Dirty Little Secrets

Séasúr an Earrach
Spring, the Season of Sowing

The next day, Áine got busy in the garden, while Lodan went fishing for the day. She’d found some flower seeds in a room just off the opening to the garden. Indeed, the room had bottles of seeds from floor to ceiling, each labeled with genus and variety, as well as any color variations noted. Someone had certainly done a fine job of cataloging all of the various plants, which made her job easier in one sense, but more difficult in another. There were so many varieties, it was difficult to make choices… she wanted to plant them all! And then she opened a drawer and found planting diagrams from many different seasons, and one of these caught her eye as it was ornately illustrated, so she decided to follow that one as best she could.

She spent the better part of the day turning soil over and planting flower, fruit, and vegetable seeds. Some of the flowers she planted were: ór Muire [marigold], goirmín [pansy], amarantas [amaranthus], milis móinéar [meadow sweet], mamaí [mums], dáilia [dahlia], nóinin [daisy], fiogadán [chamomile], coróineach [carnation], and so many others it would take a small book to list them all. There were rose bushes planted in certain beds here and there throughout the garden, and she was anxious to see what colors they might be. The espaliered fruit trees along the wall were already green with leaves, and needed little care, other than an occasional snip here and there to keep them growing along the wires.

In late afternoon, Áine sat down on one of the benches in the garden and had píopa tobac a chaitheamh [to smoke tobacco in a pipe]. She often indulged in the habit, mostly out of pure pleasure but also because it was traditional, and the tobacco in the library was of exquisite quality. I’ll have to remember to bring Dagoba a tin, she’d like this, I think, she thought. Just then, a messenger pigeon arrived and landed on the bench next to her.

“Oh, it’s nice to see you again,” she said as she carefully removed the leather tube from the bird’s harness and took the parchment out of the tube. She began to read the letter from her dear friend, Dagoba, the Bean Feasa [fortune teller].

Dearest Áine,

How wonderful it was to hear from you again! Indeed, I had begun to wonder if you’d found your way off the Isle, but I’ve heard many tales of how strangely time and reality flows in the Mountains you call home. Still, I’m glad to hear things are going well.

Things have changed a great deal here in Akkadia, and I don’t know how much you’ve heard there in your quiet retreat. Rather than make you face the shock of it all unprepared, I’ll try to give you some of the bigger changes in this letter.

The biggest thing is that the Mistresses of Shadow and Dream have changed. The DreamMistress now is Akila Nuru, who is the daughter of the one you remember. The ShadowMistress is Gjá Draumurönd, who is the daughter of the former ShadowMistress. However, the two are more than cousins, they are also sisters. They have the same father. Gja adopted the Icelandic name of her father, while Akila has followed her mother’s tradition of choosing a second name of her own. You will like them, Áine. They are so much like their mothers sometimes, it’s almost frightening.

The Isle has changed so much and yet not at all. I think you would know what I meant. Grimm is still here, and the MacDanu has returned as has Bjorn. Christopher Angelo has returned as well, but he’s changed so much I didn’t recognize him when he passed me in the town square. It’s only the wind and the cards that told me who that solemn stranger was with the stars in his hair. As far as his sisters go, they still walk the Mists beyond my ken, but I think my heart would tell me if they were dead, and it hasn’t.

It’s still fairly quiet in the streets, but I expect that to change as the Isle drifts closer to the crossroads of Time.

And me. Well, I’ve not changed. I’m older, and have taken to walking with a cane but otherwise… the Lady seems to have work for me yet, for I’ve not been called to the Mists though it’s been a generation since you were here last. I do look forward to seeing you soon! You’re always welcome to stay here, it’s small but comfortable although I’m close enough to the square that it qualifies as the middle of the city. And I’m just as certain you’d be equally welcome in the Castle, or the Hart or wherever you chose to stay. Come on ahead, and don’t worry if you reach me before your next letter does. You’re always welcome.

Love,
Dagoba

A troubled expression crossed her face for a moment, shortly replaced by a soft smile. She came to the end of the letter. “Hmmm… well, this changes a few things,” she spoke aloud to no one in particular, “Akila Nuru, the DreamMistress, and Gjá Draumurönd, the ShadowMistress… no doubt, they will have their mothers’ memories… I will do my best to be of service to them, le searc uirthi [for love of her], Tiernan. I will think on this.”

Áine reached into the pouch on her belt and gave the pigeon a handful of seed, then softly petted it’s head. “You are a good bird, Guilbneán [Little Beak], now go and be with your sisters in the stables, I’m sure they’ve missed you, eh?” And the bird flew off. She carefully folded the letter and placed it in her bag.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. “Ahhh, just what we needed, a little rain to make the seeds grow,” Áine said, and she put the gardening tools away and went into the house. She took a long hot bath, and then began preparing supper. Lodan would be home from fishing soon, and likely he would be soaked to the skin by the time he got home.
—
It was quite late when Lodan arrived home. He was thoroughly soaked from the rain, but he had a curious grin on his face as he walked through the door. He gave Áine a peck on the cheek, then said, “Come and see what I’ve found,” and practically dragged her to the stables with him.

He lit one of the oil lanterns, and Áine peered through the dim light until her eyes fell upon a new resident of the stables. It was a beautiful silver-grey stallion with sparkling eyes, one of the Eacha. He was the foal that Dubhealaín had told her about months before, but he was now fully grown, for time flowed differently in every place. “Lodan, where did you find him?”

“He was on his way here… about a half mile distant,” Lodan replied.

Áine went to the stallion and very carefully reached out and touched his neck and mane, all the while whispering soothing sounds in a sing-song voice. The horse visibly relaxed at her touch.

