Daughter Of The Forest (24 page)

Time passed, and the forest burst forth with new life. I played out my small domestic round day after day. I would rise at dawn to wash in lake water, and I would blow the embers of my tiny fire back to life, and boil water with maybe a handful of cress and wild onions for a meager breakfast. After this, Linn would set out along the shore or into the woods, hunting, and I would go out to search for food. As spring moved into summer this task grew easier. Blackberries ripened, gooseberries and red currants were here and there for the taking. Elder trees were crowned with clusters of white. Wild herbs were abundant, parsley and sage, marjoram and figwort. I noted where apples grew, and hazel trees, for these would provide a good harvest later, in the autumn. I knew by now I must live here at least one more winter, for my progress with the task was wretchedly slow. I had barely enough thread for one shirt, and it was already close to summer.

When I returned from my foraging, I would fetch distaff and spindle, and the unforgiving bundle of fibers, and I would spin and spin, and feel the barbs piercing my skin, and I would tell tales in silence with my eyes fixed on nothing. From time to time I would get up to walk out under the trees, and I would rest my aching back and shoulders against a strong oak or sturdy elm. Then my mind would reach out for them, out across the lake, into the sky, anywhere my brothers might be.

Where are you, Finbar?

But there was nothing. For all I knew they might be dead, brought down by some hunter’s arrow or prey to wolf or wild boar.

Where are you?

I did not allow myself to do this for long. Linn would come back, licking her lips, and settle by me companionably, and I would spin again. Later in the day I would take the thread I had made in the morning, and add it to my weaving. It was beyond my ability to make a loom such as I had seen the women use at home. But I had found a flat piece of bark, two hand spans in length, a little less in breadth, and I had notched the edges and tried the warp threads around. The weft I wove in by hand, with a needle of bone taken from Father Brien’s. Under and over, under and over. The fabric was lumpy and uneven, but it held together. Time enough later to think about how such work might be sewn into a shirt.

Midsummer took me almost by surprise. I was working as steadily as I could, and began to search further afield for starwort, for I had almost exhausted the supply near my cave, and must now leave it to recover. One day I ventured back along the old path where I had taken the horse, up the hill between vines and creepers, ferns and mosses, in the dark green filtered light of ancient forest, until I was close to the place I had left him. There was a strange feeling in me, as if I must make sure the rest of the world had not gone away while I hid solitary in my cave spinning. For what about the tales of lad and lass taken by the Folk under the hill? They might spend but one night with the fair ones, singing and dancing, and come home to find a hundred years had passed and their people all dead and gone. Who was to say the same might not happen to me?

I came as close to the forest’s edge as I dared, and then I climbed quietly up into the spreading arms of a walnut tree. Linn guarded my bundle, happy enough to rest among the ferns and bracken, for the sun was hot and there was a still heaviness that presaged summer storms. From my vantage point I looked out over a stand of young elder trees, down to a cart track bordered by hawthorn bushes, and beyond this to stone-walled fields, some planted with barley or rye, others left for grazing. There was a cottage or two, far enough away. Here and there the land rose to small conical hills, some crested with pines or oaks. And beyond the farmlands, the forest began again. I sat quiet amid the stillness, scarcely thinking of anything. The sweet smell of hawthorn blossom drifted in the air, and I sensed the movement of small creatures about their business, insects sluggish in summer’s heat, rustling of rabbit and squirrel in the undergrowth, and the lesser-seen, mysterious dwellers of the trees, whose voices floated in the air like fragile, whispering music.

Sorcha, hail. Sorcha, our sister
. A tinkle of laughter, and the flash of a delicate wing or a cobwebby veil, half seen in the dappled light. Sometimes you would come across a long strand of golden hair, or a slender footprint, where they had passed.
Come and dance with us, sister
. I greeted them silently, knowing they knew I could not follow them. And then in a flurry they were gone; for along the cart track came an all too human band of youths, both boys and girls, laughing, whistling, and shouting, with flowers and ribbons in their hair. I watched them quietly, and Linn stayed silent where she was; one sharp gesture from me was enough to command her obedience now. As the band passed between the hawthorn bushes, they paused to wrap colored streamers on branches still fragrant with late blossom, and sang an old rhyme, asking the great Mother for a bountiful harvest. They sang with shining faces and bright eyes; and when they finished the girls broke into fits of giggles and ran off down the track, and the boys ran after them, and then they started again.

