Once upon a ren faire, p.1
Once Upon a Ren Faire, page 1
Once Upon a
Ren Faire
Willow Green,
Book 1
A C Castillo
Copyright © 2022 Angela Castillo
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9798361843442
To Katrina.
Thanks for being my friend.
.
1
Green Tresses
The late spring Texas sun beamed overhead, and I studied my silver and green Celtic cloak, spread out over the trunk of Blaire’s car. Probably be a scorcher. I ran a finger along the elaborate embroidery, shrugged and put it on. It’s too pretty to leave behind.
“Hurry up, Keltia!” Marianne called.
I rushed past the costume tents and the sellers who had stalls outside the faire’s fences. Crowds of people dressed as elves, centaurs, faeries, and countless other fantasy creatures swarmed past.
A little boy jumped in front of me, waving a wooden sword and almost catching my shoulder with it.
“Sorry!” he shouted after me.
My three friends had almost reached the ren faire entrance by the time I caught up with them. The wrought iron gates were fashioned with serpents and mythical creatures twisted together to form the massive panels. The palatial creations seemed slightly out of place in the rough-hewn log walls, but it was all part of the faire.
The ticket taker glanced at our season’s passes and waved us through. “Welcome to thee one and all.”
We stepped into the faire. Excitement and color swirled around us like a mixed bag of ribbons. The biting odor of kerosene filled the air as a jester strolled by, juggling flaming batons. A minstrel strummed a mandolin beneath the shade of a giant cypress.
The streets broiled with people of all ages. My friends and I always tried to catch the final day of the faire’s season. The energy surrounding us teemed with the joy always found at these events, with an added tang of bittersweetness, like the last moments before you fall asleep on Christmas night.
Blaire, the fearless leader of my ‘ren fair friend’ group, as we called ourselves, stepped in front of me.
“Okay,” she said, twisting her straight blond hair into a ponytail as she talked. “Where do we want to go first?” And please don’t say somewhere to eat.” She glared at her fifteen-year-old sister, Sasha.
Sasha sniffed. “I wasn’t going to say that. But I wouldn’t mind finding the sweet bun wagon.”
“I’ll be heading to Chadwick’s,” I said.
“Not the dagger again.” Blaire rolled her eyes.
“My costume won’t be complete without it,” I replied. “And my parents gave me my birthday money early.”
“I forgot your birthday is in three days,” said Marianne. “You’ll finally be eighteen like Blaire and I.”
“We’re going to par-tay!” Blaire did a little dance. “We should all go get mani-pedis and hit the clubs in Austin.”
“I don’t think so,” I mumbled. Mani-pedis had never been my thing, and I wouldn’t be caught dead in a loud, crowded club.
“Shall we focus on today, ladies?” Marianne held out a paper program. “How about the joust? It starts in five minutes.”
“Good idea,” said Blaire. She moved forward, the train of her princess dress swishing behind her. “I can’t wait to see that hot guy again. You know, the one who won all the matches last month?”
The amount of time I’d spent talking about daggers paled in comparison to how much Blaire gushed about guys, especially since she dumped her last boyfriend. But I did enjoy the joust, so I stomped after the group. I’ll get my dagger afterwards.
The jouster, Sir Emerson, had been at this faire all year. Blaire had tried to jostle her way behind the scenes to talk to him more than once, but he was always surrounded by possies of ‘wenches’ and ‘maidens’ as Sasha called the barmaids and costumed workers.
Marianne chose a bench on the edge of the jousting arena, and I sat next to her.
“This seat is the worst,” Blaire huffed from the other end. “The sun is right in my face, and I can hardly see.”
“We got here late,” Sasha said. “And this is the last day. What did you expect?”
“I’ll switch with you, Blaire,” I offered, though that meant a further roasting in my cloak.
“Fine.” Blaire rose and we swiftly changed places.