“What name do you go by?” she spoke in a soft tone.

The stallion shook his head and replied in mindspeak, I was given no name among the Eacha, milady,… it is said… you are to give me my True Name. Áine looked over at Lodan; he appeared to be as surprised as she was and shrugged. Áine looked back at the stallion and replied in mindspeak, It is a great honor to be given such a task. And I thank the Eacha for this gift. Áine carefully considered the situation… a Naming was not to be taken lightly, it could change the fate of the one named.

She petted his neck, making odd motions with her fingers, as if tracing designs in the horse’s coat. She did this for several minutes, her lips moving wordlessly, as if in conversation on some other level, and then she reached up and whispered into the Eacha’s ear so that only he could hear, “I feel that your True Name is Branán, the Prince who serves Raven,” and then aloud she said, “but you shall be known as Graí [grey], the Sire of Horses.” Graí nickered, pleased with his new name.

She looked over at Lodan, who appeared to be about to say something, “Don’t even say it, Lodan,… I’m well aware of how strange it is that his name sounds just like the color he is… something very magical occurred while I was searching for his Name… and, indeed, that *is* the name of this Eacha.”

Lodan had an expression of wonder on his face, as if remembering things from a far-off time, “Aye, that is the way of it, isn’t it?” he said. “It seems you are learning to blend with the Magics of this place quite well, muirnín.” [beloved] Lodan smiled, the sincerity of that remark evident in his eyes. “It’s time we started thinking about taking that trip to Akkadia, eh?”

Áine nodded, “Yes, in fact, I got a letter this afternoon from Dagoba while you were out fishing.” She told him of the letter and the events that had taken place in Akkadia. Then she added, “Oh, by the way, what did you catch?”

“I let go more than I kept, but I have a few brown trout I’ll put in the smokehouse. We could be ready to go to Akkadia in, say, three days’ time?” he asked.

“Certainly. The garden won’t need much care for a while, I’ve just planted the seeds today. The hens, ducks, and pigeons can free-range while we’re gone, I don’t think they’ll mind too much. Besides, the swans will look after them, I’m sure,” Áine chuckled.

“Good, that’s settled then. I’ll get those fish in the smokehouse, they’ll be finished by the time we’re ready to go. We can spend the next few days making ready for the trip,” he said. Lodan went off to take care of the fish, and Áine lingered in the stables a bit longer.

“Don’t worry, Graí, you’re coming with us. A few days to rest up here… make your acquaintances with Dubhealaín, and then we’re off on an adventure,” Áine smiled, then went off to the kitchen, where dinner was waiting.

Lodan poked his head out the door. “Are ye busy?” he asked in his sing-song voice. Áine’s hair shone like flames in the sunset.

“Not too… why?” Áine replied.

“Would ye come for a walk with me?” he said with a smile that was hard to resist.

“Where?”

“Just come with me,” he teased. Áine went to him and they went back inside the hillside home.

“Ye haven’t fully explored this house, have ye?” Lodan asked.

“Well… no, actually… I meant to… but…” Áine trailed off. He slipped his hand into hers and led her down the hallway. “Wait… I started making a map…” she went back to the library and picked up the map, a quill, and an ink bottle. Áine handed the map to Lodan who stood there studying it for several minutes.

“Ye would have made a fine navigator, a mhuirnín [my beloved],” he said as he handed the map back to her. “I’ve found something that’s not on your map. Come, I’ll show ye.” He led her through a series of passageways deep into the hillside. At last, they came to a wall of solid rock in a deep cavern within the hill.

“I’ve been here before,” Áine said, “and this is where my map ends.”

“Aye,” agreed Lodan, “but this is not the end.”

He pointed at two indentations in the rock wall that were shaped like hand prints. “Do ye see? The runes there along the top say this is some sort of gateway, and those hand imprints are spaced much too wide a span for one person to reach, eh? But look,” he said, still holding her hand in his, “if I put my right hand in this one, and you put your left hand in that one, we can reach them both at the same time.” She looked at him, uncertainly, then studied the runes on the wall.

“Should we?” she asked.

“It’s your house, love, but I say we should try it,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, and as she placed her hand into the imprint, he kissed her very softly.

Mists began to swirl within the room and formed a circle about them, and they could hear murmuring voices coming from a far distant place.

“What is that?” Áine whispered, though she felt she already knew.

“Sian ní infinideacht,” [sheean-nee-infinideekt - the murmuring voices born of infinity] he whispered back to her.

Áine nodded. “Those, I’ve heard before… but not this clearly. In the World of Men, people put their ears to the earth to listen.”

And they both stood there listening for long minutes that seemingly flowed into hours, and if their hands hadn’t been joined, it’s possible they would still be there listening, but because of their physical connection to each other, they were reminded of each other’s presence, and gazing at one another, they could See each other as they truly Are… and they were not self-conscious or embarrassed.

Suddenly the rock wall before them opened silently, and they looked within. Before them was a magnificent chamber made of crystals of many colored gemstones that reached up higher than they could see. Growing up through the center of the chamber, in the midst of a fountain of silver waters with five streams coming from it, was a magnificent Tree whose trunk was so thick that no man’s hands could reach ’round it, and whose leaves were every shade of green that ever was green.

The whisper of leaf on leaf murmured throughout the chamber as Lodan and Áine slowly entered hand in hand.

Lodan spoke to Áine in mindspeak. What do you see?

I see my Mother and my Father before us. They are alive and well, and they are singing the song of the cycle of life… the Song is indescribably beautiful, it’s echoes in this realm are the sound of leaves and of waters flowing. Our kind… we draw our life out of the Source of All Things… the Soul of the Worlds, Aine replied. And what do you see, Lodan?

