On Fallen Wings (26 page)

Madeline smiled. “I’m certain he didn’t like that.”

“No,” I said, relieved at the light response. “He wouldn’t let me finish.” I shifted on the bench. “How is Eldon?”

“He’ll never speak again.” Madeline’s words had a horrible finality.

I had witnessed his agony at the well, and her words pained my memory. “Where is he now?”

“Home,” she answered. “He refuses to leave the well. Dylia is looking after him.”

“How is Sean’s father?” I asked. “Did he return from DarMattey?”

Madeline nodded. “Colin visited him yesterday. Earl volunteered to take Cael’s place.”

“Cael’s place?” I asked. “Doing what?”

“Searching for Sean,” said Madeline, plainly. “Cael was chosen by the Elders to go, but he refused. He won’t even return home.”

My head hurt. I rubbed my temple.
Why would Cael refuse to look for his brother?

“Are you all right?” asked Madeline.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so,” I told her. Then, as I remembered the scrolls, a small cry escaped me.

“Rhiannon, what’s the matter?” Madeline stood over me.

“No,” I said, wishing for my world to stop its motion. My eyes burned and my head ached.

“Rhiannon?” Madeline put a hand on my shoulder.

I didn’t know what to do. I felt helpless. If I told her, I risked exposing the secret that Cael had trusted with me. Cael. Why was I protecting him? What was his honor worth? “Sean,” I whispered.

“What is it, Rhiannon?” Madeline pulled me to my feet with barely any effort, it seemed. “What about Sean?”

I looked at my friend, searching for the right words, but none came. “Madeline?”

“Yes?”

“I need to visit Raisa Bannon.”

“Does it have something to do with Sean?”

I nodded, hoping that Madeline wouldn’t pry.

“Okay,” she said, “do you want to go now?”

I nodded again, thankful for her answer. Madeline directed me to sit on the couch. I fell back, landing on the soft cushions. At once, I felt numb, as if I was floating, and couldn’t feel my arms or legs.

“I’ll take you,” she said. “Before we go, I’ll make you something for your nerves. You don’t look well.”

I relaxed on the small sitting couch, contemplating what I needed to say to Raisa. Somewhere Madeline was humming a celebration melody. Her words floated through her home like a whispering wind. It was soothing, and I fell asleep while imagining words to the music. When I awoke, a sweet ginger aroma filtered into the small room—Long Flower Potion. I smiled. Few of the Fae knew how to make it, and it was too complicated for me to try. I had tasted it before—once, and the memory of how I felt afterward lightened my spirits.

“Here you are, dear,” said Madeline, handing me a porcelain cup. I didn’t know how long I had slept.

I looked down at the mysterious liquid. The ingredients never fully blended. Instead, they swirled in a constant motion, like the energy the drink presented.

I murmured my thanks and took a small sip.

The cold liquid tickled my throat. It opened me, allowing deeper breaths and a heightened sense of smell. I felt the flavor of the air inside of me. Roses and lavender enveloped me in an invisible cloud. I drank again, fascinated by the reaction my body gave. When the potion reached my stomach, a surge of peace rushed to my fingers and toes. I forgot where I lay, the reason for being there, and the troubles of the past. My awareness enlightened, and every part of my body tingled as the room twisted around me. I drank the entire offering and stared at the gold-spiraled lines left in the bottom of the cup. I was new for the day.

“I think you are ready to leave now,” said Madeline, prying the cup from my hand. “I’ll return in a moment.”

Her potion had worked. I felt better. In fact, the dilemmas of the past two days seemed trivial. I missed Sean, and my heart tugged at me to mourn his absence, however, my mind was organized and orderly. I understood what everyone had been trying to tell me: worrying wouldn’t bring Sean home. I stood with renewed determination, and a plan.