Two of the young men had bundles of sticks on their backs, and the party split up, the girls continuing down the track until every hawthorn bore its summer garland of gold and white and green ribbons. The boys made their way up the nearest small hill, and now I could see a bonfire in readiness on its very top, and realized this must indeed be the final preparation for Meán Samhraidh, the midsummer solstice.

Tonight there would be offerings passed across the fire, and flaming herbs would be carried to stable and barn, to field and cottage, to ask the blessing of Dana, the mother goddess, on every creature that dwelled there.

And so it was time. Time to find out if I could believe what the Lady had told me. Time to learn if it was true I could break the spell. For I remembered well her promise; twice a year, at midsummer and midwinter, they will come to you if they can, and from dusk to daybreak they may resume their human shape. The words themselves were hedged with uncertainty. But I believed my brothers would come, and that I must return to the lake and wait for them.

The girls were still in sight down the track and I dared not move while I could be seen. And now there was another young man coming, more hesitantly, well back from the rest. He was thickset and had the coarse, innocent features of one born not quite right, one who would be always one step behind the others. He hurried along the path as best he could, limping a little, his big hands stretching out to touch a ribbon bow here, a blossom there, his broad smile revealing a prominent set of teeth.

The others had moved on without him, but he didn’t seem bothered. Instead, he chose the place just below my tree to sit down by the road and rummage in his pocket. I was eager to be off, but could not move. The boy took out a lump of bread and cheese and began to partake of his meal in a leisurely way. I could hardly begrudge him; after all, he had chosen the same spot as I to enjoy the sights and smells of this glorious summer day. So I waited, watching him take each mouthful. It was a long time since I had tasted bread. After he had finished, the boy seemed to drift off into a half doze, his hat tilted almost over his eyes, his hands dangling between his knees, apparently scarce taking in his surroundings. I waited a little longer. He showed no signs of moving. I thought of my brothers, and the long walk back to the lake, and I began, very slowly, to climb down from my perch.

There had been a time when we could move through the forest, my brothers and I, with speed and in total silence. Nobody could have seen us, or heard us, or caught us. But now my hands had lost their fine touch. They were swollen and hardened and the joints ached even in summer’s warmth. I lost my grip for a moment and grabbed at a branch, and I made a twig crack, just the tiniest noise. He was on his feet in a flash, staring straight at me, and his around brown eyes were full of wonderment.

“Faery!” he exclaimed in a loud, slightly indistinct voice. “Faery girl!”

His grin was huge and joyous, as if his fondest dream had come true; as if he had seen the most wonderful object of his imaginings. For an instant I stared back at him. Then I slipped away to the ground, grabbed my bundle and fled into the forest, and I made sure my path home was so hard to follow that none could track me there. Poor boy. I wonder how many times he had waited in that spot, hoping for a sight of the Fair Folk. Often it was to just such as him that they chose to appear. I hoped, if he told his tale, that it would be put down to excessive imagination. With luck, they would believe it really was a faery girl that he had seen.

The encounter had shaken me. To risk discovery thus, on the very day of my brothers’ return, had been foolish in the extreme. I vowed never to come that way again, however great my need to see humankind, however painful my isolation. No word must make its way back to my village, and thence to the lady Oonagh. For she would come for me if she found me, I was in no doubt of that. Besides, I had wasted precious time. Already midsummer, and the first shirt barely begun. At this rate I would be here for many moons. I hastened home through the forest, eager for nightfall.

