Twilight’s GateKeeper
Áine awoke on a sandy beach by a lake somewhere in the Windlass Mountains. She knew not how long she had lain there, nor how she had come to this place. A black mare was standing nearby chewing on some grass. In the back of her mind, Áine was aware that the mists of the Isle of Dreams had been summoned, cutting the pathways to this place some time ago, but she was uncertain how long ago that had been or whether all of that had simply been a dream.
The clearing by the lake she now found herself in was really quite lovely, a tiny green patch amidst the grey weave of the surrounding hills and woods. She looked at the black mare and in mindspeak asked, “Where is…? How…? Hmmm, it seems I’ve forgotten his name.” She brought her hand up to her forehead and winced, having found a nasty knot sprouting there, probably sustained in her fall from the white horse she’d been riding.
“The Eacha don’t speak one another’s names, Miss,” the black mare replied in mindspeak, “but the one who was serving you had to return to his mare, who is even now birthing a new foal. He sent me in his place, ma’am, to serve you as long as you wish.” Áine nodded and her head throbbed. “Argh! It seems I’ve taken a nasty tumble,” Áine groaned with pain.
“Aye, Miss, he carried you unconscious for some time. Said you’d knocked your head while coming ’round a sharp bend on the way here, but even unconscious you managed to stay on his back until you arrived here at the lake. He waited nearby for you to awaken as long as he could, but with the foal coming, he could wait no longer. They say it will be a fine young silver one that is born… a Special one,” the mare told her.
Áine carefully brushed the sand from her face, avoiding the knot on her forehead, and slowly stood and shook the sand from her clothing. “What name might I call you?” she inquired of the black mare. “The two-legged call me Dubhealaín, Miss Áine,” spoke the mare.
“Ahhh… Dubhealaín… black arts… black magic… a good name, to be sure,” Áine smiled and winked at the horse, who nodded and whickered in reply.
Áine looked about and found her traveling bag nearby, glad it wasn’t lost. She slung this over her shoulder, then surveyed the surrounding terrain. Nothing seemed familiar about this place, though it was a truly beautiful glen in the mountains, and there was an air of the Old Magics drifting about. The grasses were a rich, deep green color, the lake was crystal clear and its bottom could be plainly seen. All about were the sounds of birds, frogs, buzzing insects, and occasionally a fish would rise to the surface and pluck a few bugs for its lunch. On the north shore was a small hut built against a hillside. It had a perfectly round door, almost like a port hole, and it was at one time blue, though the paint was almost completely gone with weathering.
Áine and Dubhealaín wandered around the shoreline until they stood quietly in front of this hut. There were no foot tracks leading from the doorway, no smoke trails coming from the small stovepipe they now saw emerging from the top of the hill, nor any sign that anyone had been here in quite some time. Nonetheless, Áine slowly approached the door and gave it a satisfactory knock, then stood back and waited to see if anyone would answer. When no one did, Áine knocked again.
After several minutes when still no one came to the door, Áine tried the doorknob and found it unlocked, and she stepped inside. Dubhealaín followed her, for, indeed, the entrance was actually quite large, though appeared small from the outside, it was large enough for a horse to enter.
The door of the hut opened onto a tunnel-shaped hallway, a very comfortable hall which led further into the hillside with many twists and turns. There seemed to be no end of doorways leading off into other rooms within the hill. Amidst all the doorways were bedrooms, bathrooms, sitting rooms, cellars, pantries, a very large stable suitable for dozens of horses and cattle, kitchens, dining rooms, a banquet hall, several libraries filled with books from floor to ceiling, an armory, and a grand ballroom complete with musical instruments of many kinds. The floor throughout was of oak, worn golden with age and polished smooth with use, though it seemed no one had, indeed, been here in many, many years. The walls were of the same oak and consisted of uncounted numbers of wooden panels, each inlaid with many other colored woods depicting scenes of feasts, battles, hunts, and all manner of creatures and beings. Altogether, it was a very artistic rendering of some history of adventures. Áine thought it might take weeks to explore it all, and since she had no idea where exactly she was, nor any better place to be at the moment, she thought it might be a rather nice place to rest for a while, provided the owner didn’t return and kick her out, that is.
Áine wandered into what seemed to be the main kitchen and found a piece of parchment on the kitchen table. On it was some handwriting which was not only legible, but highly decorated with flourishes and such. The note read:
To Whomsoever Should Find This:
Greetings, Wanderer!! On this side board you will find an annual glass with flowing sands (or not, as the case may be). If those sands are no longer flowing, it means that I did not return to this homestead for over a year, and You, having found this letter, may consider that I have no intentions of returning to this household. You may also consider that my latest adventure has been either a wild success, or that I have met an untimely demise.