Our conversation during the walk across Aisling was lighthearted and friendly. For that, I was thankful. I wondered how much of it was purposeful on the part of Madeline, since my body still tingled from her offering. We walked west and away from the center of the village. As we neared the western fork of the main road, I stared at the distant aspen trees that surrounded the faerie temple. I was certain that Cael intended to follow through with his plan. Madeline turned south and kept walking, without noticing I had stopped.

I looked around, and examined the nearby trees for signs of anyone watching. Even the forest was still. I left the open road and ran to catch Madeline on the small trail.

“Have you been to Raisa’s home before?” she asked, apparently oblivious that I had lingered behind.

“Yes,” I said, nodding.

Madeline looked at me with questioning persistence.

“When I was a small child,” I told her, completing my answer. “Mother brought me here after Yallom Bannon’s funeral. Mother was assigned to look after Raisa.”

“That was many years ago,” said Madeline. “Do you remember much?”

I shrugged. “I remember the smell of her home. It was like exotic lemons.”

Madeline laughed. “You have a good memory.” She motioned toward a thin gap in the trees. “She’s at the end of this trail.”

As we entered the trail, I looked around, marveling at the welcoming the path presented. Not one tree branch hung over the walk and the dirt was undisturbed. The leaves—still colorful and bright from the autumn turn—clung to the trees as if they had refused to fall and damage the perfection of this forest. Beyond the trail, every rock and shrub lay in perfect order, as if hand chosen by a master and set in place on purpose.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, inhaling a large breath of clean, chilling air. “It’s hard to believe we’re still in Aisling.”

“People don’t visit here much,” said Madeline. She waved to a passing robin. “Raisa prefers it that way.”

“Will we be intruding,” I asked, “without an invitation?”

Madeline shook her head. “No dear, I’ve never been turned away.”

The trail opened to a small verdant meadow framing a wide stone house. There wasn’t a wall, a gate, or a walkway—just fine yellow grass and a single oak tree in the front. Colorful red leaves clung to its branches. The home’s windows reflected the forest like magnificent mirrors. A winterberry vine covered most of the old stones and appeared to hold them together.

I expected the door to open when we arrived—it was a long walk across the grass, but silence was our only welcome. Madeline smiled and knocked on the faded wooden door. There was no answer.

“Do you think she’s home?” I surveyed the yard. “Maybe she’s out in the forest.”

Madeline didn’t turn or answer, but simply waited patiently. Finally, the door opened. The familiar scent of lemons filled me with an instant memory of my childhood.

“Hello Madeline,” said Raisa. She wore a finely stitched violet dress with matching flowers weaved through her dark hair. She looked ready to receive guests. She turned to me. “Welcome to our home, Rhiannon. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, Raisa,” I said. My face was warm.

“May we visit with you for a while?” asked Madeline, singing her words.

“Please enter our home,” said Raisa. “You may stay as long as you wish.”

Her choice of words puzzled me; I had understood that Raisa lived alone since her husband died. As I followed both women, I glanced around, searching for someone else inside. An empty hall covered in flowered art was all I saw.

She led us into an open room that included a small kitchen, a tiny round table with two chairs, and a low silk sofa. “Won’t you please sit down,” she said, motioning to the sofa.

Madeline and I accepted her request and sat on the delicate couch. I sighed as I sat; it seemed to pull and hold me in comfort. I silently continued my examination of Raisa’s strange residence. Long shelves on one windowless wall held assorted crystals, and potted green plants occupied every corner of the room. A leather-bound book leaned against the sofa. The wooden floor beneath was polished and smooth.

Raisa fussed for a while at a cupboard and hobbled back to us with a plate between both hands. Madeline stood to help her, but Raisa waved a decline for assistance.

“Here is something to eat, Ladies of the Fae,” she said, placing the porcelain plate in Madeline’s hand.

“Thank you,” said Madeline, turning to me with a surprised look. “These look wonderful.” She offered me the plate, and I accepted one small almond cookie.

Raisa hobbled to the table and pushed a wooden chair noisily across the floor toward us; its screeching hanging in the stillness of her home. “How is the village faring this season?” she asked. She turned to me. “Have you seen the bandit again?”

