daffydd said that I should be meeting more people my own age...//
With a deep breath, Redren pushes away her better judgement, and makes her way through the bushes to follow Colt.
*****
The scene set before Redren is simple, and far from threatening - at least in the traditional sense. Colt squats before the fire, prodding it along with an already blackened stick. He whistles, and whistles poorly, at that.
Behind him sprawl the contents of a woven bag with a shoulder strap. A book, a little wooden box, a book, something that _might_ be a turnip, a book... His hat has drifted away from him, settling dangerously near the fire.
He looks over at her. "So you decided to join me, after all! Well, come on, there's more than enough ground to sit on." He tosses the stick aside and seizes the only thing in the small clearing resembling food.
"So, Redren, what are you doing out here? Or is this your land and you're here to call the dogs on me?" He grins again. A small knife is pulled from his belt, and he slices a chunk off the vegetable. "Here," he offers, holding it out to her.
Redren looks pointedly at the offered morsel for a few moments before remembering her manners. "No thank you...I just ate," she lies, before settling down near the warmth of the fire.
Colt shrugs easily and pops the slice into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully while she continues to answer his questions.
"And this isn't my land," Redren says, shaking her head. "My home is several days' walk from here. You are...trespassing, here?" She looks around nervously. "Don't you think we should leave? Or at least head to the village?"
A laugh bubbles from his throat. "I doubt I've been noticed, if anyone would admit to owning this. I've been here since night fell." He motions to the smouldering fire. "Don't worry, I won't be here much longer. I have places to see!"
To punctuate his statement, Colt drops his hat back onto his head. A few trickles of loose dirt spill through his hair. The youth doesn't appear to notice.
Redren's mistrust of the boy has not improved by a hair in their short time together. While not altering her expression, his strange apparel and lack of concern about the dangers which surround them concerns her deeply.
//The boy is mad,// she decides finally. /The boy is utterly, totally, completely daft. I must get out of here!//
"And you still haven't said where you're going..."
"Where I'm...going?" Redren echoes, startled. She rises abruptly, like a partridge frightened by a rustling in the brush. A flush rises to her cheeks. "I'm going away. It is late already...I had hoped to get to the nearest village before full dark.
"Thank you for your kindness... perhaps we shall meet again," the girl murmurs, swiftly turning on her heel. The sudden movement nearly causes her to topple over a tree stump, but she manages to catch herself just in time.
"Good evening, Colt...sir," she calls over her shoulder, before hurrying off into the woods once more.
The forest stretches out for miles before her. Even Redren, used to hiking for long distances, begins to tire. She sighs and looks down at the little fairy in the waning light. "Perhaps I should have stayed with that boy, there. At least we would have been warm for a while.”
The fairy grips her shoulders, shivers, and nods sadly.
"I don't suppose you know where a town might be, little one? Can you sense people nearby? It is getting rather cold...and my supplies have run out. I...I didn't plan this very well." Redren shakes her head sadly. "I should have asked that odd boy for directions."
She hauls herself to the lip of the pocket. Her brow furrows as she scans the trees. Then, nodding resolutely, she flings herself from the pocket.
Her "flight" begins as a fearful plummet, trailing a string of startled chiming in her glittering wake. Then she quickly rises as her wings catch the frosty air. She flits rapidly into the distance, calling musical reassurance over her shoulder.
Some distance behind Redren's flight, sandaled feet tramp along through the underbrush. Colt's toes are turning slightly blue... was it this cold when he arrived here?
Ah, but he had a fire, didn't he?
And he gave it up, didn't he?
Colt would be harder on himself for packing up and trekking after the girl, if it weren't for his prickling curiousity. After all, wherever she was going, it had to be better than a mediocre bonfire.
Besides... he hasn't had company for at least a month. He's hardly about to let personal contact slip through his fingers, now that his taste for it has been reawakened.