Three heralds with long trumpets stepped out into the middle of the ring. An ear-splitting fanfare filled the air, mercifully drowning out whatever further whining Blaire meant to do.
The announcer, a short, balding man in ballooning pantaloons, strode into the ring. “We welcome you today, to the greatest show in all the land.” He continued with the same spiel he gave every time we came. The crowd clapped and laughed in all the right places.
Though I’d been here dozens of times, the shows never lost their appeal. Maybe it was my unusual name that caused me to love all things magical and medieval. Perhaps it was because my mother had brought me to this ren faire, which was only a few miles from our little Texas town, for years. As a professor of medieval history, she’d point out unusual costumes and buildings, sharing with me the history of every magical thing.
“Here come the jousters!” Blaire squealed, pulling me from my musings.
The six knights paraded down the fairway on their spectacular horses. Each rider’s costume matched their steed’s saddle blankets, orange and white, green, and blue . . .
“Sir Emerson!” Blaire jumped up, clapping her hands.
Some people swiveled to smile at her, but most were screaming and clapping as well.
No wonder the knight was a crowd favorite. He hadn’t donned his helmet yet, and his wavy light brown hair was tied back into a short ponytail. A confident smile curled beneath his neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. His colors were black and red, matching his gorgeous black stallion’s saddle blanket.
The fanfare continued, and the cheers thundered throughout the arena.
“Now, our fine, jousting friends,” the announcer said. “Would you prithee be so good as to stand at your stations?”
Each jouster obediently dismounted and led their horses to their designated areas.
I sighed and fiddled with the ribbon at the end of my braid. I’d rather watch the jousting itself than these silly little add-ins. But the crowd always ate them up.
“Now, would each knight please choose a lady?” the announcer said.
The men stepped through the fence and out into the stands in six different directions. They shaded their eyes and scanned the crowds with roguish smiles.
The women went wild. “Pick me! Pick me!” echoed throughout the stadium, from eight-year-old faerie maidens to matriarchs with white curls piled high on their heads.
Sasha and Blaire yelled louder, and even Marianne waved both her hands. Our entire bench threatened to turn over. I gripped the edge of my seat and planted my feet on the ground.
Emerson picked our section, then turned down our row. I’d never admit it to Blaire, but he was handsome. Prickles moved up and down my arms. The knights had never come this close to us, no matter where we’d sat.
“Oh my gosh!” Blaire grabbed Sasha’s arm. “He’s coming our way!” She leapt to her feet. “Pick me, pick me!”
Emerson’s eyes lit on Blaire, and he gave her a smile. But he passed her by and headed in my direction.
I became very still, like the time a deer had approached me in the forest. The knight’s leather armor really was something, hand-tooled and stitched. I’d never seen anything like it, not even in the best booths.
“Kindly, ma’am, could I beg you for a favor?” he asked in a soft voice. “T’will bring me luck in the arena.” His copper eyes fixed on my red hair ribbon. “Perhaps your ribbon? Those bonny emerald tresses would look lovely unbound.”
My cheeks warmed. I’d dealt with unwanted attention from my green hair for most of my life, but it still embarrassed me sometimes, especially when called out in a crowd like this.
“Sure.” I untied the ribbon and handed it to him. When our fingers brushed, my skin tingled. He’s a man like any other. Probably has a new girlfriend for every fair. Or ten.
“I thank thee kindly, milady.” His intense gaze held me captive. ”I will win for you.”
“Sounds good.” I shrugged to break my momentary lapse of sanity. How very Knight’s Tale of him. Probably said that to every girl at each ren faire. But despite everything, a fuzzy sensation washed over me. Wow. He was charming.
Emerson strode back to his horse, women reaching out to touch him as he walked by.
“That’s it, I’m dying my hair green!” Blaire plopped down on the bench and pouted.