“No, Raisa.” I wiped tiny crumbs from the edge of my mouth. “Thankfully, I haven’t seen him.”

“That’s good.” She nodded and faced Madeline. “And the village? Are there any new requests from the Elders?” she asked. “Or has the trouble subsided?”

Madeline blushed. “No, Raisa, the trouble is still real.” She looked at me.

“Then, why have you come?” asked Raisa. “Something has happened, otherwise, you would be occupied with your own lives, back with the living and Aisling.”

I shifted in my chair, surprised at her aggressive tone as well as her peculiar choice of words. Madeline set the plate onto the floor and touched my arm to calm me.

“Have you heard about the Bauer Family?” she asked Raisa. “Do you know about the attack?”

“Please tell me the details, Madeline?” Raisa’s voice was plain and calm, as if she was discussing gossip, or a new recipe. “Then Rhiannon may advise me of her visit.”

I watched both women intently while Madeline told Raisa about the attack. Her version was less destructive than I had witnessed, though the story was accurate. Raisa’s face changed from a pale yellow to amber orange. Her smile faded to a poignant scowl.

“Oh.” Raisa stood from her chair and ambled to the window behind us. She turned to me with a stern look. “Why have you come to see me?”

“I—I need your help,” I told her, gripping my fingers tight.

Aside from Fae gatherings, I rarely saw Raisa and, for this reason, I was glad not to. Her perfection intimidated me. Every movement she made, every word she shared, was fraught with mystery and an out-of-reach meaning. Still, I needed her help, and she needed mine—more than she knew. Of that, I was certain.

Madeline sat poised next to me. She was so silent that I couldn’t hear her breathing.

“You may tell me, child,” said Raisa, still staring.

“The matter I wish to discuss is delicate,” I said, my fingers trembling in my grasp. For the first time since waking that morning, I doubted my plan. I turned to Madeline. “I’m sorry, I need to discuss this privately.”

Madeline smiled graciously.

“Madeline, I apologize for the rudeness of our sister,” said Raisa. She was almost yelling. “Will you please excuse us for a moment? It seems the matter is too delicate to share.” Raisa twisted the last word, making me cringe.

“Certainly,” said Madeline, placing her palms at the fold of her gown. “I’ll wait here, if that’s okay?”

“Thank you,” I whispered into Madeline’s ear as I stood.

Raisa moved away from the window. I waited awkwardly while she hobbled slowly across the room toward the kitchen. She motioned to a narrow door and opened it before I briskly caught up to her. The room behind was dark and cold. I followed her silent instruction to enter, although with caution.

Once I had stepped inside, she followed me and closed the door behind her, flooding the air with darkness. I waited, petrified.
Anything, please—say something.
My heart directed my fear. This was terrible; I was trapped. I wondered if Raisa could hear the rapid pounding inside my chest. I turned, seeking a chance to escape the torture, daring myself to shove past her toward the safety of light on the other side.

A curtain opened, revealing sunlight so bright that I had to shield my eyes with my sleeve. After a sweeping reveal from another curtain, and more light, I lowered my arm to let my eyes adjust to the scenery.

It was breathtaking. On the other side of the glass, rows of colorful, leafy trees lined an open field that dropped off suddenly to a deep gorge. Somewhere deep inside the gorge was the river—I knew it had to be. On the opposite side, rolling hills of long golden grass painted the horizon.

Raisa flopped into an old worn armchair and stared out the window. “What do you see?” she asked, breaking the silence.

I looked around the room; it was empty, except for the armchair and Raisa, so I remained standing. “I see rolling hills of grass,” I said. “I see beauty.”

“You shielded your eyes when I opened the curtain,” said Raisa. “Why?”

I stepped back. “I couldn’t see. It was too bright.”

“It’s purely because you weren’t prepared.” Raisa kept staring. “The light hasn’t changed, the sun has barely moved, yet you look freely past the glass.”