"I'm coming! I'm coming!" Redren cries, startled by the little fairy's enthusiasm. She hops over a fallen branch and pounds off after her through the leaf-laden forest. "Slow down! Where will we be if you catch yourself in a spider's web, huh?"
With a sigh, Colt readjusts his backpack and lengthens his stride. Girls these days.
He's sure if he knew any, they'd _all_ be in a hurry.
The acrid scent of firewood curls its way to Redren's nostrils. Quaint cottages peek through the trees ahead, and cows low somewhere in the distance.
The fairy chimes eagerly and waves Redren on, then spins about and dives into the safety of the girl's pocket.
"Well, then! I should have asked you a while ago!" Redren says, looking down at the little fairy. //She really is a lovely little thing,// she thinks. //I'm glad she decided to come along. I shall write Annwyl and Daffydd and tell them that she is safe as soon as I can find a place to stay the night.//
*****
The buildings of the little village soon surround her, and Redren looks for a likely place to spend the night. She spies a promising cottage to one side, and approaches to knock politely on the door.
"Hello?"
After a slight pause, a sound of scuffing presages the arrival of the Lady of the House. The top half of the Dutch Door rattles a bit as a wrought-iron bolt is thrown back. Then it swings inexplicably outward (owing to the inexperience of the builder), nearly clouting Redren in the face.
Surprised, Redren rears back, tripping over her own feet in the process. She lands with an unhappy *thump!*, causing dust to spin up in clouds around her. The girl struggles to her feet as quickly as possible, blushing brightly.
Behind it, framed in the now-open upper half of the doorway, stands an old woman with the wrinkled face of an apple-doll, her cheeks bright red with good health, for all her advanced age. She barely rises above what is meant to be a waist-high lower door, but she is straight as an oak. And twice as sturdy.
"Eh? Who's there? Show yourself to an old woman!"
"My name is Redren, ma'am," Redren says politely, tentatively reaching out to shake the woman's hand. "I was looking for an inn or anywhere I might be able to get lodgings for the night. Do you know where I might be able to find such a place, ma'am?"
"An _inn_, you say??" The old woman nearly doubles over in laughter, completely ignoring--or perhaps not quite seeing--Redren's overture of friendship in the form of an outstretched hand. "An _inn_? That's rich, that is!" She straightens and peers over the door, her mirth barely contained. "Dearie, there's no call for an inn in this wretched place. Folks passin' through these parts mostly do." She pauses. "Pass through, I mean." She chuckles again. "Like grease through a goose!" She doubles over in laughter again. "Grease through a goose!!"
Redren smiled nervously, wondering if the woman was giving her advice of some sort, and not just rambling like she seemed to be doing....
She gets herself under control, wiping her left eye with a corner of a well-used apron. "Now, then. If it's a place to lay your head for the night, you can kip down beside my hearth." She looks up at the clear sky. "It'll be a cold one tonight, and that's the truth." She opens the lower half of the door. "Come in, dearie...come in. Don't keep an old woman waitin' in the cold draft!"
Redren nodded politely and moved inside the door, smiling shyly at the older woman. "Sorry, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am," she mumbled, looking down to scrounge around in her pockets. Sure enough, a trio of copper coins are soon found, and she offers them to the woman. "For your trouble? It's coming to winter...I know it's hard to spare anything when it's so close to the cold season. It's the least I can do, ma'am."
The old woman looks down at the proffered coins. "Ah! Away with your wee bits of copper! I want no payment for the hospitality of my house!" She shoos Redren inside. "Now, make yourself a bed by the fire, there. You'll find straw in the barn, and coverlets in that cupboard over there." She points.
"There's food in the pot on the hook, waiting on my man to come in from the fields, but you can have whatever you need." She looks Redren up and down. "You look as if you could use a good meal under your girdle!" She clucks with annoyance. "Haven't your people been lookin' after you?"
Redren stops cold, and moans inside. She hides her expression from the old woman by pretending to carefully place her pack in the corner near the hearth.
