Elizabeth Haydon - Rhapsody - Child of Blood

Gwydion’s eyes grew larger, and he gave her a silly smile. “Yes, definitely.”

She sighed. “I can’t believe it. I waited for almost a year for the right night, and it worked. You’ve finally come. You’re finally here.” A single tear formed in her eye and rolled rapidly down her face, making the intensity of her smile even brighter. There was magic in her, he decided. Maybe magic strong enough to really have brought him here over the waves of Time. She stood and offered him a hand. “Come on,” she said. “Let me show you the fairy fort.”

They walked down the face of the valley, slowly this time, toward the stream that wound through the pasturelands. As they descended the hillside Gwydion watched the unfamiliar stars move farther away, and the black sky stretch out above them, filled with endless promise.

When they reached the stream Emily stopped, then looked around in dismay. The water was moving more rapidly than she had expected, and the banks were marshy; one of her shoes sank in and stuck tight. Gwydion helped her pull it free, but when it emerged it was covered with mud. She looked helplessly over to the willow tree where she hoped to take him, and then down at the intricately laced shoes.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” she said, disappointment clotting her voice. “I don’t think I can make it, and I can’t really take my shoes off—they take hours to put on as it is. You should still go, though. The view from under the willow tree is amazing.”

“There really wouldn’t be any point in going without you,” Gwydion said. He looked around for an easier place to ford the stream, but found none. A thought occurred to him, but he didn’t know if he could bring himself to suggest it.

“Well, you could carry me,” she said, as though reading his mind. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all,” he said in relief. His voice cracked at the first word, and he hid his embarrassment by tying up the ends of his cloak to keep them from dangling in the river. When the heat in his face had subsided he put his arms out. He had never carried anyone before, and he swore to himself that if he dropped her he would find the nearest poisonous plant and put himself out of his humiliation.

Emily came to him without a hint of caution. She wrapped one arm around his neck, and then, as if guiding him, took his arm and placed it behind her knees. He lifted her with little difficulty and carried her carefully to the stream, and then across it. He kept walking once out of the water, wending his way through the soggy grass to the willow tree, where he put her down gently.

It was a magnificent one, with many trunks surrounding a main shaft wider than he could have reached his arms around three times. The tree had grown enormously tall with its ready supply of water, and the delicate leaves cast lacy moonshadows on the ground, like summer snowflakes.

Emily patted the willow lovingly. “Farmers believe that a solitary tree in the middle of pasturelands is the home of all the fairies that live in the fields,” she said, looking up at the tallest branches and smiling. “That means this tree is very magical. It’s terrible luck to lose a fairy fort to lightning or fire, and no farmer would ever cut one down.”

Gwydion thought back to his vision, the pasturelands burned and desolate. He had seen the willow then, blackened and dead, and he shuddered involuntarily at the memory. He turned back to Emily. She was walking around the tree, her hand resting on the branches above her, speaking to it softly in a language he didn’t understand.

When she came back around to him she smiled. “So, now that you’ve seen it, what would you like to do next? Do you want to go back?”

“Not yet,” he said, returning her smile. “Do you know anything about the stars?”

“Yes; why?”

“Will you teach me?”

“If you’d like.” She started to sit on the ground under the tree, but he stopped her. He loosed the drawstring of his cloak from around his neck and spread it out on the ground for her.

Her grin of approval made him shiver. “Sam?”

“Yes?”

“Would it bother you if I took off my dress?”

Gwydion felt all the blood drain from his face. A moment later, he was painfully aware of the place to which it had decided to run. Before he could speak she interrupted him, embarrassment in her voice.

“I’m sorry; I should have been more specific. I mean this part.” She touched the blue velvet overdress awkwardly. “I assure you, I am quite modestly attired beneath it. It’s just that this is my only fancy dress, and if I spoil it, it will break my mother’s heart. Would you mind?”

Many answers ran through Gwydion’s head, and the corresponding expressions all passed over his face in an instant.

“No,” he said.

Emily turned her back and walked over to the tree again. He watched her unlace the bodice of the velvet overdress and slide it over her shoulders; it was off before he had a chance to realize that his blatant stare was rude. She stepped out of it and hung it carefully over a tree branch, then turned to face him once more. She now wore a sleeveless gown of white lace. The modesty piece he had seen before was part of the bodice, and the crinoline was long and full, like the skirt of a summer dress.

She sat down on his cloak, and he took his place beside her. “What do you want to know about the stars?” she asked, looking up into the night sky. Her hair hung down over her shoulders, and it was all Gwydion could do to keep his hands off it.

“Anything. Everything. I don’t recognize any of them, so whatever you can tell me would be a help. The stars are different where I come from.” It seemed a simple, factual statement to him, but Emily’s face shone with wonder at the thought. She settled back on the ground, stretching out with her head resting against the green moss that slanted up against the base of the willow tree.

“Well, first and foremost, that’s Seren, the star that the Island is named for. Most nights in the spring and summer it is directly overhead at midnight.”

Gwydion settled down beside her. He stretched out his arm behind her, trying to avoid touching her too soon. As she had several other times that night, she read his mind and took hold of his arm, pulling it around behind her shoulders. The movement didn’t even stop the astronomy lesson she was imparting.

She continued to point out stars and constellations, telling him a little of the lore and whatever history she knew. She seemed to have an impressive background in it, some of which was navigational. Gwydion made note of that odd fact, but after a moment he was no longer watching the heavens, as she was, but had relocated his gaze to her face. It was glowing with its own celestial light, and he felt he was learning far more by watching the stars in her eyes than by looking into the sky. He rolled onto his side and bent his arm behind his head, grinning like an idiot.

After a long time Emily looked up, as if awakening, and saw the silly look on his face. She blushed in embarrassment and sat up quickly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blather on.”

“You weren’t,” he said hastily. “I was listening very carefully.” He held his arm out straight. “Tell me some more.”

She lay back down again, staring straight up at the sky. This time her face was solemn, and she said nothing for a moment. When she finally spoke her voice contained a note of sadness.

“You know, ever since I can remember I have dreamed about this place,” she said softly. “Until recently I had the same dream almost every night—I was out here in the dark, under the stars, holding out my hands to them. And in my dream the stars would fall from the sky and into my hands, and I could hold them fast; I would make a fist, and see them glimmer in between my fingers. Then I would wake up, and when I did, I always had an extraordinary feeling of happiness that would last through the morning at least.”