Once upon a winter, p.16
Once Upon a Winter, page 16
I was afraid because there was real danger in the woods, from thorns that could catch on clothes and cause wounds that festered or the chance that you might lose your way once you got deep within. But I was Sensible Sinead, and I would not be afraid of things told to children in their nurseries. I took one last look at the sun dipping toward the horizon and made my way inside.
***
I pulled my cloak tight around my shoulders, willing my feet to keep moving even though the forest grew thick around me, and vines and underbrush forced me to step gingerly as I moved deeper.
I turned back to check my path; I had travelled so far that I could no longer see the entrance. I would need to make it back before nightfall, but I refused to turn back. Not when time was running out.
Something cold dropped on my head and slid down to my ear. Small white dots fell from between the tree cover overhead and landed on my hair. “Snow,” I whispered to the trees, as if they could hear me. But how? It was unusual this early in the year, and I was too deep in the forest. I held up my palm and caught the flakes in my hand.
A hollow tapping came from one of the branches and I squinted to see better. The robin was nearby. “Oh, it’s you,” I said, with the strange sense that the creature was listening. “Are you going to help me find the tree? The one with the small red berries upon its pale branches?”
The bird let out a small sound as it flew away, and I picked up my skirts to follow. “Wait,” I called after it, lonely and tired as I attempted to keep up the pace. My foot caught on a root protruding from the forest floor, and I staggered past branches that scraped at my sides until I fell forward to my hands and knees.
A sob bubbled in my throat. I didn’t believe in any of this yet here I was, a fool chasing a bird through a forest on the brink of one of the longest nights of the year. My breath puffed out in a visible cloud, hot air against the chill of the day that was slipping into twilight. Footsteps sounded from behind me, and I made a futile effort to stand, my dress catching on bare branches.
“Sinead, is that you?” a familiar voice called out to me, and a moment of sheer terror melted to relief as my brother appeared beside me.
“What are you doing here, Aiden?” I asked as he pulled me to my feet.
“I could ask you the same, but I think I know the answer.” He glanced about the path then checked my hands for any cuts. “Mother was worried when you did not return from Niamh’s house, so I went to find you. When I saw how poorly she was, I thought you might come here.”
“But how…”
“She is my mother too, Sinead. She sang me to sleep with her stories just as she did for you.” He closed his hands tight over mine. “I’m sorry I teased you about Finian.”
“And I’m sorry I poked at you for not being wed yet. You’ll make a fine husband someday.”
“You must know, you don’t need to marry him, or anybody else. When mother and father…” He pressed his mouth into a flat line and sucked a breath in through his nose. “I want you to know you will always have a home with me when they are gone.”
The woods seem to stand still around us, the snow falling softly on his shoulders. I dipped my chin and wrestled my hands free from his grip to wrap my arms around him like I used to do when we were young. We stepped apart and looked around us, the last threads of daylight unraveling.
A small breeze floated past my ear, lifting wisps of hair as a small brown and red blur flew past. I followed where the bird landed upon an archway comprised of two tree limbs that stretched out until they touched and wound their way around each other. I moved forward, holding my hand out before me to touch the knotted wood structure.
“I think this is it.”
My brother’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he did not ask me how I knew. The robin flew beneath the arch of branches, and I crouched down to look at the passage they created. A bitter wind licked across my cheeks and hands, forcing cold air up my nose. I shivered at the breath of Winter that lay ahead.
“I think you are right,” my brother said, his teeth chattering. “I think we might find it here.”
We ducked and stepped through, the world growing colder the moment our toes crossed the threshold. The woods were silent here. No singing in the trees – not even the song of my friendly robin could be heard. There was nothing save our breaths coming in sharp gasps, clouding the air with white mist.
“Sinead,” Aiden warned, holding a hand to my shoulder to steady me as my shoe slipped against something slick. “Watch your step.”