Whatever the case may be, You (whomever You may be) may consider this letter to be a legal document rendering this household, its contents, and the surrounding lands and waterways, over to your legal possession and care with full rights thereto, etc., etc. to keep in perpetuity for as long as you or your heirs may desire. You, by virtue of making it into this valley past its enchantments and other magical protections, are now the legal owner of everything you see around you.
And now, you may be wondering where I’ve gone off to and whether I shall return? I am, as near as I can tell, the last of my kind in these fair Isles, and so I have no further reason to remain here. I now journey alone to the world of Men to make a new life and in hope of finding some of my own Kin who may yet survive there.
If you wish to remain here and make this your home, and that is my hope, you will find this to be a comfortable home in all seasons. The lake and adjoining stream are always rich with fish, and the garden on the southeastern side of the hill is also well-planted, and these should see you through many seasons (provided the weeds and the deer and such haven’t taken over by now). In addition, you will find the pantries and cellars stocked with provisions, so you need not fear starvation whilst you accustom yourself and your family to life in this glen… provided you decide to remain here.
In the libraries you will find an abundance of reading materials, maps, useful bits of advice, and other things with which to occupy your spare hours. I do hope you enjoy reading as much as I do. You will also find parchments and other such writing materials scattered here and there, with which you may send messages to residents of Akkadia and whomever is in charge of this Isle by way of the pigeons I have bred for this purpose.
Please take good care of all you find here, as it now belongs to you and you alone. I hope that life within this glen is as pleasant for you and yours as it has been for me. At any rate, I am off!
May the gods watch over me in my travels, and may you find life here to your liking.
Signed,
Conaire MacNeesh
3rd Lord of Calatin
Windlass Mountains
Isle of Dreams
Áine put the parchment back on the table. “Hmmm… well, I guess that explains that,” she mused as she looked at the glass on the sideboard. The sands hadn’t flowed for quite some time, judging by the layer of dust that covered it. “Well, Dubhealaín, what say you and I make this home for a time?” Áine turned to find the black mare had already made its way to the stables and was even now fast asleep. She chuckled softly, then found a warm woolen blanket among the things in the stable and carefully covered Dubh’s back with it.
Returning to the kitchen where she’d found the letter, she realized the place needed a good dusting, but for however long it had been vacant, it was still fairly clean and cozy. She’d see to the dusting on the morrow, but for now her concern focused on getting a nice hot cup of tea and a bite to eat, so she lit a warm fire in the kitchen stove and put some water into a kettle to boil. In a nearby pantry she found a tin of shredded tea leaves, some bottled salted chicken meat, flour and other baking goods, dried vegetables, spices, etc., and set about to making a nice meal.
While it was simmering on the stove, she wandered off and found a bathroom where she washed herself. Surprisingly, there were ladies’ clothes in the wardrobe, and though years out of fashion, they were in good condition and quite moth-free, and from these she selected a pretty green frock, a blue hand-knit shawl, and a warm pair of sheepskin slippers. In the cupboard in the bathroom she found vials and tins with healing herbs and balms of all sorts, and having some knowledge of the healing arts, she set about to treating the painful knot on her forehead. It wasn’t going to look pretty for a few days, at least, but it would heal in time.
The tea kettle began to whistle in the kitchen, and the soda bread was ready to go into the oven, so Áine fixed herself a cup of tea and popped the bread into the oven, then stirred the chicken stew on the stove. She hadn’t long to wait until everything was ready to eat, and when she finally sat down at the table with spoon in hand, it occurred to her that this was her very first meal in her new home. The thought pleased her. It had been quite some time since she’d had any place to call home… she’d been wandering a long time… even she wasn’t quite sure how long. After a satisfying meal, Áine crept off into a nearby bedroom and fell fast asleep.
The next morning Áine worked on dusting. She found cleaning supplies in a closet off the kitchen she’d used the night before, and got to work just as the sun was rising. Normally, she would have preferred to sleep in until mid-morning, but today was the first full day in her new home, and she was excited. As she went about her cleaning, she discovered more and more rooms leading off other corridors in every direction. “I’ll never catch up with the cleaning at this rate,” she thought, and at mid-morning she put the kettle on and went into the stable to see if Dubhealaín was awake yet.
The black mare was standing there having a mindspeak conversation with a group of pigeons. They, apparently, were the messenger pigeons and were familiar with the terrain of the Isle of Dreams, and they indicated to her that for a few handfuls of seed, they would be happy to carry messages to anyone on the Isle that Lady Áine wished to communicate with.
