The Lord of Roses: Two

Brigid returns home where we see her home life and village while other machinations fall into place.

The village gates of Turith rose high and imposing up ahead. The overcast sky was brighter, but everything was still cast in a dull grey. Tall evergreens flanked the beaten path towards the gates, their branches splaying out every direction. Piles of leaves lined the road as did fallen branches. Even though it was late summer, the trees seemed dead. It may have been the smoke from the chimneys or some other foul vapor in the air. The trees seemed just as downbeat as the rest of this place. Brigid thought it appropriate.

            Brigid hid in some brush beside the road, just out sight. Above in the guard posts, two guards with bows stood sentinel. She guessed they hadn’t seen her, otherwise they would’ve called her out. Technically she wasn’t supposed to be out in the morning without authorization from the village council. Nightmaer sightings were becoming more frequent as of late. The town council, when they weren’t too busy arguing, agreed that hunting parties for game and ‘maer were allowed only by direct authorization. Technically, she was breaking the law. If she was found, she would be jailed and potentially face expulsion. She had no fear of that. She’d snuck out by herself to hunt too many times to count.

            She ducked away into the brush and pushed away branches and thicket to a corner of the wall hidden by bushes and leaves. There was a small door built into the timber logs. It was an old smuggler’s passage leftover from years ago. The council forgot to plug this little hole, and Brigid thanked them for it. She pushed open the door, crouching low to fit inside, entering a tight alleyway between two buildings. She knew them well: The bakery to her left, the cooper to her right. She gingerly shut the door and exited the alley, casually melding into the crowds making their way in and around each other. She barely missed a wagon pulled by a donkey as well as a crowd of mercenaries in full armor, their craggy faces severe and haggard. With her hood drawn and face hidden, she blended in perfectly. People coughed and spat. Horses and beasts of burden snorted furiously. The smell of earth and manure filled the air. All underscored by the soft bubbling of conversation and noise which reminded the village it was still alive despite the dire circumstances. It was comforting, in a way.

            The village square was a large open space where crowds passed by each other in a listless flow. Collections of depressed, rickety buildings surrounded the open space where a large well and a great stone obelisk stood pointing to the sky. The obelisk was etched with strong stark symbols, the old Tyrian alphabet. The post, Gwyn had told Brigid, denoted this was an old trading post centuries ago. How long ago, Gwyn didn’t say, but considering it was the Tyrian Empire which built the Fissure, it must’ve stood for a while before that empire dissipated into the present state of fractured kingdoms. She searched for the trader’s shop. To a layman, it would’ve been difficult to judge each building apart due to all of them having the same woody, dilapidated appearance. The trader, thankfully, had a distinct red sign dangling above his door. It was, after all, her second most frequented place besides the fur trader after all.

            The store was cramped and filled to the brim with odd trinkets and assorted objects. Small candles hung from the ceiling, bathing the place in faint orange light. It seemed that objects from across Ieade passed through this place, including things that Brigid didn’t recognize. An intricate carpet, skulls of frightful creatures, even a gold reliquary bearing the v within the circle-shaped symbol of the Testament of St. Geordian. But one item caught her eye above the others. It was a carved piece of stone which sat on a shelf of a small wooden horse. A small obelisk-looking object with intricately carved patterns which resembled curling roots which interlocked with each other in impossibly beautiful patterns. She took it and turned it over in her hands, feeling its smoothness and tracing the patterns with her fingers. She turned it over and observed what appeared to be a long, goatish face carved into the rock.

            “If you like it, you’ll have to pay for it,” Came a deep voice from the back of the store. Brigid turned to see Jared behind the counter. He was a large man with scruffy beard, balding head, and disheveled clothes. Against his partially exposed hairy chest hung a small Geordian charm. “Unless you’re just browsing.” He continued, raising a hairy eyebrow.

            Brigid laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m here for business.” She took her hood off. Her short coppery hair fell to just above her shoulders. “You know me. I don’t browse.”

            Jared’s stern face broke into a smile. “Sure, you don’t. Why have you come into my shop, then?” He leaned against the store counter.

            She strolled over and imitated his pose on the other side of the counter. “I got something interesting.” She said with a self-satisfied smirk.

            “Is it a bag of arrowheads or a bleached skull again?” Jared inquired. “I got plenty of teeth, too. I don’t need any more, thank you.”