I looked down and felt my eyes go round as a web of ice shot several paces across the earth as I stepped forward. With every step the lace pattern of ice wove together until it formed a sheet that crushed the ferns and dying greens beneath its cold glass floor. I would not look at my brother; I did not want to see his face. If there was magic in this place it would remain unreal so long as I did not acknowledge it.
We walked like this for quite some time, our arms locked together and neither of us daring to speak. We walked despite the cold that nipped through our shoes and the unnatural snow that wet our clothes. We walked until the timber around us parsed down and bare branches left gaps through which we could see a clearing further ahead. The blank canvas of snow between the scraggly limbs took up more of the scenery until the woods opened into a glade where everything was blindingly white and bright as mid-day.
I could no longer tell the time; I wondered how long we had walked. The expanse was clear save for the tree in the center of it all. Its vibrant berries stood in stark contrast to the neutral world of white and grey around us.
“I thought it would be a great beast of a tree,” Aiden murmured. I did not reply, but I agreed. The pale, slim trunk that rose from the earth was not what I’d imagined: with its sickly branches reaching out and holding so many berries it was a wonder they did not all drop to the ground. Perhaps the way it stood defiant and fruitful against the rest of the dying woods was why people thought it was full of magic.
“Let’s split up,” I said, ready to head back home and eat a bowl of stew. I did not want to be in this uncanny forest any longer. “Fill up your pockets – I did not bring a basket.” I shot him a warning look so that he would not challenge me as I unwrapped my cloak to fill with the bounty.
I fell into a rhythm, standing on tiptoe and plucking the berries to toss them into my cloak.
“There are so many,” I called out to my brother. There was no answer. The quiet of the glade held no response. I listened closely; I had not noticed how the sound of his breath and the crunch of his boots against the snow had died away.
I circled the tree, searching across the entire space, and found nothing. I went around again and again until I was dizzy, and nausea threated to overwhelm me. I searched the line of trees that surrounded the place. Like my brother, the path back to home was nowhere to be found. I steadied myself against the ash-colored trunk of the Faery tree and closed my eyes shut.
I did not want to let myself believe that details of my mother’s tales were true, but if they were then we had surely committed a crime against the Faeries by stealing from their sacred tree. A line from a story blazed across my memory.
The faeries were so busy dancing under the moonlight that they never took notice of the girl picking the berries from their sacred tree, and so she was able to bring back baskets and baskets with the magic to keep the village safe through the winter.
I slumped down in the snow. My sensibilities had told me that I needed to get home before dark, but my mistake lay in arriving too early. We were trapped here because I was so unlike my mother. I had never bothered to take her words – her stories – to heart.
I would never wear her crown and be the Solstice Queen.
“I didn’t know it was all true,” I cried to the wind. “Mama, why did you not tell me they were real?”
A small hum of noise echoed across the empty space and I sat up, wiping my nose on my sleeve. The robin rested in the branches above me, its beady eyes following my movements as I dug my cold-numbed fingers into the snow to unearth a rock. I brushed it off and chucked it toward its tiny figure.
“You silly little bird!” I shouted. The robin flapped its wings in response. “Did you lead me here to take my brother? Why not take me, instead? I do not care. I cannot go home without him. That would be worse than showing up empty-handed before my people!”
Hot tears were dripping down my cheeks but I blinked them away, the world blurring until I realized that I was no longer alone. People – no, they were too beautiful to be people – faeries floated by; their gowns of gossamer and petals swished on the air as they waltzed by in a circle. The moonlight shone overhead, its light sparkling on the snow. Their dance had begun. I got up and no one seemed to notice me in my plain attire, my loose dress and too-tight shoes, but I felt as out of place as the Hawthorne tree looked in its glade.
The air smelled sweet, like the violets Mama sprinkled on sweet breads, and I noticed that the cold air felt nice against my skin. A human face stood out amongst the rest. Aiden, I thought, but I stopped myself before I shouted it.