“Very good, Dubh, I see you’ve found some friends here,” Áine grinned. She walked around inside of the stables until she came to the grainery. “Hmmm… it seems Lord MacNeesh kept the place well-stocked inDEED!” she said aloud, “though I wonder how he managed it all by himself?” She found a feedbag marked “pigeon seed” and scooped out a generous measure which she placed in a tin and gave to the pigeons, who seemed very grateful to have it. Here, she also found a mix of oats, barley, and sorghum which she gave to Dubh, and the mare nickered her thanks.
Áine wandered deeper into the stables and at the far end found stalls for sheep, sows, and a coop for raising hens and ducks and other fowl. On the wall was a note tacked up which read:
“Seed on the floor
fowl galore,
Seed in the tray
all the hens lay.”
Áine chuckled, “It seems MacNeesh had a way with magic.” She took a handful of feed and flung it across the floor, raising a cloud of dust as she did so.
Nothing happened.
“Heh, well, I suppose that one takes a bit of time to work,” she smiled. She poured more feed into the tray, as well, and then went back into the main hallway. Áine wandered into one of the libraries. There were, of course, books from floor to ceiling, their bindings standing at attention in colorful ranks. There was also a large desk in one corner adorned with colorful inlays of oak leaf and acorn around its edges. On top was an ornate ink blotter, quill, ink bottles of many colors, parchments, sealing wax, and other such supplies. A large over-stuffed chair with side table, oil lamp, and tobacco humidor stood next to a small fireplace in another corner. The room was neat and tidy, and Áine thought she might spend many pleasant hours here when the snows came. But now was not the time for that, she must see to the rest of this household and glen.
Back in the main hallway she wandered deeper into the hillside home looking for a passageway that would lead her outdoors to the southeast, where the garden MacNeesh had written about was located. After opening several doors and discovering various rooms filled with all manner of things, she finally found the side hall leading out.
It was a fairly large garden; concentric circles of planting beds cut by pathways in eight directions, aligned with the directions of the winds, or the sun’s path. Each bed had been built up, above ground level, and shored with mortared river stones of various colors. Surrounding the outside ring of beds was a rounded stone wall built of the same stones as the beds themselves, and this was built to the height of a man’s shoulders, a good height to deter cattle and other animals from entering and destroying the garden. All along the wall were espaliered fruit trees… apple, pear, cherry… all were heavy with fruit not quite ripe. Another few weeks until the chill winds came, and with it, the harvest. The stone work of wall and planting beds was very well made; it had withstood uncounted years of seasons and changing weather.
Áine strolled ’round the garden in a clockwise direction, gradually coming to the center where she stood before some sort of circular table or platform. She didn’t quite know what to make of it, though it was carved with all sorts of magical symbols and pictures of animals and birds of all kinds. The thought of stepping upon it seemed somehow wrong, and so she didn’t, and for the time being turned her attention to the rest of the garden and surveyed it over all.
The garden wouldn’t amount to much this year, overgrown and late in the season as it was, but it would be enough. It was full of volunteers from many seasons’ worth of fallen seed. There would be much needing pruning and thinning, and so she threw herself into work. Gardening is difficult work, hard labor, but it is the kind of work which requires strong muscles and leaves the mind free to think its thoughts.
Áine wondered about MacNeesh… the kind of man he was… the reasons he abandoned this glen, his home. She thought about her own reasons for entering these mountains, as well. If asked, it seemed doubtful even she could explain exactly. Somewhere out here, she knew, was someone who awaited her… but whether it was a memory, dream, or reality, even she couldn’t say.
“The world shows a different face among these peaks… sometimes real… sometimes unreal,” she whispered, though there was no one save the wind to hear her. She thought about all the people she’d known, both human and otherwise, their proclivity toward either kindness or meanness; how some were no better than animals, heh, the animals would be insulted by some… how others set themselves up as judges over others when their own actions were blind to themselves.
Áine muttered, “Aye, the roads were full of wolves in those days, nearly all of them two-legged, and just as dangerous and deadly.” She was glad to be away from others, out here in the mountains. She wasn’t a bit frightened being alone out here. Some in the past had made the mistake of thinking her frail and vulnerable, without protection. They soon learned otherwise. Oh, she’d been trapped a time or two, but she’d always found a way to free herself, and the two-legged wolves had been made to regret tangling with her.
Just then, the hair stood up on the nape of her neck; she felt like she was being watched. She stood and did a scan of the area, but found nothing… which was, itself, unusual. Someone or something was out there in the hills watching, but whoever or whatever it was, it was capable of shielding itself from her probes. And that usually meant danger.