"My father took very good care of me, ma'am," she replies quietly, carefully schooling her expression before turning back to face the woman. "He is a very fine bard, and was very kind to me." The girl smiles to take away the solemnity of her words. "But that's in the past. I thank you for your kindness! May I ask your name, please, ma'am?"
"'Bard', is it?" she scoffs. "Oh, bless you, child...bards are ha'pence to the dozen 'round here! Never met a one as had any sense!"
She busies herself around the kitchen, cleaning here, straightening there. "Tell you a story as quick as look at you." The remnants of flan-making are quickly swept away.
"Tell 'em you've broke yer arm, they'll sing you a song about some poor rotter threw himself in the river for love of a heedless girl!" She sweeps up the floor. "No. I've no use for bards. Lazy lummocks, the lot of 'em. Witless time-wasters. Show me a bard, and I'll show you a bladder full o' hot air!"
//D-daffydd?!// Redren opens her mouth to protest the accusations, the busy woman cuts her off. She settles for simply standing quietly, and not arguing. At least the old woman was kind enough to offer her a bed. //It's not her fault that she's never met a proper bard like Daffydd....//
She sets tableware out, ready for herself, Redren and another, presumably her "man." "Go and wash yerself at the well, girl. Make yerself presentable. He may have drug you around the world and starved ye till ye've no meat on yer bones, but at least ye can be clean!"
She stops, apparently as an afterthought. "And folks hereabouts call me Granddam Moll."
"Yes, Granddam Moll," Redren says, smiling a bit as the subject of conversation turns away from the berating of bards. She slips outside for several moments to wash in the icy water, but wastes no time outside in the increasing cold.
"Are you sure that your spouse will not mind the company, Granddam Moll?" she asks, sitting lightly upon the chair offered to her. Redren takes her napkin, unfolds it, and places it politely upon her lap. "You said that you don't receive many visitors...he will not be upset that one finally decided not to simply pass through?"
Moll flutters about the room--oddly agile for one of her age and girth--setting the supper to rights. "Upset?" she repeats, never pausing in her efficient routine. "It'd take a lot more'n that to upset MY man!"
She pulls fresh, hot bread from the bread oven. "'Sides...I said they don't mostly -stay- here. I didn't say we didn't -get- visitors." She yanks the peel out from under three loaves with a practiced grace. "All the more reason we enjoy 'em when we get 'em."
She stops, seeming to cock her ear to some unheard sound. "'Course, when the wind turns cold, like it is this evening, it means we'll soon have visitors, right enough." She smiles, and winks at Redren. "Visitors with goods to trade. Visitors as likes our victuals, and that's a fact!" She begins to hum as she returns to her work. "Aye...and what a trade my man will make -this- year! What with his greens and my preserves..."
She thumps a loaf and, satisfied with the hollow tone, turns to take the flan from the cooling rack. "Y'ever have truck with a dwarf, child?"
"A dwarf? Once, yes, ma'am. My father and I visited a Christmas Party, once, and there were dwarves there." She smiles at the memory of the fireworks they had set off, high above the forest canopy. There was someone else there, however...a girl who helped the dwarves move their boxes. //She left when I took her to meet Rexalc,// she remembers sadly. //She was afraid of me.//
"They showed us all their fireworks," she continues, with slightly less enthusiasm. "The dwarves I met were very nice, indeed. Why do you ask?"
"Nice? Dwarves?" Moll starts to chuckle. "Nice, ya say..." She shakes her head.
Without warning, the fairy suddenly flits out of Redren's pocket. She hovers just in front of Redren, tilting her head and chiming curiously to the old woman as if echoing the girl's question.
Moll rears back in surprise, nearly over-turning herself. "Mercy me!!"
Then her cheeks redden prettily as she remembers her manners. She performs a little midair curtsey and smiles uncomfortably, perhaps hoping that this isn't the sort of human who believes all of those nasty stories about fairies.
Moll starts to laugh, a deep, rolling sound. "And where have -you- been all this while, little miss?" She looks at Redren. "You never told me we have another mouth to feed!"