Never give a faery your name. My mother’s advice was clear in my head, so instead I stepped closer to the circle of faeries as they made their way around, hoping to grab his attention. It would be a difficult task, judging from how he gripped his partner’s waist, how his eyes were glued to the faerie’s flawless face.
A hand clapped my shoulder and warmth buzzed through me.
“The Solstice Queen,” the man – faery – announced. He was tall, with pointed ears that peeked from beneath brown hair. His skin was fair; he glowed beneath the moon.
I shook my head. “I am not her.”
“But you will be,” he said, a half-smile forming on his lips. “Come. Dance with me.” He held out his hand and I studied his fine attire – the brown tunic and trousers, the red vest tied with gold string – before I glanced down at my own. “Do not worry about that.”
He waved his hand before me and my plain beige dress transformed before my eyes, into a gown of silken ivory petals. I touched my hair and a petal fell away. My feet were bare now, but the cold no longer bothered them. He extended his arm out once more and this time I took it. I could not insult him, and I needed to get close to my brother.
The faery spun me out into the circle, our steps seeming to bounce and float from the earth in time to a song I had never heard before. His eyes – warm gold ringed with green – stayed on my face until I rested my forehead against his chest. He was so beautiful that it was hard to look at him for long.
“After hundreds of years it was not until this moment I realized how lonely I have been,” he said. “I have watched you for some time: the steadfast daughter of the last Solstice Queen.” His smile was sharp enough to cut the night.
“If you knew her, why did you not take her away like you have with me and my brother?”
“Because she was a cunning woman and honored our ways. Besides…she was in love with a plain human man, and I do not like to interfere. She would not have been happy here.”
“How honorable,” I huffed, and allowed him to turn me through another round. It was warm in the circle, pressed close to him, and I liked how his voice sounded like the wind through a willow to my ears. “Can you save her?” I asked, thinking of my mother’s light. The way she beamed as she handed a new mother her fresh babe.
The way she lit up my whole world from the moment I was born.
“I cannot.” He sounded genuinely sad. “She will die this year, and you will be the new queen.”
“I do not wish to be the Solstice Queen,” I said against his chest. “Couldn’t the Hawthorne berries save her?”
“No. It is her time. But here you would never have to think of it again. You could stay and be my Queen instead.”
I looked up at him and knew, without a doubt, that I was staring at the Faery King. The memories of my mother’s light sputtered in my mind, leaving me only with visions of her sick room: spittle on her chin pink with blood; the scent of her sweat; the overwhelming dread of what was to come. I was content to stay here. Happy to dance and drink wine and feast on berries and never, ever have to remember the winter death that blew in from the sea or my mother frail in her bed.
I stopped my questioning and let the music take over my thoughts, no longer remembering how we had started dancing in the first place.
A sharp cry cracked through the enchantment of the dance. I froze in the Faery King’s arms. I had heard that cry before.
The Faery King slid his hand beneath my chin to lift it. “Look at me,” he coaxed. “Pay no mind to that.”
The waltz picked up again and I could not remember why I felt such dread. I searched frantically around me, not quite knowing what I was looking for until my eyes landed on my brother.
The cry started again, a high-pitched wail that brought my mind to sick babies and mothers dying in their birthing beds.
“I think I must go,” I said, and pushed away from the Faery King’s embrace. If he was real then so was the banshee’s lament.
“You wish to leave? I do not see how it is fair for you to steal from my sacred tree, then insult me further by refusing my hand.” The Faery King peered down through his lashes. “Besides, you will not be happy there.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, for it did not.
The music stopped. The ethereal beings did too, and they all turned to face the King, to study the human who had breeched their territory. My brother was among them, the spell broken for him as well.
“Sin–” he stopped himself, his face twisting around my name as he remembered my mother’s wisdom. I turned back to the King.
“I will come back,” I swore, “but my people need me. If you have watched me then you know I am true to my word. Please. I must keep my word in this matter, too, or else no one will honor your name at the Solstice feast. Let us go.”