It’s not that great. I pushed back my now unraveling braid. Few people knew my hair color was natural. My mother had, bless her heart, covered my little baby head with hats and hoods. For a while she’d resorted to wigs and color treatments until I’d finally put my foot down. By then, unusual hair colors were common. People constantly asked me where I’d had mine done, and when I smiled and said “at home,” no one believed me. I’d never met another soul with natural green hair. Well, except for one person. And he was only in my dreams.
The knights lined up. Up first was Herbert; in brown and gold, against Archibald; in yellow and orange.
I clapped and cheered along with the rest of the crowd. After all, it was my renfest duty.
When Emerson reached the post, he winked at me and pointed to the fluttering red ribbon, tied on his jousting po
“Oh, I’m so jealous, I’m never speaking to you again.” Blaire folded her arms.
“Good grief, it’s not like Keltia did anything special to be picked,” said Marianne.
Sasha wiped her forehead with the flapping sleeve of her faerie costume. “Can we get something to eat now? I’m hot.”
I sighed. Blaire and Sasha were the daughters of my mom’s friend, and we’d been pushed together since kindergarten. Years ago, when Marianne and I had decided to go to our first renfest, Sasha and Blaire begged to tag along. Now they expected to be invited whenever we went.
Next time, I’m going without the drama sisters.
A roar rose from the crowd as Emerson unseated his opponent. He trotted his horse around the ring, lance held high.
Emerson trounced each opponent soundly, then went on to win a game that involved knocking watermelons from pedestals.
The knights lined up again and bowed. Emerson locked eyes with me once more, mouthing a ‘thank you.’
Blaire shot me a dirty look.
The crowd began to exit the sidelines
Blaire gathered her skirts and slid down the bench to me. “Don’t forget to get your favor back from him,” she said, pointing to the swarm of women around the jousters. “We actually have a chance to talk to Emerson again.”
“He can keep the ribbon, I have others,” I said.
Blaire clutched at my arm. “You can’t be serious! I guess you don’t care, but I’ve always wanted to meet him. How can you do that to me?”
“You can fetch it for me, if you like.” I stood and smoothed down my tunic. “I’m off to buy my dagger. I’ll meet you at the baker’s stand.”
“Come on, Sasha.” Blaire headed down to the fence where the knights were signing autographs and talking to the crowd.
Sasha followed, protesting about sweet buns the whole way.
“Keltia, do you want me to go with you?” asked Marianne. She bit her lip, and her eyes darted to the fence.
“No, you go meet the hot knight.” I waved her away and headed for the path that led to the rows of shops in the center of the fair.
The aroma of freshly roasted corn and turkey legs filled the air. My stomach rumbled, but I shook my head. “First my dagger, then the feast.” I giggled. Something about the ren faire always made me feel like a different person. But I’d be disappointed if it didn’t.
Even Mom, the stalwart college professor, dressed in full costume and talked ‘medieval style’ as she called it, when she came with us.
That’s it. Next time I’ll ask Mom to come instead. I’ll say it’s a special date and then I’ll have a break from Blaire and Sasha.
“Girl with mermaid tresses!” a shopkeeper called out. “Does the Mermaid need a pretty trinket?”
“This mermaid is off to the blacksmith shop,” I shot back.
“The mermaid wants teeth!” a second shopkeeper yelled.
“Exactly.” As I continued to a wooden building with a bright red roof at the end of the row, the silly banter sang out around me. All part of the ren faire fun.
As I passed the stalls of merchandise, I watched for details; an embroidered pattern on a dress; more detailed carving on a staff. Most items at renfests were cheaply made for impulsive buys during the day; but a few of the shop owners were master craftsmen who meticulously researched everything they created.
Over the last few years, I’d saved babysitting money, and now tips from working at a coffee shop, to put together the most researched and authentic costume I could afford. My tunic, leggings, cloak, belt, and greaves had been purchased at various fairs, all hand-made and ridiculously expensive. The only thing I wore that hadn’t been bought at the fair was my cloak clasp, a brass brooch with entwined tree branches.