            “No, it’s worth something. I’m serious!” Brigid said indignantly. While out on hunts, she’d taken to collecting interesting things she found while on her way and traded them for extra money. She and Jared had become close business partners of sense, even though he rarely paid her more than two gelt for her trinkets. Her scavenging was a consequence for growing up constantly poor. Picking through detritus was easy to her now. If this were a normal day, she would’ve taken the teeth out of that giant wolf’s mouth and brought them home along with its pelt. But this was not a normal day. “Just wait. You’ll love it.” She reached inside her pocket and produced the charm. She placed it on the counter. Jared’s eyebrows raised as he picked up, retrieving a magnifying glass. His single brown eye was immense in the glass’s reflection. Brigid watched in anticipation as the eye slid up and down the charm.

He put down the glass and the charm. He wore a deep frown. “Where did you get this charm?”

Brigid blinked, confused. “Excuse me?” She asked.

“Where?” He pressed.

“I found it in the woods. “I didn’t steal it from anyone if that’s what you’re thinking�"” Brigid replied defensively.

“Oh really? Did you jump over the Fissure and steal it off someone wandering through the woods then?” Jared said, crossing his arms.

Brigid’s eyes widened in shock. A bolt of anger streaked through her. She was about ready to hurl all manner of epithets at him. She kept that anger in check for the sake of their business relationship. “You want the truth? Fine. I was out hunting, and I was attacked by a Nightmaer, then some giant wolf killed it, then the wolf spat the thing out and died.” She angrily admitted. “Now will you buy it from me?”

Jared’s expression changed from disbelief to graveness. His eyes grew hollow. “A giant wolf?” He said quietly, staring at the charm. He looked back at Brigid. “You must get rid of it. Right now.”

“What? It’s got to be worth more than half the junk in this store combined.” She insisted, gestured to the store.

“It’s Faeire gold, you idiot!” Jared nearly shouted at Brigid. “Do you have any idea what that means? That’s like robbing the king himself! They’ll sniff it out and come looking for it. And when they find out who took it�"” He drew a finger across his neck.

“Sure. What’s next, an incubus will take me in the night?” Brigid scoffed. “I doubt they’ll notice a piece of missing jewelry, let alone who took it.”

“Don’t make light of this, girl!” Jared exclaimed, slapping his hand on the counter. “Whatever you saw out there, whatever happened to you…That wasn’t meant for human eyes.” He pointed a scarred finger at Brigid. “Get rid of that charm before someone gets hurt.”

Brigid stared at the man’s finger. She wore a sour frown. “Right.” She angrily took the charm and turned toward the exit. “Goodbye, Jared.”

“Listen to me! Even St. Geordian won’t save you from them!” Jared called.

“Stuff your damn sermons!” Brigid yelled back as she slammed the door.

 

Brigid stood on the small stone bridge which separated the peasant’s district from the rest of the town. She held the charm to the weak sunlight, the gems and gold glittering like stars. She’d heard in legends and stories that one could see entire destinies in the light that danced off treasure. There was a promise of wealth, of prosperity and hope. A new life, or the opening of a different path.

The glittering light of the charm only reminded Brigid of snow. Gently falling snow coated the rushing water of the river. She remembered a dark blue morning inside a bumpy carriage ride, hugging her little sister to her as she silently looked at Father’s expressionless face staring out the window. She could still see his craggy, clean-shaven face, the rest of him obscured in shadow, even when he couldn’t bear to look at his own daughters. He’d been silent the entire trip to Turith, his only words being before the trip. Brigid remembered them well. “You’ll be staying with your Aunt Meriam for a while.” But the minute they stepped off that carriage, Brigid knew in her heart what he really meant. And that carriage disappearing into the veil of snow was the last time she and Judith would ever see their father again.

It was moments like that which reminded Brigid of the casual cruelty of the world. Maybe that was why she felt more at home in the wild then here, this a*s-end part of the world. At least animals were honest about their savagery. If an animal’s young couldn’t survive, at least a predator would get to them quickly. The young wouldn’t have to scrap together anything they could find to survive. But such was the way of humans. After gazing at the charm some more, she realized another use for it and placed it back in her pocket. She sighed heavily and headed across the bridge towards the peasant’s district.

