Fellowship & Fairydust

About a week later a messenger rode up to the porch in the midmorning hours. Fia paused in her sweeping, with half the snow off the steps.

“Is the Lady Calima here?” he asked.

“She is,” Fia replied, and went to get her.

The lady of the house took the message from him, and chatted a moment. Then she returned to the kitchen table with the missive.

“He says King Gregor has been badly wounded in battle,” she told them all. Then: “It is for you, Arethmay,” she said quietly as she handed it to her.

Ilido glanced up sharply at the mention of the king, and Fia thought she saw his mother’s fingers quiver for a second as she unfolded the bit of paper, but perhaps she was mistaken. Arethmay read it first to herself and then aloud.    

“Dear Madame,

Please come at once, your husband has been sorely wounded.

Make haste,

The Healer of Herlane.”

She looked across to Calima with her color faded, the fear in her eyes more distinct than ever before.

Calima looked back steadily and with assured purpose.

“We’ll go immediately,” she said. “I know a bit of healing and I’m sure I can make myself useful. Andro, I think we can take the journey alone.”

Andro lifted himself to his feet, his double-headed staff under one arm. “No, Mother, it’s a long time since you’ve been over those trails. The mountains change as quickly as the years, and you’d easily be lost. I’ll be all right atop a horse, and we’ll hurry straight there.”

Calima considered for a moment. The truth of his words could be seen in her face.  

“Very well,” she conceded after a moment. “But you be sure to be careful with that foot.”

Ilido had the cobs readied almost as soon as Larna and Fia had the food packed for the journey, and before the sun climbed to its zenith they were off, the three sturdy horses and their three worried riders. Fia hoped with all her heart that things would not turn out badly for them; both Arethmay and Ilido had already had enough sorrow to last them a lifetime.

She did not know how long they would be gone, and they had not known themselves. Andro was supposed to return after he saw the ladies safely to their destination, but that was a great distance off and when he would be back with the household no one really knew. Only that it could be some time.

“If the weather gets bad, he’ll not be allowed to come back alone, hurt like he is,” Larna said decidedly. “Even if the weather only threatens, Calima shouldn’t listen to him. These mountains can change on you in a minute.”

“Larna?” Fia asked, after she had thought her statement over with a moment’s silence. The cook and the apprentice were in the kitchen, and Larna was making spice rolls. “To cheer us all up,” she had said, by which she meant Ilido. Fia reached out and pinched the dough she was kneading. It was nearly ready. “Why is Andro not married?”

The cook looked at her from under a speculatively raised eyebrow.

“He mentioned a girl’s name once,” Fia said. “But he didn’t want to say anything about it.”

Larna punched a fist into the dough, and then pursed her lips. “Reliera,” she offered.

“Yes,” Fia said. She had remembered the name; she had a great-aunt named that.

“They were married.” The silver-haired woman glanced up at her, and then sat down on a stool and let out a sigh. “He met her when he was twenty-five on one of their journeys to the lowlands. She was twenty-one and they fell head over heels in love. Calima knew that the mountain life can be a harsh one, and suggested that Reliera come to Olayin House and be sure she wanted to live here. So Reliera came and spent some time. She was so in love, she would have lived at the bottom of the sea if he had wanted.”

A reminiscent light was in her eye. She shook her head. “He adored her. Thought she was perfect, and could do no wrong.”

“Was she?” her listener asked.

“What do you think?” the cook retorted. “Is anybody?”

Fia lowered her head and shook it slightly.

“She was such a foolish child, for her years! She wasn’t as young as she acted,” Larna said sadly. “She was always doing things without thinking about anything, and getting into trouble. I had a hard time dealing with her in the kitchen; she’d be so full of good intentions and be such a busy little whirlwind. She’d start half a dozen things at once, and halfway through she’d dash out to the gardens for something and forget all about what was going on in the kitchen. They’d have all gone up in smoke, but of course I was there, and what could I do but finish them? And of course she was so sorry and so grateful, as soon as she remembered; but she never seemed to learn for the next time.”

Fia took a chunk of the dough and began to roll it out.

“Well, she didn’t have too long to learn it in, after all.” Larna sighed and took up her own roller and began to roll out another piece.

“What happened?”

“Andro and Reliera had been married for two months. He had gone in to buy gems from the mines of Gemtown, and he was going to be back that evening. A storm was brewing up and nobody liked the feel of the wind, but we didn’t mention that to Reliera; she was such a lowlander that she never noticed the little things here in the mountains. If we said anything she would get all worried that Andro was going to be in danger, and fuss to no end.” She sighed again. “Maybe we should have said something, but we didn’t want to worry her and we didn’t think she’d do something foolish like that.”