I see what you see, and there is something else as well… three old women are sitting at the base of the Tree. The first holds a distaff, holding and drawing forth the flax… she represents birth and the past. The second sits at a spinning wheel, spinning the flax into thread… she represents the events of life and the present. The third holds a pair of sharp scissors, she cuts the threads… she represents the end of life and the unknown future. And yet, the threads she cuts untwist themselves and once again become flax. Lodan replied. Áine nodded solemnly.

A voice that is both male and female, and yet neither, entered their minds and spoke to them, it echoed as if a thousand voices were speaking at once, and it was like music.

WELCOME, CHILDREN OF TWILIGHT…

THESE WORDS THAT YOU HEAR NOW… THEY EXIST ONLY SO THAT YOU MAY UNDERSTAND…

The voice faded from their minds. A vision then was given to them. They found themselves in a place of darkness without beginning or end… and yet, they could sense a Presence there… awakening… and as It awakened, tiny strands of light, like wisps of clouds or of starlight appeared in the darkness… and music, as if from a far off place, began to play…

The Beings that were Áine and Lodan turned and looked at each other. They were without form… they were pure energy and pure light of many colors, lying side by side in the darkness… and as they became aware of each others’ formless selves, their energy began swirling like a slow ballet of wispy strands of light… around, into, and through each other… and the music began to build into a theme of endless variations, and of such sweet beauty and utter sadness… and the song they sang together added to the Song, and more energy and light was formed. There were stars twinkling in the darkness… and nebulae… and galaxies… and suns… and planets and moons… and as each thing came into being, the music played on in endless variations… and it was indescribably beautiful.

And then the vision faded from their minds, though they could still hear the music, and they found themselves once again in the chamber, standing before the Tree and the Fountain.

REMEMBER, CHILDREN OF TWILIGHT, ALL THAT YOU HAVE BEEN SHOWN…

“NOW” IS THE PRESENT… OUR GIFT TO YOU… WAITING TO BE OPENED AT EACH MOMENT… THAT IS WHY IT IS CALLED THE PRESENT, AND NOT THE PAST OR FUTURE… IT IS A GIFT… And the voice faded from their minds, replaced by the music of the leaves and the flowing waters. Lodan and Áine stood there speechless, so awed were they by what had just occurred.

Lodan at last found his voice and asked, “Is there something we could give to you in return for what you have given us this day?”

The whisper of leaf on leaf melded with the sound of the five streams, and after some minutes, the voice returned to their minds.

ONE THING… ENTER THE SILVER WATERS AND ALLOW US TO *BE*… FOR A LITTLE WHILE…

Áine looked into Lodan’s eyes, and they both immediately realized what was being asked of them. They lovingly undressed each other, and entered the waters hand in hand, tears streaming down their cheeks. They watched themselves as outside observers… touching each other, exploring each others’ bodies, bathing each other, drinking from the five streams of the Fountain, eating of the fruit of the Tree, and making passionate love. And when it was done, they found themselves again fully dressed and standing in the chamber… and they were profoundly changed by the experience.

And they had no words.

WALK IN BEAUTY, CHILDREN OF TWILIGHT, YOU ARE WITH US ALWAYS…

In silence, they left the chamber hand in hand, and the opening was magically sealed. When they turned around to look back, a picture had appeared on the stone wall. It was a Tree and a Fountain with five streams coming from it.

And there was a man and a woman in the waters.

The passage to the inner chamber had been magically sealed, and there were no hand imprints with which to open it again, but neither Lodan nor Áine ever spoke of this experience. The change within them, however, was unmistakeable. Neither of them would ever feel alone, no matter how far apart they might be, nor would either of them ever feel insecure in their love for each other, for now they Knew one of the great mysteries of life and love that lay hidden in the chamber, deep in the Windlass Mountains.

Áine and Lodan spent a quiet afternoon and evening sitting on a bench in the garden, making plans about how it would be planted. Lodan set the swans free on the lake, and they watched the pair getting accustomed to their new surroundings. As the sun set beyond the mountain peaks, and the stars made their twinkling appearance in the night sky, the moon rose full and bright overhead, like a silver ship sailing the great ocean above.

As they gazed up at the stars, Lodan said, “Even now, the worlds unfold, and their history begins,” and he brought out his silver pennywhistle and softly began to play a tune called Turas go Tir nA nOg (Journey to the Land of Youth). And there was no finer piping heard in those mountains before that time.

Lodan arrived just in time to see the dark stranger and his shadows disappear through the portal.

Eh? What’s this? he thought. Slowly he circled round the portal to the right, three times. He pulled the silver pennywhistle out of his knapsack and softly began to play a tune on it. With each breath a luminous green mist appeared to come from the end of the whistle, which slowly wound its way around the portal as if tying it up in a glowing green net of knotwork.

As Lodan continued to play the pennywhistle, the magical net and the portal inside it became smaller and smaller, until it was no bigger than a small sack. He picked the sack up and seemed to step sideways for a moment, at which point an observer might say he’d disappeared, yet he merely shifted into another location on the Isle of Dreams… the edge of the Nightmare Forest.

Lodan once again stepped sideways and materialized at the edge of the Nightmare Forest, where he was greeted by a group of goblins. Recognizing Lodan and the mission he was on, the goblins, being an honorable bunch, traded a magnificent hunting knife with decorated scabbard for the magical bag containing the portal.

They jabbered with delight at his acceptance of their trade and scampered off into the heart of the Nightmare Forest with their prize. Lodan chuckled watching them go and stashed the hunting knife in his knapsack. Then he turned himself into a white stag and began the journey home to Áine, making quicker progress than he had on the way out of the mountains. And no one ever saw him pass.