He lifted his chin at the last part of my statement and sighed deeply, frost coating the sleeves of my gown. “We have a deal.” With a flick of his hand the world turned black around me, the moon swallowed by the night.
Cold stabbed at my lips and palms as I pressed myself away from the ground, spitting out a mouthful of snow. My shoulders shook as the frigid air hit my skin. I felt too weak to stand so I crawled, shaking, until I found my brother. He groaned as I rolled him onto his back.
“I must have hit my head.” He rubbed his neck. “How long have I been out?”
“I cannot be sure.” All I could think of was the Faery King, our dance, and how the world had seemed to drop away. The sky was stained an inky blue now. “I think it’s close to dawn.”
“Where did that come from?”
I looked to where he pointed; a basket woven from willow catkins sat beneath the tree, filled to the brim with red berries.
“I found it nearby,” I said, which wasn’t a lie. “I will bring it back someday.”
***
We made it home after sunrise, our mother sitting up in her bed, worry in her eyes. Her expression softened to something like pride when she saw the basket that we carried between us.
“There is no time for the wine,” she said, smiling weakly before falling back against her pillows. “Boil some water and make some jam, then spread it on thick slices of bread for the festival.”
I busied myself and recited her stories as I did so, the old ones that were now layered with something new. Something that was hers and mine, too. Eventually I heard her fall back into a peaceful sleep.
When the jam was ready we had plenty to share at the festival. I fed Niamh and the babe with a spoon until their cheeks grew full and rosy again. That year my neighbors danced around the bonfires and placed my mother’s crown upon my head as they made me their new Solstice Queen.
It was an easier Winter than the year before; people dug up root vegetables the rot had spared, and found hidden stores of food they thought they’d lost, and Niamh’s babe grew plump with milk.
Hardly anyone took ill that Winter, and most people made it out alive. The only person I mourned that year was my mother. The loss of her cast a shadow over everything for some time. An undercurrent of sadness appeared at unexpected, random moments; at my brother’s wedding or the time I tasted a perfect loaf of bread, warm from the oven.
The wheel of the year never stopped though, and I kept myself busy. I visited nursing mothers and brought them tinctures. I delivered my nieces and nephews and helped to feed and bathe them and sing them to sleep with my mother’s stories.
Some days I wished to ask my brother if he ever remembered our time in the Faery circle, but the words always froze on my tongue with some strange magic. It was lonely to keep the secrets of the forest, and yet there was a thrill in telling the tales of the Fae, in hoping the children would grow up and remember them.
The knowledge would keep them safe when they took up my mantel, if only they pieced it together the way I had. I was always more careful after that first year slipping into the woods after the moon rose, when the Faery King would be engaged in a dance.
Sometimes I looked out my window and caught sight of a robin on my sill. It always called me back to the time when I was asked to be the Faery Queen, and a feeling of longing welled up in my throat. It was something I could never explain.
A faery cannot lie, my mother’s words whispered to me, but a part of me still denied that bit of information. He didn’t mean it, it was just a trick to trap you there, I reminded myself year after year until I grew very old, and my nieces and nephews had children of their own.
One day as I prepared for the festival coming in three days’ time, a jug slipped from my knotted hands and shattered on the floor. A robin chirped at my windowsill, and I wiped my palms against my skirts before I followed its call. I sighed to my winged friend, my eyes watering with the memories I’d held on to for so long.
“It is nice to think you might remember,” I said. “I think it is time to return something.” I made my way to the cupboard where I pulled out a basket, unworn and shiny despite its age. I carried it from my house, and no one noticed me, or my bare feet on the cold ground. It had been years since I had begun to be forgotten, save for at the night of the festival where I still reigned Queen. But I was a Queen who had grown tired of her crown. I walked all the way to the forest, alone as I had been on every trip except for that first Winter. By the time I made it to the Hawthorne tree I felt the weight of every year, every memory.