Gwyn’s house was located at the end of a dirty road on a patch of beaten muddy earth. All the houses before looked ready to fall apart at any point, the foundational wood of some of them having gone soggy and rotted. One of them was abandoned, its windows smashed and door hanging off its hinges. Another’s roof had fallen in due to a snowstorm one year and was never repaired. It was a far cry from the life Brigid had left behind seven years ago outside the city of Albinium. The O’Keir family did not live as lords, but Father’s prowess as a hunter and connections in fur trading kept them from poverty. But all things had to end, as was the way of the world. A sudden sickness took Mother, and not soon after Nightmaer attacks made Father’s business all but untenable. Of course, living as a peasant only made her angry at the nicer living situations across the bridge. No amount of wheat farmed, nor milk squeezed from cows could get them a better house. Neither did it help them when they struggled to eat when harvest was not good, or the cattle were decimated by plague or slaughtered by errant Nightmaers. It was situations like this that made Brigid go hunting. Sometimes there was no other option than to scavenge for whatever was left of dead mercenaries to sell to Jared or just hunt deer because food was too expensive.  

Brigid entered the squalid little house to see Judith sitting at the dinner table. Judith’s face was buried in a teacup. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a long elaborate braid, trailing down to her middle back. A Geordian symbol strung into a bracelet with small prayer trinkets hung around her wrist. As Brigid stepped through the door, Judith snapped up. Her face lit up, bright brown eyes shining with joy at the sight of her big sister. “Brigid! I think I’m starting to see something in the leaves!” She stuck her face back into the teacup.

“Oh really?” Brigid said, hanging up her bow and arrows and removing her cloak. Her normal drab brown pants and shirt blended in perfectly with the earthy colors of the house. She pulled up a chair and sat down besides Judith. “What are you seeing?”

“Hmmm,” Judith mumbled to herself. Her brow scrunched as she focused on the small damp tea leaves in the bottom of the cup. “I’m seeing what looks like…a tadpole near a large shape of some kind. I think it looks like a lion. Or a horse.”

“A horse?” Brigid raised an eyebrow. “What’s a horse supposed to mean?”

“Swiftness, the open road, freedom. At least that’s what the soothsayer told me.”

“And the tadpole?”

“Transformation and growth.” Judith put down the teacup. “Your guess is as good as mine.” She shrugged.

Despite the frustration in Judith’s voice, her fair features made it seem more like a mild annoyance. Judith’s face was, to the Geordians, a pious one; it was soft and rounded and spotless, with full lips and an innocent docile expression in her eyes. Even as a younger girl, folks always marveled at her looks. Now at 19, she appeared like the Angel Ohriel herself. Brigid, on the other hand, was not so lucky. Despite their mother’s fine features, Brigid came out with a face pockmarked with freckles and a more angular, severe appearance. Her hair was not smooth nor shining, instead appearing rather like coppery string. Her eyes were a shade of brown that appeared yellow in certain light. Since she preferred the outdoors meant her face was rarely clean, and thin lips meant she didn’t appear especially feminine to suitors. The scars just solidified her undesirability to others beside her family. One scar trailed down her left cheek, which met with one down her neck. Then another which split her left eyebrow in twain, then another which trailed across her the bridge of her nose, and finally one which trailed down the right corner of her mouth. When viewed side by side, Judith was a lamb while Brigid was a mangy wolf. Brigid thought the comparison was apt.

“You didn’t catch anything, did you?” Judith said sadly, putting down her teacup.

Brigid shook her head. “Something got my kill. I’m sorry, Jude.’

“At least we have the turnips, right?” Judith managed to smile. “They’ve been growing nicely. There’s no rot in them. They should be safe to eat. That counts for something.”

“Do you think you’d be up to selling a few?”

Judith’s face fell. “I�"I’m not sure. I think I’ll need some more ringweed before I’m ready to try selling at market again.”

Brigid sighed heavily. Judith had a green thumb for planting and her gardening helped them weather quite a few difficult winters, but for some reason the thought of going to market to sell her wares turned Judith into a quivering mess. The first few times Judith tried, she’d hyperventilated and fallen over like a downed tree. Only that blue-green herb ringweed could calm her nerves, but it was often too expensive to afford. That was when Judith decided she was better off as a homebody. That was why Judith took up silly hobbies like fortune telling and of course faith in St. Geordian. Brigid loved her little sister, but that little circle with a v within always made her turn up her nose. “Gwyn should be back soon. Then we could buy some meat, right?” Brigid patted her little sister’s shoulder.