The goblins, in the meantime, began to wager and gamble amongst each other for the magical bag, and late one night one of them snuck off and got lost in the heart of a pitch black bog, where the magical bag containing the portal was dropped.

Áine emerged from the bedroom a few hours later, looking rather dishevelled, but happy. I wish the DreamMistress was here… she’d never believe me if I told her what just happened here. I hardly believe any of this myself… and I was there for it. Áine chuckled, as she made her way to the bath, wincing because she was sore… a good kind of sore feeling, it was.

Lodan was gone for about a week, and in that time Áine kept busy with the chores around the house. The snow was almost gone, and it would soon be time to plant the garden. Each day the sun became a little warmer, and in the afternoons she would take her tea outside and sit in the sun reading a good book.

One day she glanced up to see a white stag on top of one of the peaks, looking down at her. It bugled and then suddenly it shapeshifted into the form of a man.

“LODAN!” she called, and he looked at her and carefully made his way down the slope towards the woman he loved, and their house on the island in the middle of the lake.

“Áine!” Lodan said, smiling, as he reached her and they held each other, “I brought you something.” He reached into his knapsack and brought out the hunting knife he had gotten from the goblins.

Áine liked the knife. It had a carved handle in the shape of a raven’s head, a wicked-looking ten inch blade of highly figured damascus, and a number of small silver runes inlayed into the dark wood near the blade. She looked more closely at them and saw that they were in the Old Tongue and each was imbued with a different kind of magical property. The scabbard was made of polished wood, the same sorts of runes embedded in it, matching those on the handle. The knife would only go into the scabbard when those runes matched. The blade was balanced perfectly and fit into her hand as if it were made for her.

She looked up at Lodan’s face to see him smiling at her. “You got this from goblins?” she asked, a wry smile forming at the corners of her mouth.

“Aye, but I don’t think they made that, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said.

“No, I don’t think goblins could read this even if they wanted to… I’m just wondering how they came to have it, and where it came from,” Áine mused. Lodan took it carefully from her hands and attached it to the belt encircling her waist.

“Thank you for the gift, Lodan.” From her kiss, he knew how much she’d missed him. They walked towards the house together, and just before reaching the door, Lodan picked her up and carried her across the threshold. He closed the door behind them with his foot.

Later that evening after he’d told her everything that had happened while he was away, Áine went into the library with her tea. She sat at the desk and took out quill and parchment and began writing…

Dearest Dagoba,

Although I haven’t heard from you, nor seen the messenger pigeon that I sent some months ago, I feel certain you’ve received my other letter and that you are taking good care of the bird, else it would have returned here by now, I’m thinking. Lodan… oh, Lodan is the name of the one who was living out here and we’ve… well, we’re together now (more on that later)… anyway he has told me about the dark stranger he encountered in the Enchanted Forest and about the portal he’d found there. He traded that to some goblins in the Nightmare Forest for a hunting knife for me. It’s an unusual weapon, and one I’m sure you would find most interesting!

We’re planning on making the journey to Akkadia in a few weeks so I can show you the knife then. We plan to be handfasted! Surprised? No, I didn’t think you were, I remember when you wouldn’t read my fortune before I left… you Knew He was out here, didn’t you? I suppose if you’d have told me then, though, things might not have worked out this way, hmmm?

At any rate, I’ll see you when we get there. I just wanted to let you know we were coming. We have lots of catching up to do.

With Love,

Áine

She rolled the parchment up and put it into the leather tube, then went out to the stable and found a pigeon willing to fly and deliver the message. She attached the tube, and set the pigeon free outside, and it flew off in the direction of Akkadia. She hoped the message would get there in time.

Eachtra Áine ag Lodan
[The Adventures of Áine and Lodan]

The sky was lightening towards dawn, but the sun had not yet risen and a misty twilight still lingered. Áine gently disentangled herself from Lodan’s arms and crawled out from beneath the hand-stitched quilts. She could hear the crackling of burning wood, and the aromatic odour perfumed the air within the hillside home. She glanced back over her shoulder at Lodan, still sleeping. In the flickering firelight, with the quilts bundled up to his chin, and his raven hair loose and flowing, he looked curiously childlike and innocent. Áine carefully bent down and kissed him on the forehead, and in his sleep, he smiled.

It’s good to have you home, she softly smiled at the thought, then quietly shuffled off to the kitchen where she set a kettle boiling on the stove. She was an old woman, yet this morning, she felt as though the tides had turned and the worst of the aging was now behind her. Áine sat at the kitchen table. By all appearances this is where her story might have ended “happily ever after,” but it seemed, as she thought of it, that this was far from the ending of a story, and closer to the beginning of a new one.

In the Spring… I’ll see to the garden first, then… Akkadia. I wouldn’t mind a stop at the Hart and Ale for a few either. There’s something to be said for a night of drinking with friends. I miss my old friends, but I like it out here too…

And Lodan… she sighed… my memories of him were banished for such a long time… such great love, and then such wretched heartbreak… I couldn’t bear to think about him, walking off and leaving all of us in the World of Men like he did… and Fand went after him… I despised her for that… I nearly cursed her… I don’t even know where Fand is now… ahhh, but that was such a long time ago…

I remember, too, as time reckoned by humankind passed, I thought he was forever lost to me… but then I heard tales of one like him… different names in different places… little hints here and there… and there was always the whisper of his spirit about those stories… I had to know if it was Him… I had always imagined that the stories were exaggerated, mere poet’s fancies and bard’s tales… I looked everywhere for him, and now I find him here… and he is even more beautiful than they painted him…

The tea kettle whistled on the stove. She poured the boiling water into the teapot and let the tea leaves steep. From the cupboard she took down two china cups, they were white with a pretty cobalt blue design of a meadow hand-painted on them. All of this she put on a tray and brought back to the bedroom, where she was shocked to find Lodan weeping, tears running down his face. She quickly put the tray down and went to him.