I reached the store and stepped inside, taking a deep, shivery breath. Now to choose my dagger. The air in the shop was heavier than outdoors, and musty. Rows of swords lined the wall, and showcases of smaller weapons filled the center of the room.
Leaning against the counter, I studied the gleaming row of daggers and short swords. I’d had my eye on three. A blade sporting a dragon hilt with ruby eyes, a cudgel with amethyst stones, and a smaller dirk with a single opal on the sheath.
Chadwick, the blacksmith, came in from the back area where he had his bellows set up for crowd demonstrations. His coveralls hung loosely on his tall, thin frame, and his bright blond hair was cropped short, showing off costume elven ears.
“Keltia, how lovely to see you! By the smile on your face I’m guessing today is the day.”
“Yep, Chadwick, finally have the money.” I pulled out the leather pouch I kept tied at my waist.
Challah, his wife, came to stand next to me. “We sold that dragon blade yesterday,” she said softly. Bright red braids slipped over her shoulders as she reached for a box on a shelf. “But I thought you might be interested in this new one Chadwick finished last week. For some reason, it seemed to say your name.”
She opened the top of the box.
I peered inside. “Oooh.”
The dagger was the perfect length, about eight inches long, with a sheath made of burnished copper. Ornate leaves and vines ran up the hilt. Flowers dotted the vines, and an emerald gleamed in the center of each blossom.
The hilt had been shaped into a woman’s face with long, curling hair. Though young and beautiful, she had a haunted look, like she carried the cares of a world on her shoulders.
“It’s a dryad’s blade,” said Challah.
“Like a tree spirit?” Mom had told me about dryads. They originated in Greek mythology and had originally been considered to be the daughters of Zeus.
I grasped the hilt and pulled the dagger from its sheath. A tremor, like a small shock, went through my arm as I examined the shining blade.
“Yes,” I said in a voice scarcely above a whisper. “This is mine.”
Chadwick came to stand beside his wife. “I thought as much,” he said with a satisfied grin. “And look at that. The vine pattern matches that brooch you always wear.”
“Why, so it does.” Challah touched the small clasp at my shoulder. “Which merchant did you buy that from, dear?”
“I didn’t buy it here. My mother said it was fastened to the blanket I was wrapped in when I was found as a baby. I think I told you about that last time I was here.”
“How interesting.” Challah gave Chadwick a tiny smile. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
With great reluctance I slid the knife back into its sheath and put it in the box. “I love this, but I don’t think I can afford it today.” The smallest knives in the shop ran in the hundreds. Even though the emeralds on this dagger were tiny, they had to be expensive.
“If you want the knife today, we will sell it for one hundred dollars,” said Chadwick.
I gasped. “I can’t take it for so little!”
“You must,” said Challah. “He made it for you. We can’t sell it to anyone else.”
“Wow.” I studied at the beautiful hilt. I’d never wanted any item more, and my heart pounded with the realization that it could actually belong to me. “Okay, but I’ll be plastering it all over social media. You’ll have people beating down your door next year.”
Challah glanced at Chadwick. “I’m not sure we’ll be here next year.”
“Oh no!” I counted out five crisp twenties from my pouch. “Why not? Did you not sell enough this year? You’re not charging enough. I will pay you more for this!”
Challah opened her mouth to answer, but Chadwick put his hand on her shoulder and spoke instead. “We might be moving. Um, out of state.”
“Oh. Well, good luck, wherever you go,” I said, not wanting to imagine the ren fest without them.
The floorboards squeaked behind me.
“‘Tis a fair blade you’ve chosen.”
I started and turned to see Emerson at my elbow.
“Forgive me, I beseech thee.” He stepped back, spreading out his hands. “I didn't intend to alarm you. I wanted to return this in person, though your friends did protest much.”
My red ribbon dangled from his hand.
He was young, only a few years older than me. He’d shed his gloves, and his hands were leathery and strong, which made sense for someone who probably worked with horses’ tack and saddles all day.