“Right,” Judith replied with a hollow smile. “I said a prayer for you this morning.” She added. “It doesn’t look it worked.”

            “Did you?’ Brigid said with a slight smile. “Thanks.” Then Brigid’s eyes lit up. “I found something for you when I was out hunting.”

            “You did?” Judith’s face lit up now.

            Brigid reached into her pocket and produced the rose charm. “I want you to have this.”

            Judith took it and inspected it, watching the light glint off gold and gems. “Where did you get this?”

            Brigid thought for a moment, choosing her words. “I tried trading it, but Jared said it was worthless to him. I thought you should have it.” Brigid watched in reverence at her sister’s wide-eyed expression. She liked seeing Judith so awestruck. Whatever that charm was, it was in better hands now.

            Judith’s arms wrapped around her sister. Brigid reciprocated. “Thank you, Bridge,” Judith said with gratitude. “Thank you so much.” They separated.

            “It’s the least I could do after losing my hunt.” Brigid said with a shrug.

            “But you didn’t come home empty-handed. My prayers were answered.” Judith said with a smile.

            In some capacity, I suppose, Brigid thought to herself.

 

            The rest of the day was spent on chores. Judith worked out in the little garden in the back tilling the soil and picking any ripe turnips. Brigid worked on patching holes in the roof and chopping firewood. Brigid always preferred the harder things as it kept her mind occupied. Not that picking vegetables was any small feat, but the constant bending down and hacking at the earth was too repetitive for her tastes. For some reason, the simple act of an axe splitting wood in two was deeply satisfying. Over seven years, the action had strengthened her body and roughened her hands. She was used to eating less and her features reflected that as well. Judith was hardened by the years, yet she remained soft in appearance. Brigid did not. Brigid’s arms and shoulders were corded knots of muscle when she exerted herself with axe or bow. Her hands, raw and ragged, resembled chipped leather. Her nails too were worn down, a secondary consequence of her biting them often. She knew she looked like crap. She didn’t mind.

            Hours passed. Fixing the roof holes with new thatch and chopping wood caused Brigid’s mind to wander. Her eyes soon found the practice dummies standing sentinel in the yard. She ran inside to grab her bow and nocked an arrow. The dummy, a crude torso and head on a stick filled with thick bales of straw, had been through well enough abuse from Brigid and Gwyn’s target practice. If it had a face, Brigid thought, it would’ve looked tired. Kindred spirits, she thought to the dummy as she shut one eye and drew the string back.

            “Your aim’s off,” A familiar voice said just out of view. “It won’t fly straight.”

            “Quiet,” Brigid said through gritted teeth.

            “Your hands are shaking, too. You’re going to miss.”

            “Shut. Up.”

            “Draw it back and reposition. You’re going to�"”

            Brigid defiantly loosed the arrow. It sailed through the air and planted itself into the stomach of the practice dummy. The arrow vibrated angrily in place.

            She turned to face her cousin. “I didn’t miss.” Brigid snarked, a petulant look in her eye.

            Gwydoline regarded Brigid with a raised eyebrow. Compared to Brigid, Gwyn was a mountain. She stood a full head taller and was covered head to toe in fighting leathers and light armor. Her greataxe, Cairnhert or as it was better known “Grave-Maker”, hung from her back. Her arms were massive and corded with muscle. Gwyn’s hair was tied in a small, braided knot which trailed down her back while her sides were cut very short, a common hairstyle among the wilder people of Ieade. Her face was marked with small scars and smudged with dirt, possessing a strong jawline and pale complexion. Gwyn regarded Brigid with gray eyes and a down-turned, thin-lipped mouth. It was a look of unenthusiasm, possible disdain. “What are you doing home?” Gwyn demanded, disappointment simmering in her voice.

            “I needed a break from shoveling s**t for the millionth time.” Brigid said, walking over to the dummy. “So I went hunting.”

            “You were supposed to be finding work, not picking through junk in the forest.”

            “Well, I’d prefer to hunt. At least I’m somewhat good at it.” Brigid yanked the arrow from the dummy.

            “And what happens if you don’t come home and I’m off on assignment again? What happens to your sister when she’s alone?”