“Truly? Do you truly love me?” he asked through his tears.

She nodded, profoundly touched by the sight of such a strong, handsome warrior face marred by such emotion. Gently she brushed the tears away. “Why do you weep, my love?” she said to him.

He looked into her eyes… she felt naked there in his gaze, completely open and vulnerable,… just as he was to her now, as well. “I weep because I once thought that love was little more than another name for longing or lust. I weep because I left you and wed Fand… I… I thought I loved her…” he choked, “but you taught me what love really is. You taught me that love must grow of its own accord, it cannot be taken or made or bargained for.”

Áine hugged him to her in a warm embrace. “Do you love me now, Lodan?” she whispered to him.

“Aye, I do love you,” he replied, “as deeply as the fountains in their crystal pools at the foundation of the worlds.” He kissed her gently, and she felt the blood rush to her face, but the touch of his lips tingled pleasantly on hers and it left her feeling lightheaded, and wanting more.

“In the Spring… when we are better matched,” he promised.

Lodan picked her up and put her back in the bed. “You aren’t quite ready to be running around like a wild lass yet, Summer Queen… and before ye start protesting, let me remind ye how I found ye here?” he said in a voice that was like music. She closed her mouth in mid-protest, made a face at him, and then pulled the quilts up to her chin.

“Don’t ye be thinking you’re always going to get your way, mister…mister… Puddle Elf!” She grinned at him.

“Feisty one, eh?” He winked at her. “Shall I pour us some tea now, your royal pain in the arse?” he teased. She grinned at him.

When he’d finished drinking his, he tucked her in and then went in the stable and took care of the birds and Dubhealain. The cygnets were growing fast, and it wouldn’t be long before they’d need to make their home outside.

“Aye, you two will make a fine pair on the lake,” Lodan said to them, “and you can watch over our little queen when I’m not home, eh?” They bobbed their heads as if in reply. The cygnets were just starting to shed their grey downy feathers and the white plumage was beginning to grow in. They were, in fact, looking quite ugly at the moment, not at all what they would look like in another few weeks. And as clumsy as they were, they’d taken to herding the hens around like sheep, which was in itself a comical sight.

“It would be nice to go for a morning ride,” the black mare said to Lodan in mindspeak.

“Aye, it would indeed,” Lodan replied. So he got the tack assembled and they went outside, where he mounted. The snow muffled the hooves of the black mare. Lodan had been in these mountains for many lifetimes, it seemed. He’d seldom gone to Akkadia, preferring the wilderness to the city. When he did go, he always went wearing different guises, or appearing in other forms. As such, there were few in Akkadia who knew of him, and he liked it that way.

“Are ye ready, Dubh?” Lodan asked. The mare snorted and pawed the snow. “Let’s ride, then.”

He touched her neck lightly and off they went. Dubhealaín was of the Eacha Uisce [water horse], they were a special breed of Faery horse… very aware, very smart, responsive to rein and voice and touch… and they could mindspeak. The breath of horse and rider mingled, steaming, in the cold morning air. They crossed the frozen lake and went into the mountains. It was nice under the trees. Lodan kept Dubh to a walk, looking all around him as they went. He knew this wood, but every time he felt as though he were seeing it for the first time. The smells filled his nostrils; the pungent aroma of pine needles, the perfume of the cedars. He caught a glimpse of a big grey squirrel moving through the snow-covered branches of an oak, and paused to study the silvery web of a spider. They followed a deer trail through the woods.

From up ahead came the faint sound of rushing waters. It grew louder until they reached the stream, which was running high and fast. Spring melt was just beginning in the mountains, but it would be a few weeks yet until the snows were gone. Lodan dismounted and led Dubh on foot to a crossing. The deepest part of the crossing came to mid-thigh, but they didn’t cross the stream. Lodan let go of the reins and allowed the mare to drink. The current foamed around rock and root, and Lodan could feel the spray on his face as he reached down into the water. He cupped the icy water in his hands and drank deeply.

Very slowly he made his way slightly upstream to an overhanging root of a large pine tree, where he plunged his arm into the water and pulled up a speckled trout. He reached in again and pulled up another. He cleaned the fish with his dagger, and stuck them through the gills with a stick, then attached them to Dubh’s saddle… a nice breakfast when he returned to the hillside house. Carefully he washed and dried the dagger and returned it to its sheath.

Lodan mounted up again, and he and Dubh headed back to the house, but this time at a full gallop. The horse and rider were as one, and both enjoyed the burst of speed through the woods. When they reached the house, he led Dubh back to the stable, brushed her well, and fed her an extra measure of oats. He filled the buckets with water, and placed the blanket back on the mare.

When he’d finished in the stable, he went outside to the garden. It was still winter, but there were signs here and there of the coming spring. This will be a fine garden under Her care, but perhaps I can help the fruit trees along a bit, he thought. And so he walked around the stone wall and every now and then his hand reached out and he touched a branch or trunk here or there… and a green phosphorescent light arced from his fingertips as he worked his magics, lingering in wispy vapor-like clouds of glowing green about the garden.

For several weeks, Lodan stayed busy around the hillside home, clearing brush, fixing leaky windows, repairing gates, and clearing a log jam in a nearby river. One day while he was out in the garden, Lodan stopped what he was doing and cocked his head, listening… and suddenly he knew that the mystery of the mountains, and the deep enchantment of the twilight mists, had found a voice in the lake and would speak with him. Something changed in his eyes as he listened, that look of boyish innocence was gone, replaced with seething anger.