She paused and scowled at the dough. Then she shrugged and shook her head. Taking up the pat of butter she slowly shaved off ringlets, letting the golden curls fall onto the rolled-out dough.

“What did she do?” Fia prompted.

“Well…” the cook resumed. “She had been so scared of the mountains at the first; afraid she’d be lost in them. And for truth she couldn’t find her way about for anything. So Andro would take her out and he showed her all the trails, and she was so delighted and proud of herself when she started to get to remembering them. He had shown her the trail towards Gemtown, so that afternoon she must have thought she’d go to meet him and surprise him with what a good mountaineer she was becoming.”

Fia could see that after all these years Larna still felt as if she should have done something to avoid what had happened next. The cook shook her head again, and dribbled streams of golden honey criss-crossing over top of the butter ringlets.

“We here didn’t know what she had done, because she didn’t tell anybody. We thought she was upstairs, never thought she’d have gone off with a storm brewing. And Andro was a little late coming back; you know how things are never exact. We only noticed that she wasn’t there for supper, and we looked for her everywhere we could think of before we guessed… It was dark before someone suggested she might have gone to meet Andro. We couldn’t believe she would have done that, because she had always been scared of the mountains, but there was nowhere else to look. They set out with lanterns and horses. I stayed here in the kitchen, in case we were wrong and she showed up again.”

She sprinkled the dark brown spices over the flattened dough.

“She had made it a long way down the path. They met Andro about the place she had slipped and fallen on a narrow pass. She had been there for some time and she hadn’t dressed as warmly as she should have to start out with. She had hurt her ankle very badly and practically couldn’t move, and while the temperatures fell with the night and the storm she had lain on the mountainside in the dark. By the time they found her she was shivering and nearly frozen to death. Andro carried her home, letting the others bring home the cobs.”

Larna’s experienced fingers lifted one edge of the prepared dough and folded it tightly back onto itself, carefully beginning the roll.

“We got her warm again but that night she slipped into a delirium. Calima and I fought the fever with everything we could but it was as if the scales had been tipped too far to be righted.

“At times she murmured of the golden lands of her home, or the sea, which could be sighted from a high rooftop in her town. Sometimes she would wake, and be as clear as day, but every time she was weaker. We who nursed her knew that even if she lived she would never be well. But it wasn’t very long and we realized that even that would not be.

“There were many times in the first few days when she recovered herself and would talk with Andro and laugh at her foolishness as brightly as a spring bird. She would say how when she got better they would have to wait until summer to be sure she knew the trails. But somehow even then I think Andro knew that there wasn’t going to be a summer for them.

“She slipped farther and farther away, and then one night she simply stopped breathing, so quietly I didn’t even notice until I started to tuck the covers around her again. It was as if the fever had left her; the flush was gone and her face was clear and smooth again; her dark hair lay tousled about her head like the sea she had murmured of.”

Her fingers finished the rolled log, pressing the edges together. “Although I’ve never seen the sea.”

“How did you tell Andro?” Fia asked solemnly.

“Everyone was asleep at that hour, so we sat in the room until the morning. As the light of the first rays lit up the bedroom Andro came in to check on her. He took just one look and knew.”

She sliced the finished roll and Fia arranged the pieces in the cake pan.

“He blames himself a little, I think, thinking that it would never have happened if she had stayed in her hometown. There was a lad that loved her there, and she was in love with him, too, before Andro came along. He can’t help thinking that if he hadn’t tried to make her love him she would have married that other lad and stayed in her lowlands. That’s the sort of man he is; his heart was big enough to have put her first. And still is.”

She opened the oven door and put the pan inside.

“He used to make the most beautiful designs, jewelry, and woodworking, anything he put a hand to. But when he met Reliera he got distracted and stopped. And then when she died, he never started again.”

“That’s too bad,” Fia said. “Maybe making things would help him a little.”

“Calima would like to see him begin again, but she is too wise a woman to say anything until he’s ready. It’s been so long now, I wonder if he’ll ever be ready, or if that part’s just done for.”

She straightened her back and watched the girl cleaning off the countertop with a wet cloth.

“He works hard now in helping the people from Othira come over. I think he feels like maybe he’s saving somebody else some little bit of heartache with every person he gets safely across.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “He’s a good man, and I wish him happiness, some day. If he can.”

Fia breathed deep. So many things had happened in this house.

“Have you ever wanted to see the ocean, Larna?” she asked.

The cook laughed.

“No,” she said. “Not particularly. I was born here and grew up here; Calima and I have been together since we were walking. She goes out and tells me what it’s like in other parts. I’m happy to stay here in these mountains, here in my own kitchen.”