She chuckles, and bends over to open a trap door in the floor at the far end of the kitchen. She reaches in and extracts a small plate with something mounded in the center, covered with a cloth. She groans a little as she straightens.
"Aye, well...they can be nice, when it suits 'em, I suppose." She pulls back the cloth to reveal a large lump of white butter which had been put underground to keep it cool from the fire. She places it on the table and looks about. She nods, obviously satisfied.
"Well, you'll be seein' a passle of 'em soon, if ya stay more'n a day or two," she says, sitting down in one of two chairs at the table. "They've a taste for my man's vegetables and fruits. Things what don't grow so good if ya don't have the sun ta warm 'em up."
She turns toward the kitchen door. "And there he is now. Here, child." She hands Redren a towel. "Take this out to him, will you? Tell him your story, and be nice. Then bring him in to supper." She gets up creekily and pulls a spare chair up to the table. "And you, missy..." She addresses the fairy. "You come warm yourself by the fire."
The fairy's grateful smile adds its warmth with the fire's. But then she glances from the waiting hearth to the neatly set table to Granddam Moll, and the smile falters. Her brow furrows, she rubs her chin... and brightens!
Holding up her index finger in a plea for patience, she flits to a window. She cracks the shutters and vanishes outside in a trail of glitter.
Moll watches her go with curiosity.
She returns after what seems a remarkably short time, considering the bundle of hardy autumn blooms of fiery yellow and orange she brings. She offers them shyly to Moll.
Moll breaks into a great, gut-shuddering guffaw. "Mercy, me, if you aren't the cutest little thing I ever did see!!" She reaches forward gingerly and takes the proffered bouquet. "Wherever did you find such bounty?"
She chuckles, and then hums to herself as she finds a brightly painted glazed crock to put them in. She steps back to admire them, nods her head and carries them to the table. "Makes a right fine statement, it does! Thank you!"
**
Redren reluctantly leaves the fairy with Granddam Moll, and takes the offered towel. //Such a nice lady must have a kind husband, as well...// she mused, heading outside into the cool twilight. A lone figure stands close to the nearby well.
Old Ivan--for so he is known to all the villagers--bends over the well lathering his hands, neck, face and upper body from the water in a bucket. He is naked to the waist, his tunic having been flung over the nearby fence. His long hair suggests it might once have been red. Redren can see the top of his head is bare of even fuzz. His beard is snowy white, stained around his mouth. He straightens, a great bear of a man with hair covering his torso from bellybutton to shoulders, and on down his huge arms. He rubs the water from his eyes, and catches sight of Redren.
The girl approaches, offering her towel.
"Eh? Who are you??" Old Ivan demands in a booming voice that could easily carry from one field to the next.
"Sir? My name is Redren, sir. Granddam Moll said that you'd want to wash before dinner...." she lapses into an uncertain silence, unsure of what else to say. The towel is held out before her: an offer of, perhaps, friendship.
He looks her up and down. "Another one o' Moll's strays, are ye?" he concludes. He lumbers forward and takes the towel. And only then does Redren see that he has one peg-leg. It doesn't seem to slow him down much, but it does give him a rather interesting, rolling gait.
He dries himself off and reaches for his tunic. "Well, girl. We'd best git inside. Moll doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Redren retrieves the towel once Ivan has finished with it, and curtseys respectfully. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." The pair of them seem almost ludicrous in their differences in size: great Old Ivan, rivaling a full-grown oak tree in his mass, and tiny, bony Redren, the top of whose head barely reaches his shoulder.
"Granddam Moll says that you grow some fine vegetables and fruits, sir," Redren says, simply for want of something to interrupt the silence. She holds open the door for him once they reach the cottage. "And that the dwarves will come to trade with you when they do their rounds. Do you think they'll come this year?"
"Dunno," Old Ivan replies. "Hope so."