            “Gwyn, Jude can take care of herself. She’s not some defenseless lamb�"”

            Brigid’s retort was interrupted as Cairnhert swung down and embedded itself deeply into the dirt. Gwyn’s gloved hands held tightly to the long handle. Her eyes were wild. “Damn you, listen! Every time I take an assignment, I put my life on the line to keep you all afloat. I am the mercenary here, not you! You are supposed to live, I’m supposed to die. Everything I do is to protect you. I can’t have you risking your life on whatever stupid dream you have of hunting!”

            “Oh it’s stupid now!” Brigid snapped, throwing her bow down. “Tell me what you really think then!”

            Gwyn sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

            “Then what did you mean?” Brigid said through gritted teeth.

            “The last thing I want is to lose you. By the Three, I’ve seen enough to judge.” Gwyn said, her expression stony. But still there was that wildness in her eyes. Brigid remembered stories of Gwyn’s days working as hired muscle escorting merchant caravans or fighting overseas in conflicts Gwyn barely acknowledged. Brigid was sure there were things Gwyn never dared talk about.

            Brigid’s anger cooled. Her eyes dropped to her feet. “I’m not out there to prove anything,” she said to the ground. “I’m just more useful out there.”

            “It’s not worth getting eaten by a Nightmaer over.” Gwyn said quietly. She gently stroked Brigid’s chin. “I want you to have a future.”

            What future? Brigid wanted to say. But she knew better. The love in Gwyn’s eyes told her as much. “You’re right.”

            “I’ll chop the rest of the wood. Go help Jude with the garden. I’ll make dinner tonight.” Gwyn patted her cousin’s shoulder.

            Brigid nodded as Gwyn collected her axe and went into the house. Meanwhile, Brigid picked up her bow and strung an arrow again. She pulled it taut and watched the unmoving target dummy. She imagined that if she landed that perfect shot on its head, then all her dreams could come true. She’d be taken away from this place. Jude could bear. There would be no monsters, no winters with barely any food, no weeks without work. None of them would be stuck in this backwater town barely hanging on to life. And Brigid’s worthless life would be worth something other than just survival.

            The bowstring loosened as the arrow fell to the ground.

 

            Brigid sometimes found herself forgetting what Gwyn being home felt like. For months at a time, only Brigid and Judith lived in the house. There were the times when Gwyn’s other mercenary friends would help them, but they too were off on assignment whether it be serving some wealthy lord or slaying beasts. There was a hole in the home whenever their cousin was gone. The house felt emptier without Gwyn’s massive shadow. Even when Brigid and her clashed, which was often, at least Brigid knew that Gwyn could withstand whatever petulance was thrown her way.

            Over dinner of veal and lamb stew, Gwyn told of her most recent assignment: backup work offered from the king himself at the Fissure. Soldiers were being diverted to the eastern coast for fear of possible invasion from across the sea, so an open call for any available mercenaries could join for the chance of knighthood. Many times Gwyn had the opportunity for such an honor. And many times she turned it down. “To be attached to a king means eventually fighting in a war you don’t believe in,” she had said once. “I’m a true-blooded Coor by heart. I don’t fight for anyone but my land and my family.” Simple work and a decent payout were all that mattered. Nobility was someone else’s problem.

            For whatever reason, Judith really wanted to hear about the Fissure. “Did you see any Folk while you were there?” She said excitedly, hands bracing against the table. “Is the wall really as big as everyone says?”

            “Yes and no,” Gwyn said enigmatically. “My comrades’ words were slightly exaggerated. The wall is not as tall as the mountains it’s built into. But it is still massive. There are guards who patrol it day and night, up and down. There could have been entire families raised on that wall, it’s so big.”

            “You’re lying!” Brigid scoffed.

            “Trust me, I’m not. As for any Folk, I didn’t see anything. Beyond the wall is a sea of mist so thick no one can see through it. It’s as if the air itself is trying to hide something. But at least you haven’t seen a Nightmaer, cause that’s as close to one you’ll ever see.” Gwyn said to Judith.

“Could it be the mist is magick?” Judith said with wondering eyes. “What could be on the other side?”

            “Nothing good,” Brigid mumbled. The giant wolf and the Stalker passed through her mind.