How dare he place a portal to such darkness in the Green! Doesn’t he Know of the Nightmare Forest where his kind flourish? Who gave him leave to do so? Lodan listened a bit more. No one gave him leave? He just did it without asking anyone?… Ahhhh, I see, the Enchanted Forest’s Guardian is away… this is why you come to me? Lodan nodded, more to himself than anything else. Yes, of course I’ll intervene… though he won’t like it, I’m sure.

Lodan turned around and stomped into the house, slamming the door in anger. Then he remembered Áine was napping, and cursed himself at his clumsiness. Áine wandered out of the bedroom sleepily and stood there in the hallway looking at him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I have to go attend to something, and…” he turned and looked at her, “Good gods, Áine, have you looked at yourself in the mirror today?” he said in disbelief at what he was seeing.

“What? No, is my hair a tangled mess again?” she asked, “it seems to have a life of it’s own…”

“No, not at all. You look twenty years younger, and your hair is turning a wondrous shade of copper!” Lodan went to her and brushed her hair with his fingertips, it was silky soft. He pulled her close to him and gently kissed her neck from earlobe to shoulder. “I might be gone for a while, but it’s needed,” he whispered into her hair, “and yes, I’d much rather stay here and finish what I just started, but I…” he kissed her some more, “…have to go and I don’t have time to explain.” Áine moaned involuntarily, and rather than let him get away without finishing what he’d started, dragged him into the bedroom and closed the door.

He came out of the bedroom an hour and a half later with a sappy looking grin on his face, packed a few things in his knapsack that he thought he’d need, and headed out the door with a spring in his step. He thought about taking Dubhealaín on the trip, then thought better of it. No, she might need the mare while I’m gone. And so he set off running in the direction of the Enchanted Forest.

He leaped and bounded over logs and rocks, through the trees, and it was as if they made a clear pathway for him the entire way. Indeed, it felt to him as if he was carried along. He ran for leagues without resting, barely pausing to take a drink from the streams he passed along the way. He didn’t remember stopping to sleep, it seemed as though he slept as he ran, and woke still running.

When he was nearly there, Lodan heard the sound of a deep laugh coming from up ahead, and when he arrived at the spot, he got there just in time to see a dark stranger step through a portal and disappear, the shadows following in his wake.

As she soaked in the tub, Áine’s thoughts drifted… He is a stranger, yet He is no stranger… odd… what is the truth of it? Where did He come from and how is it that He is here in these mountains now? He is not Síabhru, yet He is Síabhra [of the Sídhe], I can Feel it in Him. Who and What is He? She closed her eyes and searched her memories… back… far back in subjective time… she could hear the sounds of the sea, the surf striking against rocks like thunder. Her heart was mixed with both joy and sorrow, the boundaries fuzzy and undefined, like twilight.

If joyful is the fountain that rises in the sun, its springs are in the wells of sorrow unfathomed at the foundations of the world… He’d said that to her once, a long, long time ago… and then they’d parted.

No, this cannot Be! her eyes flew open, but she Knew it was the truth as soon as the thought came to her. The tears came unbidden to her eyes all at once, welling up from deep within, and her tears were of both joy and sorrow.

Back in the kitchen, he suddenly felt what She was feeling, and a tight knot gathered in his throat at the realization that She’d remembered. Will She now reject me, as I rejected Her so many years ago? Would serve me right if She did, I was a foolish lout in those days. He swallowed the hard lump in his throat, but with great difficulty.

He returned a while later and helped her out of the bath, dried her off, and wrapped her in a warm fleece robe. He picked her up in his arms and easily carried her back into her bed and covered her again with quilts. From the kitchen, he fetched a tray with a big bowl of chicken soup, biscuits, and coffee, and he fed them both with the same spoon.

“What shall I call you?” Áine asked.

He hesitated, then looked at her with a hint of a smile in his eyes. “You already Know,” he teased, “but I’ll humor you anyway… I’ve been called many names… not all of them very nice,” he chuckled. “Some call me Giolla dé Cair, the Hard Servant… others call me Trickster or Coyote… some call me the Son of Lir… while others call me Winter King… some say I am the Green Man… Manannan, Abarta, Barinthus, Manawyddan… and you have called me Like the Sea,” he winked at her, “Does that answer your question?”

She grinned at him playfully. “Yes, but what shall I call you now?” she teased.

He seemed thoughtful a moment, then said, “I’m sure you’ll think of something suitable, Summer Queen.”

Áine looked at him, not hiding the surprise she felt at His use of that name.

“Go back to sleep, woman. I’ll still be here when you wake,” he touched her face ever so softly. “Sleep,” he said, and she closed her eyes and slept the most peaceful sleep, her smile never fading.

While she slept, he explored the house. He found the stables and henhouse, cleaned them out, and put down fresh straw and feed. Dubhealaíin consented to allowing him to brush her coat, Knowing her mistress was not up to the task. He brushed the mare until her coat gleamed with nearly a blue-black sheen, then covered her with the woolen blanket again.

“Relax, Dubhealaín, our muirnín [beloved] will be fine… I’ll see to Her… don’t worry yourself, good friend,” he said as he went back into the main hallway.

He had himself a bath and a shave, and looked in on Áine who still slept. He was very tempted to crawl into bed beside her, but he didn’t wish to wake her. Instead, he went into another bedroom and crawled beneath the quilts. He lay there for some time, tossing and turning, rehashing old memories. I swear, by all that I Am, I will not repeat the mistakes of the past… this time, in this place, things will be different. And at last, he settled down and drifted off to sleep himself.