"Ah, there you are," Moll cries, a slight edge of what might be taken as censure, were she not grinning from ear to ear. "I'd given up on ye! Come, come...sit yourselves down, now. Your supper's gettin' cold!" So saying, she scurries around to pop everything onto the table, including freshly sliced bread still steaming from the oven.
Old Ivan winks at Redren. "She's a driver, is our Moll." Any other conversation is drowned out by bread, thick, savory stew and freshly steamed vegetables.
And so progresses the evening.
*****
The last streaks of mauve fade slowly from the buttermilk sky, to be overcome by dusk, and then darkness. Annwyl sits beside the fire, poking it occasionally for want of anything better to do. A chill possesses the little cottage. But it is not the fault of the dying fire.
Wattle and daub have long since replaced the sod walls, and Daffydd was well on his way to surrounding even these with logs from the wood, mud in the chinks so hard the rain could not begin to penetrate. The walls had risen as far as Annwyl's chin by the sweat of Daffydd's brow.
But that was before.
Before Redren left them.
Now, the cottage is possessed by a chill that no amount of stoking of the hearth can push away. It is a chill of the heart. And it has laid both Annwyl and Daffydd low.
Every day since Redren's departure, Daffydd has risen early and gone off to the wood, never returning till long after dark. Annwyl cannot guess what he finds there to fill his time, but it must be better than the emptiness than weighs so heavy on her heart. Empty not only of the girl who had become her companion, but of the man she loves. Even her little fairy friend has failed to return. And this can only mean the worst.
She and Dai never speak anymore. She, respecting his need to be alone, stays a-bed until she hears him leave, and retreats to her room the instant she knows he is returning. But oh, how lonely the days are. How empty. And the nights are worse. Redren's abrupt departure, without a shred of warning, seems to have ripped the heart out of the house.
Annwyl knows that Dai blames her for Redren's feeling like an outsider. But Annwyl knows it was really Dai's duty to show Redren she was his daughter, and give her "place" inside their "family." And Annwyl also knows that Dai knows this...and it eats at him. True to his nature, Dai is ashamed to show his face to Annwyl.
//If only we could talk...// She sighs, stirring the fire that has gone cold. //If only he would talk to me.//
It is as if Redren had been the buffer between them. Now that she is gone, they seem not to know how to talk. The silences are awkward on those rare occasions when they meet, coming or going. Neither wants to speak for fear of opening old wounds. Neither knows what to say. Neither knows where to begin.
Redren had always known. She had always started some simple, ordinary conversation about nothing in particular. Something to get them going. She seemed to have a genius for knowing when to speak and when to remain still and let things work themselves out.
Now, there was only silence.
Annwyl looks up, hearing the call of roosting birds disturbed by Dai's passing, knowing that he is coming through the wood. She puts away her poker and moves off to her private chamber, giving him the kitchen.
Relinquishing the chill silence to the person who could fill it with warmth and music, even sad music that would save them.
Knowing that he will not.
*****
Daffydd moves along the trail in the dark. He needs no light to find his way here. For this is The Road Home.
Or was.
Now, as he moves through the thinning trees at the edge of the wood, he knows that what he will more likely find is a cold, empty house.
As he clears the wood, he looks hopefully across the short sweep of meadow toward the little cottage he had brought into being. No curl of friendly smoke rises up from the chimney he fashioned out of the kiln-fired bricks Annwyl and Redren had tended with such care. No light shines in the windows that run along the side of the house facing the river. The windows he had made so that Annwyl would always have a lovely view as she went about her domestic chores. Windows for which he had made shutters to fit so tightly against an evening chill until he could find a way to get glass for them.
For Annwyl.
He had found a small fruit tree, carefully dug it loose from the earth and brought it to stand beside the door so that Annwyl would have the sweet fruit, and the perfumed flowers, and the golden turning leaves. It had thrived at first. But now it was dying.
It, too, was dying.