            “I’ve only seen one of the Folk before. A Weaver, we call them. Big nasty spider things with long legs ending in little hands. We were hunting it for some merchant. Their silk is very valuable on the mainland. We were in a section of forest surrounded by fallen trees. The Weaver’s nest was a gigantic web as big as this room,” Gwyn motioned around them. “Webs everywhere. Just horrid.”

            “Then what happened?” Judith pleaded.

            “It came down silently behind two men and began spinning them into webs. I turned around and managed to cut off two of its legs and the web it was standing on, then I cut its ugly little head off.” Gwyn said proudly. “Otherwise I’ve only ever encountered Nightmaers.”

            “Did the Weaver say anything?” Brigid blurted.

            Gwyn paused, giving her cousin a confused look for a moment. “No. Not that I remember. Why?”

            “No reason,” Brigid said, feigning disinterest. “I’ve heard some of them can talk.”

            “Well, none that I’ve encountered. They die like the animals they are.”

            The family finished dinner not long after. Judith sat at the table writing on parchment with a graceful ink quill. Gwyn sat by the fire absentmindedly carving a piece of wood. Brigid grabbed her cloak and boots. “I’m heading to the tavern for a bit. I won’t be gone long.”

            “How much did you take from the�"” Gwyn began, not looking up from her carving.

            “Five silver gelt. Don’t worry, I didn’t take the entire coffer.”

            “Just checking. Hurry home.” Gwyn said.

            “Have fun, Bridge.” Judith said from her journal.

            It was now dusk. There were few people outside, aside from a stray dog and a homeless drunk sitting by the bridge. Brigid flicked a gelt coin to the man who clutched the coin with dirty hands and stuffed it into his pockets All around, the air was heavy and damp. It was three months past the Month of Rains. It was still summer in the Month of Harvest, but the rains had been frequent. The weather tended towards cold in the northern parts of Ieade anyway, but the rain made it more unpleasant.

            The Curdled Cousin was a small walk from Brigid’s house on the other side of town. It lay in the central square of town near Jared’s shop. The dirt of the area was now pounded with many varieties of tracks from the day’s activity, with a fresh set leading into the lit doorway of the tavern. Brigid stared at the building, which quietly rumbled with activity. She pulled the string on her cloak and ventured inside.

            The Curdled Cousin was the spot in Turith where travelers and townspeople alike could mingle and relieve the drudgery of everyday life for a few minutes. Be it a drink or a song or a quiet table in the corner, there was something for everyone there. The instant Brigid entered, the smell of ale, sweat and dirt hit her. She didn’t mind. At least here, she felt like there was still life in this village outside of the drabness and endless toil of living in squalor. There were groups of mercenaries crowded at tables together laughing and downing flagons. Hunters and trackers sat quietly in the darkened firelight observing the crowds, their large hoods drawn. A fiddler played in another corner, bow playing a pleasant song to the patrons. Brigid noticed a few of the mercenaries had vests emblazoned with a crest depicting an eagle’s wings framing a sword with a bough of olive branches encircling them both. That was the sea of the kingdom across the eastern sea, Gersiac. She remembered Gwyn mentioning Nightmaers had been sighted on the mainland. Maybe these mercenaries were thinking they could find the source, like so many. Good luck trying to cross into the Faeire lands, she thought to those men.

            “Ale,” Brigid placed a coin on the bar as she found a stool. She slumped to the bar, keeping her hood up. The place thankfully wasn’t too busy, so she could have a few drinks and unwind before heading home. She’d made a habit of coming here when she was feeling especially down. Today was one of those days. Things just hadn’t turned out well. It must’ve started in the morning during the hunt. Still she couldn’t stop thinking about the wolf’s words. That creature had spoken to her. It asked for help. Why would an animal ask for help? And trading that gold charm only compounded her lack of fulfillment. At least it made a good gift for Jude.

            “Ale.” The bartender called as a flagon stomped onto the bar. Brigid grabbed the cup full of foaming drink and downed a gulp. She shivered as she swallowed. Honey and alcohol soothed whatever gripped her heart, but only just so. She still felt as if something was all wrong. Then again, she’d felt that way for a very long time. Something was missing. Something deep inside her heart that howled with a lonely wind. Brigid felt as if she wasn’t supposed to feel these things. Like Gwyn said, Brigid had a sister to think of. Brigid couldn’t go out and hunt and risk her life. But hunting was the only thing she felt she was good at. And if she died out in the wilderness, at least she felt she was doing something worthwhile.