She dusted off her hands. “All right, there’s dishes, and keeping the fire going right.”

“I’ll do the dishes,” Fia said.

Not many days after that, as she and Ilido came in from doing the morning chores, they noticed a newcomer among the Olayin flock of pigeons. Ilido immediately went about catching it, and removed a tiny piece of paper that had been fixed to its leg. The bird fluttered off as the two trudged inside, Ilido already reading the message.

“Who is it from?” Fia asked.

He looked up from untying his bootlaces, his brow furrowed. “I don’t know, actually.”

Fia pulled her feet out of her boots and retrieved the sock that stayed inside one of them. Something was up, but she might as well get out of her heavy chore clothes before pursuing it. She hung her cloak on the hook and slipped her feet into a pair of lamb’s wool slippers.

Then she went into the kitchen after Ilido, who was showing Larna the paper.

“It’s the message,” Ilido said. The cook looked at him, and Fia couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“What does it mean?” Fia asked.

“It means a gathering is ready to come across,” he answered, only half looking at her. His eyes kept going back to Larna.

Larna sighed, stiffened her shoulders and strode back into the pantry behind the kitchen. Fia and Ilido watched her go, each a little uncertain.

“What does that mean, then?” Fia asked in a whisper.

“It means that someone has to go, and Andro isn’t here.”

She looked at him. “You mean….”

“I know the trails well, and Andro has taught me about the mountains.”

“Alone?” she asked. “That is not safe, Calima always says.”

Larna returned out of the pantry and set two packs down on the table with a thump.

Ilido looked at her, something akin to skittishness in his eye.

She met it with a stern stare of her own. “You can’t go over the mountain by yourself.”

“Larna, you can’t go traipsing…” he protested.

“You’re not going alone, young man, and that’s the end of it. Fia will have to accompany you.”

Ilido almost seemed to breathe a sigh of relief; he looked across at the girl with half a smile in his expression.

“Sure.” He nodded in a friendly manner. “We’ll be extra careful and keep a look out for each other.” Then he grinned at her. “We’ll make sure we both come back alive.”

Fia liked being included in the excitement of the moment, but she wasn’t sure she’d like it afterwards. Still, she said to herself, it wasn’t as if there were a lot of options. There was a job to be done, and she happened to be in the exact position to help do it.

“I’ll get the horses up, and we’ll leave in the morning,” Ilido said.

Horses. Fia pulled her lip through her teeth.

Still… it wasn’t like they were wild, or even fast; and she had ridden since her accident. She’d ridden often enough to know that the sick feeling in her stomach didn’t interfere with her ability to do what needed done. It only interfered with her ability to eat.

Being away from horses for a while had the effect of bringing all the old fears back when she faced them again.

Ilido hurried to don his outer clothes again and then was out the door, leaving the ladies both looking after him with different thoughts.

Larna was clearly uncomfortable with the turn events had taken and drew her brow lower with worry about the outcome.

Fia took a deep sigh and then wondered sharply if she had the right kind of clothes for winter mountain travel. If she didn’t, did they have enough time to make some?

“Well, let’s get you ready,” the cook said unhappily, and stalked for the stairs. Fia followed her up past the bedrooms and up past the workrooms and on up until they reached the attic. Here the old cook frowned at the array of casks and cabinets that had found their way there from centuries of Olayin use.

But in a minute Larna shook off the dismal cloud and became a whirlwind of invention as she proceeded to piece together an appropriate outfit for her charge. Old trunks were rummaged through and woolens that had not seen daylight for many a year were pulled from their resting places.

Fia was equipped with several pairs of woolen leggings that were layered one atop the other, and a  thick pair of faded green hose that were fairly too big to finish it off. The old cook liberally layered the rest of her as well, and brought out a heavy scarlet sheepskin cloak to go over Ialla’s dark green winter dress, to form her final layer. Fia mused that her sister had certainly not anticipated the dress would be going on such a daring mission of mercy.

Then Larna put together a collection of scarves for Fia to take with her, and instructed her on which combinations to use during which possible weather conditions.

Up in the attic they discovered a pair of winter boots that used to belong to Larna as a girl, which, to Fia’s amazement, fit almost perfectly over several layers of thick wool socks. The pair that used to belong to Calima was too small.

By the time night had fallen the older woman felt that her charge was fully readied, and the three of them ate supper in an anticipatory hush. Fia parceled up the food on her plate and dutifully forked it down, but it seemed as tasteless as sawdust. Her throat had the awful tendency to close up on her… so she drank more milk than usual as she tried to stave off the nerves that were sure to attack when the moment descended.

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