In the morning he awoke just before dawn, kindled the fires, gathered fresh eggs from the henhouse, and made the two of them a hearty breakfast. Áine was already awake when he entered her bedroom. There was much she wished to talk about, but he was having none of that and insisted she eat and then rest some more. She convinced him to read aloud to her from a book at her bedside, because lying around in bed all day even when you needed to was maddeningly boring. And so, he opened the book after breakfast and began to read aloud.

The book was called The Magic Road and it told the tale of a traveling harper on a quest to find the Oak King’s daughter, and it told of his plans to win her heart, and to make her his wife. As he read to her, Áine watched him closely. There was not a nuance or any single thing about him that she failed to notice. And as the hours passed, she wished more and more that he would put the book down and climb under the quilts with her. But then she would glance down at her old woman’s hands and realize that it was likely he wouldn’t do such a thing, and she tried to push those sorts of thoughts out of her mind, and simply enjoy what was.

And she would… for a time. But then those thoughts would force themselves to the foreground, over and over again, and she knew not what to do to make them go away. It was during one of those moments of anguish that he happened to glance up from his reading and saw the look on her face.

He quietly closed the book and went over and sat on the bed next to her.

“What is it?” he whispered, “What is causing you this pain?”

And she couldn’t tell him, but he already knew.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

She closed her eyes.

“What do you see?” he asked.

She thought for a minute, then she said, “Your face, your hair, your eyes,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes just as she opened hers, “I see your face, your hair, and your eyes, too… and you are not an old hag, because I see you as you Are… in Summer, and as you will always Be… inside.” And then he slowly bent his head down, and their lips met, and he kissed away the tears that silently trickled down her cheeks.

“Did you forget that in Summer, I will be the old one and you will be the young one?” he whispered in her ear. “In the Spring and in the Fall, we will be well-matched, for We are Beings of Twilight, you and I, and we are in the Windlass Mountains on the Isle of Dreams… where Twilight magics Are… We will Be as Twilight Is here in this place… We are limnal Beings in a limnal place.”

“But I almost perished,” she whispered.

“But you didn’t,” he whispered back, “Do you know why?”

She thought long and hard about this, but no answer came to her.

“You are of the inner seas. I am of the outer seas. We are two spirits… meant for each other… a matched set,” he softly said.

Áine got very quiet, thinking about everything that had happened. She looked at the ceiling. He wondered what she would say next and the silence was deafening, and then the silence was broken.

“Is tú mo rogha?” Áine whispered. [You are my chosen one?] She almost held her breath, waiting to hear what he would say next.

“Tá sin de rogha agat,” he whispered back to her without hesitation. [That is for you to choose.]

She looked over at him lying there next to her. She couldn’t help but smile, but quickly wiped the smile from her face. He’d responded in the way the tradition required.

“Ní imghabhaim aon fhear,” she said. [I shun no man.]

“Ní imghabhaim aon beann, in urraim duit,” he said to her. [I shun no woman, out of respect for you.]

“In the Spring then,” she smiled and he pulled her close for a kiss, and held her in his arms.

“But you still haven’t told me what you’ll call me,” he teased.

She thought for a moment and then collapsed in a fit of giggles.

“What??” he grinned, “Tell me!”

She kept laughing, and then blurted out, “Lodan Luchargán…. Puddle Elf… ha-ha-ha-ha!”

“Why you….” and then he laughed too, thinking about it.

They spent the rest of that day talking and laughing and making plans for the Spring.

As the weeks went by and the days grew shorter, there followed many more gift exchanges between the two, and often, just as the twilight fell, she heard the music of the silver pennywhistle, drifting in on the breeze, and her mind was filled with images of other times and other places, and the tunes carried stories to her, and remembrances, too… and as time went on, she experienced something else, entirely unexpected. As the season drifted from late Summer into late Fall, Áine found herself changing, and she was often very tired. Her bones began to ache whenever it rained, and rising each morning became more and more of an effort. She did her best to take care of the animals and herself, but each day it seemed a little harder than the day before.

Áine bundled more clothes on, feeling chilled to the bone even on warm, sunny days. She kept the fire burning in the stove in the kitchen to ward off the chill she felt. The swan eggs had hatched and she did her best to care for them, feeding them by hand. She treated herself with herbs and various magical concoctions, but nothing seemed to stop the aging, and as each day went by, she felt herself getting older and older. Was this aging an effect of living in a place where the Old Magics flowed freely? She did not know, but it worried her enough to send a letter to her friend Dagoba, the fortuneteller, by messenger pigeon.

Dearest Dagoba,

I think of you often, and I hope you are well. I have no idea how long I have been gone or how far I have traveled, but I am currently making my home somewhere in the Windlass Mountains, on an island in the middle of a lake. The place seems cozy enough, there is a beautiful garden here, and a very large house built within a hill. It’s prior resident, one Conaire MacNeesh, Third Lord of Calatin, (perhaps you knew of him?) has provided for, seemingly, every need a person could ever have here. Enclosed please find his letter. If you could favor me by filing this letter with the court in the Akkadian Hall of Echoes, I would be most appreciative, as I am not sure when I will be in Akkadia next, though certainly not before Spring, I’m sure.

On the whole, this place is wonderfully magical and I am happy here. There is someone else living out here in the mountains, though. I haven’t met him face to face yet, and he often brings me wild game and other things he collects on his wanderings. I do, however, seem to have a small problem and that is that I am rapidly aging. I’ve used every herb I can think of to try and counteract the effect, but have managed to do nothing more than slow its pace somewhat. I am thinking it has something to do with the effect of my Being combined with the Magics here, and I must learn to work with them… and quickly, it seems.