            “Hey, Red.” A crushingly familiar voice hummed beside her.

            Brigid didn’t want to turn to see him. She knew he was there. She didn’t want to acknowledge him. To acknowledge him would be to acknowledge something within herself. “What do you want, Caolin?” She mumbled.

            “Visiting family somehow excludes visiting old friends?”

            “We’re not friends.”

            “We were.”

            Yes, Brigid wanted to say. Yes, we were. Finally she turned to face him. Caolin Keegan had barely changed in the two years since they’d seen each other. His garb was different, sure. He wore the proper equipment of a scout. His leather cuirass and bracers alone looked nicer than anything he’d ever worn before. His soft handsome features were marked by tiny scars. His messy brown hair was longer, even more ideal for running her hands through. But those hazel eyes, so kind and filled with sickly sweetness it made her sick, hadn’t changed at all. She saw that young boy who became her hunting partner. Then he became something more, for a time. “So you sniffed me out, didn’t you?” She said with a half-smile.

            “You don’t smell that bad,” He answered with his own smile. “Let me buy you a drink.”

            “That’s not necessary,” Brigid held up a hand. “Don’t spend any of your money on me.”

            “Just this once?” He pleaded, relinquishing a silver coin from his purse. “I’m trying to make the most of my leave while I’m here.”

            Brigid’s eyes darted from the coin, then to Caol’s face. He was wearing that annoying look in his eyes, the look that he thought made him look cute. She rolled her eyes in defeat. “Fine, but only if I buy you one.”

            “Done,” he agreed. The bartender, sensing their patronage, came by. Both ordered more ale and paid for each other’s drinks. Both downed their drinks at the same time, competing with who could finish first. Brigid won.

            “Seems the service hasn’t made your constitution any better,” Brigid said with a smirk, pushing her flagon aside. “Two years away and I can still beat you in a drinking contest.”

            “I have plenty of gelt. We can make it into something.” Caol gestured to his purse.

            “That’s not a good idea. I’m trying not to get in trouble with Gwyn.”

            “I see. How are they doing? Gwyn and Jude?”

            “Gwyn’s Gwyn, a scowl given form. Jude’s doing well. She’s�"” Brigid thought about her sister’s nervous attacks, how Jude rarely left the house now. “She’s managing.”

            Caol nodded. “And you?”

            Brigid thought about what she wanted to say. She also thought about the time they’d shared, those long years from when she and Jude was first dumped here by a man she thought was her father at Gwyn’s doorstep. Then in the middle of all the hardship, she met this soft-eyed young man, nicer than all the others, who she could trust. He taught her how to hunt, who showed her compassion and kindness. She remembered the first time they’d made love out in the woods, and the other times after that over the years. Then she remembered the day he said he was joining Scout Corps. Then she remembered how she’d yelled at him, told him he was abandoning her, how she hoped she never saw him again. Then she cried and cried because she could’ve gone with him, but that meant leaving behind Judith. And Brigid, in her stupidity, took it out on Caol. He was right to leave her behind if that’s who she was.

            “Brigid?” Caol’s voice snapped her out of her recollection. “How are you doing?”

            “I’m doing fine,” Brigid replied, forcing a smile. “Just fine.”

 

            The rest of the night, the two ex-lovers talked. It was mainly Caol sharing his experiences out in the field assisting the King’s forces. The other provinces of Ieade were slowly losing their grip on territories because of Nightmaer attacks, meanwhile general civil unrest made maintaining peace difficult. He hadn’t seen much combat, thank the One God. But he’d seen plenty of strange things out in the woods and in the dark. Sometimes Nightmaers that seemed made of darkness and teeth, other times ghostly things that watched from a distance beyond forts and walls before disappearing into the night. Most of the soldiers were converts to the Testament, but prayers whispered to the One God and St. Geordian didn’t assuage their fears. That was one of the things that drew Brigid to him, after all. He didn’t subscribe to that stupid religion. The world was as it was, be it the natural and the unseen. Brigid didn’t have much else to share. Life in Turith didn’t change much. Caol thought that was a good thing. Brigid just looked at him in confusion. She didn’t tell him about the wolf or the Nightmaer.

            The two strode home, both a little dizzy from ale. They walked all the way from the bar to across the bridge.