He stood at the edge of the wood and looked at all he had done to make a home for the woman he loved. The wildflowers on the side of the hill behind the house. The rope swing in the branches of the willow that hung over the river at the bend. The house, itself, where he had replaced sod walls with wattle and daub, and now with stout logs. All for Annwyl. All to convince her his wandering days were past. Every act an expression of his undying love for her.
Why couldn't she see?
What more could he have done?
What more could -any- man have done?
He makes his way to the house as he had every night since Redren left. His feet seem to drag in the dust, heavy and reluctant, like a child coming home to a certain beating. He pushes open the door. As he expected, the main room is empty. He has his nightly moment of panic, wondering if this time she has left him. But he sees her cloak hanging beside the door. He hangs up his own, pushing back the whisper that she could have left as Calon-Trist. A dragon has no need of a cloak.
He prods the fire a bit, trying to find an ember. It is a ritual bordering on obsession. If he can find just one ember, then the fire has not died out...yet.
//Please...one ember...just one spark of warmth...//
Back in the farthest corner, he finds one. Small, but there. Carefully, lovingly, he leans forward and blows across it, adding straw, until it kindles. He tosses on a few bits of kindling...then finally more until the flames can take a log. Just one. He will not sit up too late tonight. He has done for far too many nights lately. But it is oh, so hard to find sleep.
He sits back, warming himself from the fire, and glances over his shoulder. //She -is- still here...surely she's still here...//
He sits and stares at the fire, watching smoke swirl like ascending spirits up the flue. He gets up and finds a bit of bread and some cheese. He skewers the yellow-white mass and holds it to the flames until it begins to melt. Lost in thought, he doesn't notice when it becomes so soft it begins to sag off the skewer.
"Damn and blast!" he swears, lurching forward to catch the cheese with his crust of bread. In so doing, he butts his head into the wrought iron cooking hook, opening the skin. The cheese plops to the hearthstone. Holding his head with one hand, he scoops up the cheese with the other. Only to sear his fingers as the bubbling mass congeals around them. A string of celtic oaths ensues, and he stands up quickly.
Clanging into the pots hanging before the fire, and knocking several of them to the hearthstone with a horrendous clatter.
"Daffydd?? Are you all right?"
Before he can turn, she is beside him, a towel cold with water in one hand applied to his head, the other hand clamped tight around his wrist as she drags him to the bucket of water still cold from the stream and douses his hand in it. She pries the sticky mass of cheese from this fingers, agitating the water by swirling his hand in it.
"Oh, you poor thing! It must hurt terribly! Come here and let me look at you..."
Whatever else she says to him is lost on him. All he can do it look into her emerald eyes, the golden sunbursts within glinting at him. He feels the soft, warm touch of her hand and nothing else. No pain. No burning. Just the human touch of her delicate hands as she flutters and fusses over him. He moves unprotesting to the stool by the hearth again as she peers intently into his face, daubing at his forehead.
"Poor, poor boy..." she croons.
He can smell her scent, earthy, spicy warmth. Her long, dark hair brushes his wrist as she bends to examine his hand. She's undone it for sleep, brushing it until it glints in the firelight. It cascades in rivelets down her back and washes over her shoulder, so white and smooth where the linen shift as slipped to expose it.
Impulsively, Daffydd leans over and kisses her shoulder, eyes closed, breathing her in. "Annwyl...."
Annwyl pulls back from his touch, and he closes his eyes in despair. //Annwyl...//
But in the next moment, her light fingers slip around his jaw to cup his face as she pulls him to her. He opens his eyes, and sees the hunger in hers. Hunger...hope...desperation...need...wanting...desire...
His lips cover hers in an instant, unmindful of pain, blood or awkwardness. He pulls her into his embrace, rising to lift her from the hard-packed dirt floor. Within moments, they are in his chamber, then his bed. His hands explore her, his tongue tastes her, his body claims her...and she responds with equal fire, unreservedly, unrestrained, unashamed.