She slowly made her way back into the hillside, acting as if nothing whatsoever was amiss, yet every one of her senses was acutely aware. Once inside, she ran quickly to every outside door that she knew of and secured them with bolt or latch, then placed magical guards about the place as well. Locked within the hill might keep her safe, but knowing there was one outside who could block her scans, and not being where she might observe this one, did little to make her feel secure. Besides, she couldn’t stay locked within forever, could she?
“All there is for it is to make a map of this house, so that I might know its passageways and rooms as well as I know my own hands,” she whispered to no one. Áine went to the library she’d visited before and got the parchments and quill and ink, and then began at the lakeside door, drawing a crude map of the interior of the house, marking on it rooms, bends in the main hallway, and exits from the hill. She worked on this map for days.
By the third day of map-making, Áine was fairly sure she had covered most of the house, though she knew in a place like this there could easily be hidden passageways or corridors throughout the mountains that her map did not encompass. It was on this third day of map-making as she was having mid-morning tea that she heard someone knocking on the front door. She hurried to it and threw the door open fully prepared to magically bind whoever was there in an instant, but when she flung the door open, no one was there, and looking down, she saw footprints in the sand, as well as a parcel left on her doorstep.
The footprints appeared to go from west to east through the glen, stopping only at her doorstep to drop off the parcel and then hurrying quickly into the woods on the other side. They were made by man-sized boots. Áine picked up the parcel, scanned it briefly, then opened it. Inside were a freshly killed pheasant, two swan eggs, wild mint, thyme, sage, parsley, and some carved bone fishing hooks and sewing needles. She smiled. “Well, that was nice of Him… I suppose now I’ll need to give a gift in return… but… hmmm… perhaps if I left something by the lake, He’d find it?” She searched the surrounding peaks, but found not a trace of him. Aloud she called out, “Beannacht! Guím an t-ádh leat!” [Blessings! May good luck go with you!] Then she turned and went back inside.
She cleaned and dressed the pheasant and put it in the oven to roast. The swan eggs she brought to the stable, where she found several dozen chickens and ducks running around loose. Áine giggled and shooed them all back into the coop on the far side of the stables and closed the gate so they wouldn’t get out again. She placed the swan eggs into one of the hen’s nests, replacing the chicken eggs with them, and brought the chicken eggs back to the kitchen. She’d now have fresh eggs every day, thanks to MacNeesh. She pumped water from the pump at the sink and filled two buckets. One she brought to Dubhealaín, the other to the fowl.
Áine returned to the kitchen and sat down at the table, thinking. The aroma of roasting pheasant wafted around the kitchen. She began to think of what sort of gift she should give to her mysterious benefactor, and she also wondered how he’d found his way into this glen, if MacNeesh had protected it with enchantments as it said in the letter. There was more to this mysterious stranger than meets the eyes, but not having caught a glimpse of Him, she had no idea what sorts of things He might need. Then again, there were things that all Beings have need of, no matter their circumstances or what station of life they may occupy, by chance or by birth or by their own efforts of labor. She picked up the parcel and opened it again, then took out one of the bone sewing needles.
She went to the library where she’d left the house map. She studied the map carefully, then walked down the main hallway, perhaps forty paces, and turned left. She opened the door to a room containing cloth, a loom, thread, yarn, and other notions. She selected some heavy green canvas and began constructing a strong knapsack with numerous pockets on the outside, and she put loops of cloth here and there, suitable for tying on any number of things. She melted some parafin and soaked the knapsack in it so as to render it waterproof, and set this to dry. Then she went into one of the bedrooms and opened a wardrobe.
She took out several shirts, trousers, and a green woolen cloak. On a fine shirt of saffron linen she began an embroidery. She threaded the needle with hairs from her own head and began sewing an intricate design across the back of it, humming an ancient tune as she did so. Her fingers moved deftly and so quickly it seemed a blur. When she finished, the design on the shirt could have been mistaken for a sepia tone photograph of the glen, the lake, the surrounding mountains, and her hillside home on the island. It was truly beautiful, and she hoped He would like it.
She carefully packed everything into the knapsack. Into the side pockets she placed tins of tobacco, a new clay pipe, an ivory comb, a pair of sharp scissors, a shaving razor, a small mirror, and a packet of chocolate bars wrapped in waxed paper. She placed the embroidered shirt in last so that it would be the first thing He saw when He opened it. Almost as an afterthought, she added a silver penny whistle, tying it to the top of the pack with a leather thong. She hoisted the pack and carried it outside to the shore of the lake, and left it in plain sight. Then she went back inside and enjoyed a delicious dinner of roast pheasant, potatoes, and corn. The next morning, she saw that the knapsack had been taken, her gift accepted.
She didn’t know it, but the sight of the embroidery had made Him weep, so touched was He by her gift, for He saw it for what it was.