To speak truth, I scarcely doubted that first time that they would return as she had told me. And so I prepared for them, washing myself, dragging a comb through my disheveled curls, making my simple home as orderly as I could. I left the fire alight, though damped down, and I walked to the lakeshore well before sunset. There I performed the ritual alone and in silence. I was careful to leave nothing out. In turn I greeted the spirits of Fire, Air, Water, and Earth. I did not ask any favors. Instead I opened my mind to what would come. Told them that I accepted it, whatever it was. Asked them to accept me for my part in the great web of life, and to use me as they would. When I had finished I took up my staff of oak that had been Father Brien’s, and I cast the circle on the white sand around me. I sat cross-legged at its very center and waited, with the wide, empty waters of the lake before me. Gradually the sounds of the forest began to make their way back into my consciousness. Trees rustled, birds called and answered high above. I could do no more.

The sky deepened to rose and violet and a dusky gray. An owl flew overhead unseen, her mournful cry floating in the evening air. Not long. Not long now. Linn had been quiet, crouched in the grass, watching me carefully. Now she crept closer, growling softly. And they were there, out on the water, drifting together, white ghosts on the darkening ripples. My heart leaped, but I sat still and waited. Thunder rolled far away to the west, and the air clung damply to the skin.

The last trace of sunlight was extinguished; night stretched her hand over the forest. As dusk became dark, there was a movement in the water, and they came to shore, one by one. The moment of changing was veiled from me by the night, for the moon had yet to show herself through gathering clouds. I saw dimly the shape of a great wing, the bending of a strong, arching neck. And then they were here, my brothers, my dear ones, on the sand before me, dazed and wet, half clothed in the selfsame garments they had worn before, and then, best balm for the spirit, came the silent greeting of mind to mind, stumbling and incoherent at first, but filling my heart with the deepest joy.

Sorcha. Sorcha, we are here
.

I moved forward, touching each one in turn, half seeing by the light of my small lantern the wildness and confusion in their eyes, hearing their voices halting and hesitant. All was not well with them. If I had expected them delivered to me whole and unchanged, brave and true and laughing as I remembered them, then I had misapprehended the nature of enchantments.

It is not so bad
. Conor put his arm around me as I heard his inner voice.
Remember the tale of the four fair children of Lir? Turned into swans they were for nine hundred years, and when at last they came back to human form they were like little old men and women, bent and deformed. We have returned unharmed, in body at least—and somewhat sooner than they
.

This did little to reassure me. Did my brothers know nothing of the spell and counterspell? Nothing of the length of their enchantment, and the method of undoing it? How would I explain this, without the power of speech, and with the command of silence on my story? And there was something else wrong here.

Where is Finbar?
For my mind was able to touch but the one brother, and my hands found but five.

“He comes. Give him time,” said Conor aloud, and I was reassured that he sounded quite like his normal self. And now the others were getting up, groaning slightly as if from excess of ale or a hard beating in the practice yard, and as their human consciousness slowly returned to them they gathered around me, and hugged me, and gripped each other by hand or shoulder as if to be sure that this was not just another vision or trick of sorcery. The dog sidled across to Cormack, still cautious. He bent to fondle her ears and stroke her scarred face with gentle fingers. Then she knew him, and jumped up to plant huge paws on his chest, barking ecstatically. I saw him draw back for just a second, and a look almost like fear passed across his face; and then it was gone as he roughed up her coat, grinning.

I took hold of Conor’s jacket, drawing him away from the shore. In my other hand I held the small lantern. My brothers followed me up the hill to the cave, but they were still slow to return to full recognition and were silent for the most part, following my direction without question. We reached the cave, and I rekindled the fire and lit another lamp. It should be safe enough. Tonight all souls would be gathered for midsummer revels, and only the most foolhardy or ignorant mortal would venture deep into the forest at such a time.

My brothers sat around the little fire like lost spirits that had drifted off their chosen path. There was little talk at first; they seemed stunned, though from time to time one would reach out to touch another’s hand as if to reassure themselves that they were indeed returned to human form. After a while I became aware that Finbar was there as well, come silently up from the water to join our small circle. It was as I stretched to throw another piece of ash wood on the fire that his hand came out to grasp mine; his eyes had always been sharp.