***************************************
Deep in the wood, deep in the darkness of the cloudless, moonless night, in the darkest depths of the black heart of the forest, a rumbling begins. The sort of rumbling that would make any god-fearing creature run for cover. The sort of rumbling that hushes the wind and silences even the singing of the brook. A horrible, terrifying, primal growl, as if the earth, itself, were angry.
But it is not the earth. It is not anything so benign.
The rumble becomes a thrumming...which becomes a low, skin-prickling laugh. A laugh that bodes only ill.
"At last..." come the words through the evil glee. "At last you have fallen, Dai Bach**...you have fallen as far as you can fall on your own...."
The laugh becomes a cackle, the mirth of some insane thing.
"When you ran from battle, you betrayed your comrades.
"When you killed an unarmed opponent begging for mercy, you betrayed yourself.
"When you took a woman who is not yours in the sight of the Church, you betrayed your god!"
Another cackle, breaking through the trees like an escaped madman.
"You are mine now, Dai Bach. Mine to toy with. You have lost your friends, your honor and your patron. You have no one and nothing left to defend you! You have fallen as far as you can fall on your own.
"Now, I shall take you the rest of the way..."
***
Colt arrives amidst the small buildings of the village. His half-bare feet bear a fresh layer of dust and dirt, while sallow bruises along his jaw hint at his reasons for a late arrival.
He'd done nothing more than trip unceremoniously over an innocent branch. At least, he'd thought it was a branch when he tried to kick it aside. When the branch had remained firmly planted and invited him to join it, he'd committed to memory the exact description of those creeping tree roots.
Having finally arrived in the only place he assumed Redren could have been headed...
...where the devil is she?
Pushing his hands into his pockets, Colt casts a look around for any signs of life outside the houses.
//Preferably a sign of life with a good stiff drink,// he muses, as the bruises nearly reverberate with pain.
*****
The little ghost-fairy flows through the shutters like blowing dust. She gazes about languidly, espying the two lovers still abed.
Her wings beat slowly as she hovers over them -- far too slowly to keep a true fairy aloft. The morning sunbeams leaking through the shuttered windows pass through her translucent body, lending it a weak, etheric glow.
When she speaks to wake them and tell her tale, it is with the sound of distant wind chimes on a rainy evening. A great weariness tugs at her sprightly mien.
Her story finished, she smiles lovingly down at the two of them. She circles lazily down to Annwyl's head, kisses her cheek like a puff of drifting cotton...
...and vanishes in a little cloud of dim sparkles. They float sadly down onto Annwyl's pillow where they, too, fade away.
***
Soon enough, night closes in upon the little cottage, effectively immuring its occupants inside until morning. The fireplace is still warm, as the coals feebly try to keep themselves glowing a healthy orange. Redren is curled up beside it, a pad of paper in one hand, and a pencil in the other. The fairy sits atop her shoulder, reading as she writes in a careful, legible hand.
***
Dearest Daffydd and Annwyl--
Travelling has gone well so far! The fairy has been just wonderful to have around: she found a cottage in the woods, and the nice lady who owned it let me stay the night. We are both warm and well, and hope to find a village in the next few days, and I shall find myself a job as soon as I can.
I met a boy on the path here. He looked strange: it is cold where I am, and yet he wore summer clothing of a kind I have rarely seen! I left him after warming by his fire for a moment, but I wonder if I shall meet other such people while I am travelling? It is exciting! I never know who I will meet next!
I miss you both terribly, and promise, I will come to visit as soon as I can....
***
At this, Redren pauses, looking down at the note so far. She frowns and bites her lower lip nervously. There was no reason they would _not_ want her to visit...was there? Sighing, the girl continues her letter.
***
...I will come to visit as soon as I can. Has Daffydd finished the walls of the cottage yet? I remember the logs were higher than I was tall, and I thought they would be finished before winter. The Cloud fares well, too? If I see Rexalc on my travels, I promise I shall tell him to go visit you both, and to check up on it.