I do miss you and the DreamMistress. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to have you two here with me for an afternoon of tea and gossip, though! Hehehe.

With Love,
Áine

She carefully rolled up her letter and MacNeesh’s and put them into the leather tube, instructing the pigeon where to take it and whom to deliver it to. The pigeon promptly flew off in the direction of Akkadia.

The garden was prepared for the coming winter. She’d preserved the harvest by drying and bottling what she could to see her through until Spring, so there was little she needed to do each day other than keep the fire burning and the animals fed and watered. It wasn’t long before the snows came into the mountains and the lake froze over. She spent more time in the libraries, gradually working her way through shelf after shelf of books, though there were many years’ worth of reading here.

By the dark of the year at winter solstice, her hair had become fine and white as a spider’s web. Her hands were as gnarled as tree branches, and her back was bent and crooked. With the aid of an alder staff she shuffled throughout the house painfully slow. She didn’t know it but out there, in the wood, as the season changed, He grew ever younger, more muscular and athletic, able to walk or run for many leagues without tiring. He hunted and often left venison, elk, and other wild game at her doorstep. The two of them having formed a sort of silent partnership out here in the wilderness, and never having met or spoken face to face. She was, of course, curious as to what He looked like, but she didn’t force Him to show Himself to her. He, of course, had already seen Her and had been observing the changes in both himself and Her throughout the season. They both kept their distance.

One morning in the midst of the coldest winter the mountains had ever seen, He noticed no smoke coming from the stovepipe of Her home, nor did He see the old woman shuffling about to feed the birds as she always did. He set his rabbit snares out in the woods, and then went back to the front door of Her house and knocked loudly.

No one came to the door.

He pounded on the door a bit more, but still there was no answer from within. He stood there for long minutes… half turning away to go back into the wood, then turning back to face the door. He was in a quandry about what to do. He had to know if She was alright, and He knew that if He returned to the wood without knowing, He would constantly be returning to see if She’d come outside or lit the fire anyway, and His whole day would be useless. He stood there debating with himself a few minutes more, and then tried the door knob and found it was unlocked. Very quietly he crept into Her home, and room by room, He searched for Her.

He found Her at last in one of the bedrooms lying in a huge bed covered with a very large pile of hand-stitched quilts. She was cold to the touch, unconscious, and just barely breathing. He almost didn’t recognize Her at first, She was very aged, yet still beautiful in His eyes, for though He hadn’t yet said it to Her, He had through the months been falling in love with Her ever since She’d first come into the glen in late summer.

Quickly he filled a tub in one of the bathrooms with water fed by a hot spring within the mountain. He raced back to the bedroom and tore the quilts off the bed, and then stripped the clothes off of her. He carried her naked into the bathroom and gently lowered her into the water, where he massaged and bathed her body until the skin began turning a healthy pink. By this time, Áine was conscious and aware of her circumstances… and that He was there, as well as what He was doing. She was too weak to protest or show any embarassment, and likely wouldn’t have anyway. This was the first she’d seen of Him, and what she saw was not at all unpleasant.

He was young and handsome, strong, yet so very gentle with her. And when she looked into His eyes, she Knew that this was the one who had been waiting for her here, and that she would never again be happy without Him. And she saw that same look there in His eyes. Still, she was so old and He so young… it seemed an unbearable cruelty that they should find each other in this way, and a feeling of profound sadness crept into her heart.

“How can you bear to touch me… as I am… like this?” she hoarsely whispered to him.

“Shhhh now, lass,… we’ll speak later. Right now, you need warmth and food in you,” He said in a gentle whisper, “Will you be fine here if I let you soak for a bit and cook us something in your kitchen?”

“Aye,” she smiled and slid further down into the water, and He washed her hair for her, and then went off to the kitchen.

[This part of the story crosses over into Mal’ahk’s character, Dagoba… and this is what she wrote in her story…]

Dagoba shook her head and chuckled quietly to herself after Akila departed. As fond as I was of her mother, she thought musingly, I must admit Akila and Gja give me more hope for the future of this Isle than anyone has in a long time. I love them both as if they were my own daughters.

She was interrupted in her musings by a flutter of wings. Looking up, she noticed a messenger pigeon fluttering just outside the window of the crystalline ziggurat-like structure, attempting to find foothold on the thin sill before giving up and perching on the gradiated step below it. With a sigh, Dagoba heaved herself to her feet and hobbled over to the window.

The pigeon hopped up onto the sill of the open window, cooing softly, turning it’s head this way and that as it regarded her with bright black eyes. “Well, goodness,” said Dagoba in an amused voice as she offered an arm to the pigeon. Obediently, the trained bird settled itself on the old woman’s arm and waited patiently while Dagoba removed it’s message.

She read Aine’s letter quickly, then a second time more slowly as a warm smile touched her lips. Though it had been a good many years in her subjective time since she’d last seen the Faerie woman, she’d corresponded with Aine often and had been concerned with the letters had suddenly ceased a few years ago. It made her heart joyful to realize her old friend was still in the Windlass Mountains.

With a start, she realized that this was the first letter she’d had since Akila and Gja had taken over the Isle of Dreams, and it was very possible Aine had no idea that so much had changed. “Well, that’s going to be a tricky bit of news to impart,” she said out loud to nobody in particular.

She patted her pockets, then smiled at the pigeon apologetically. “You’ll have to come back to my shop with me, Wingchild,” she told the bird. “And I’ll give you some suet and a comfortable perch whilst I figure out how to send the news to my old friend without giving her heart failure!” The pigeon cooed agreeably and hopped up to Dagoba’s shoulder.

The old woman shuffled out into the sunshine, her gait was slow but to the more observant there was a definite lift to her steps that hadn’t been there this morning.