            “Do I have to hold you when we go across the bridge again?” Caol asked.

            “Shut up, I wasn’t that drunk that night.” Brigid snarked back, elbowing him. The night in question being the time when Brigid got into a contest with a mercenary and proceeded to drink the man under the table. Consequentially, Brigid was so blasted that she lost all coordination and fell off the bridge into the river while walking home, prompting Caol to fish her out. “And I won’t throw up on you, either.”

            “Thanks a lot,” Caol laughed, slapping her shoulder. She leaned her head into his side.

            They finally made it to Gwyn’s doorstep. The lantern was lit. Tiny flies buzzed around its light. Brigid turned to face Caol. He looked taller. It must’ve been the boots. “I guess this is goodbye again,” Brigid said.

            Caol nodded, a sad half-smile creasing his lips.

            For a moment, there was only silence between them.

            “Caolin…” Brigid finally said. “I know when you left it wasn’t…well…,” She nervously grabbed her arms. “I just wanted to say that if I don’t see you again, I’m sorry for what I said to you.” The words were a great effort. Remembering her harsh words stung just as much as when she said them two years ago. “I was being a b***h. I�"I lashed out at you, and I shouldn’t have. I was just too selfish to get it through my head�"” Tears began forming in her eyes.

            Hands gripped her shoulders. She looked up at Caolin’s soft gaze. “It’s alright. I had two years to think about it. That’s a long to be angry at anyone.” He gently touched her cheek, wiping a single tear that began falling from her eye.

            Brigid sniffed, then nodded. “Thank you,” She said. Then, without thinking, she leaned upward and kissed him on the mouth. He leaned back in surprise, then slowly wrapped his hands around her. They remained there in the lanternlight holding each other, their kiss filled with passion which neither could ever satiate again.

            Finally they broke apart. Brigid’s heart pounded against her chest. She wanted desperately to take him here. It had been too long. She wanted to tear his clothes off and feel his everything within and without her. But she knew she couldn’t. He’d made his choice, and she’d made hers. Two years onward, she’d learned to live with her mistakes. “I forgot how good that felt,” She rasped.

            “I could say the same for you,” he said. He looked visibly shaken as well. “That was rougher than normal.”

            “I don’t think any woman could ever measure up to me in your mind,” Brigid said.

            “You’re right,” Caol admitted. He sighed. “I should be going.”

            Again, that desire to savage him lit her chest on fire. When they’d first made love, he’d called her a she-wolf despite her inexperience. Whether it was the danger of the forest, the warmth of the summer rain which fell that afternoon, or his hands on her bare skin, Brigid felt nothing but raw animal lust that day. The more they’d joined after that, the more she understood that aspect of herself. There was an animal inside her in more ways than one. Only Caolin knew that, and that was his secret to keep. That was why he was her first, and her only in two years. Never again would she feel the softness of his kiss nor his hands wandering over her back and legs and breasts nor the sweetness of his words and smile. But again, she had to live with this choice. “Right,” she said. “See you around.”

            Caol nodded, and he turned around and walked away into the night.

            The house was dark save for a single candle on the kitchen table. Brigid took the candle into the main bedroom. The sleeping forms of Judith and Gwyn slept in separate beds on opposite corners of the tiny room, along with two dressers and a dusty mirror. The was a third bed close to Judith. Brigid gently placed the candle down on the dresser and undressed into her simple sleeping gown. It was nothing special, but comfortable considering how drafty this house got in the summer. She blew out the candle with a single puff and crawled under the thin blankets into bed. Thoughts of Caol still wafted through her mind. She thought about exorcising them but decided against it what with her family in the same room. Instead, she rolled over and stared at the dark ceiling. Her mind turned the dark into shapes and faces until finally she couldn’t remain awake any longer.

 

            Elsewhere, the small golden charm sat on the dresser near the window. Moonlight glinted off the shining metal, the emeralds and rubies shining brightly in the night. Outside, a small shape with six bright eyes and glittering wings watched the charm glitter. The thing tapped its six arms rhythmically on the glass, lost in thought as to its next course of action. Eventually it made its decision and lifted off into the night. The wingbeats of its dragonfly-like wings buzzed into the night air as it journeyed out of the human lands back home to report to its master.

            Back to the land of the Faeire Folk.

Author's Note

Early draft. Please enjoy.