Dysis shall get this message to you as fast as her wings can carry her, she promises me. I love you both dearly, and...I apologize for leaving so abruptly. Please believe me when I say that neither of you forced me to this. It is my choice.
I shall write again when I come to the next town.
With love,
Redren
***
Redren rolls the message up and ties it tightly with a piece of string. At her side, hidden amongst the shadows, sits a tiny dragonet. She reaches down to pet the dragon affectionately. "You missed me, didn't you? Thank you for returning...I know you were not fond of living inside with Dai and Annwyl."
The winged lizard chitters softly, careful not to awaken the others in the cottage. It takes the message in its paws daintily, looking at it from all angles before lifting off the ground in a whir of golden wings. Then, on its tail, the tiny dragon zips up the chimney and into the night, its destination clear.
***
The rest of the night is spent sleeping, allowing Redren a chance to regain the strength she had lost during her trek. She dreams fitfully, twitching in her sleep as if trying to escape some invisible torment. Only subconscious discipline keeps her from crying out.
The sun's rays are hardly touching the little village when the girl awakens. It takes several moments before she is able to extricate herself from the mess of blankets, but eventually, Redren is sitting upright beside the fire. It is cold.
Redren leans over to blow on the ashes, revealing a small ember, glowing dully. She feeds a few strips of bark to it, eventually encouraging a few flames, and, eventually, a small but cheerily burning fire. There was no point wasting magic on what could be done with a little patience.
//That's what Daffydd would say,// she thinks, rolling up her bedroll into a neat package.
When Moll and Ivan awaken a little later, breakfast has been prepared. The pot of oats which had been stewing overnight in the back of the hearth had turned into a savoury bit of porridge, and has been set out accordingly. A fresh bunch of flowers, courtesy of the fairy, make a sweet-smelling addition to the table.
For her part, Redren is industriously sweeping out the far corner of the cottage. Her clothing today shows the sign of much wear. She nods solemnly as they come in.
"I thought you would like not to make the morning meal, Moll, ma'am," Redren says quietly, setting the broom aside for the moment. She looks over at Ivan. "And I can help you in the fields today. In payment for keeping me last night. I'm good at it."
***
The day is sunny, luckily, and the ground is dry enough to make harvesting the large crop relatively easy. It is just as she had hoped it would be. Redren doesn't even mind the heavy work: even as the sun begins to wane in the western sky, she forces herself to at least finish this row of potatoes before heading in for the night with Ivan.
//Perhaps they will let me stay until Ivan finishes harvesting,// she thinks, bending down to pluck another plant from the earth. //Moll certainly seems like a nice person, and Ivan is happy so long as the work gets done. Yes...I think I shall ask tonight when we get back....//
Her thoughts are cut short by a piercing whistle and a distinct clanking and rumbling. Redren stands. The sound is coming from the village, and yet she didn't remember seeing any device there which could possibly make such a racket.
"What is that noise, Ivan?" she asks, curious.
Ivan slowly straightens, leaning on his potato fork. He looks off into the distance, considering. "Weeeeeell..." he drawls slowly. "If I was ta guess..." He considers a bit longer. "I'd say..." Another pause while he makes up his mind for certain. "...them's the dwarves."
"The dwarves? This soon?" Redren cries, almost dropping her basket in her surprise. The irrational thought that perhaps Daffydd had sent the dwarves after her flashes through her mind, but is quickly discarded. He would have no way to contact them, would he?
After waiting for a dismissal from Ivan, Redren grabs a hold of her basket and sprints back toward the cottage. When she arrives at the door, she can only gawk at the contraptions the dwarves have brought this time.
"Good heavens...they just keep getting stranger," she mumbles to herself, setting down the potatoes just outside the doorway where they would not be misplaced.
"I wonder if Rodney is with them," she muses, while waiting for the passengers to disembark. Her present condition--dirt-streaked and sunburned--keeps her from welcoming the dwarves herself. Instead, she simply watches.
[Continues in The Grand Whirligig]
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