The Faeries' Harp

4: Sunrise on the Water

Darkness still shrouds the small homestead on the edge of the village when Rhys gives up on sleep and gets out of bed. It’s too early to go looking for work, but he’s tired of tossing and turning. I’ll go for a walk in the forest, he decides. Maybe I’ll find some mushrooms or berries or something, and we’ll still have something to eat even if I don’t get any work.

Rhys shakes his head. It won’t do to think like that, and pessimism has never been his forte. He puts on his well-worn shirt and trousers and belt and shoes. Once a knife is at his belt and he’s run a hand through his dark wavy hair in lieu of a comb, he quietly slips out of the cottage. Waking his mother before the sun rises is expressly forbidden.

The morning air is a bit chilly, and Rhys briefly wishes he’d thought to bring his coat, but his brisk pace soon warms him. The forest is far too dark for him to find any berries or mushrooms, however; it’s still too early, and there’s only a slim crescent of moon low in the west.

“Maybe I should have put more thought into this,” he mutters. He frequently falls into the trap of under-thinking things and regretting it later. Still, he doesn’t want to go back to the village just yet. He feels as much at home among the trees as he does in the village, he’s spent so much time here over the years. This morning the forest is particularly inviting, though it’s rather foggy.

“The lake. It’s more open there. Maybe something good will be growing near the lake,” Rhys decides. Mostly, he just wants to spend some time there. Of all the places he’s found when he’s wandered from the village, the lake is his favorite.

The sky gradually lightens as he moves through the trees. Birds begin to sing in the branches overhead. A startled squirrel skitters away from his feet, though he’s been trying not to disturb the wildlife as he walks. Soon he reaches the lake, where the air is perfumed with the scents of dozens of spring wildflowers. The sun has cleared the horizon, turning the sky various shades of gold, pink, red, blue, and purple. The colored light reflects off the water and filters through the mist rising from the lake, creating a sort of wonderland that seems positively magical. Rhys’ breath catches in his throat as he enters the clearing. All his worries fall from his mind in that moment; finding a job is completely forgotten.

“Wow,” he breathes, enjoying nature’s splendor. He finds a mossy rock and sits down on it to watch the rest of the sunrise. A pair of deer come to the edge of the lake to drink, well within reach of a bow, if he’d brought his; today Rhys just holds his breath and tries not to disturb them, though he and his mother could certainly use the meat. Rabbits hop through the tall grass and reeds near the water, pausing to sniff the air for danger. A frog lands a mere hand-breadth from Rhys’ foot and rests there for a moment before abruptly leaping into the nearby water.

I could get used to this, Rhys thinks, leaning back against a nearby tree. It’s peaceful here. No sick mother, no debt collectors, no hard physical labor. Perfect. He feels bad for even thinking that about Evelyn; he knows she does the best she can, and it’s not her fault that her health is so frail. Still, not a day goes by that he doesn’t wish things could be different, better somehow.

A low, rhythmic thumping noise disturbs the peace and tranquility Rhys has been enjoying, growing closer and louder with each passing moment. Birds and rabbits scatter from the forest far to Rhys’ right. He sits up and shades his eyes with his hand, trying to see who or what dares to disrupt his time away from the harsh realities of normal life. The thumping intensifies, now distinguishable as horse hooves approaching at a canter.

A dapple-grey horse bursts suddenly from the trees, turning remarkably tightly towards Rhys at the sight of the lake. A blonde woman in peasant dress, a scarf loosely tied around her hair, sits atop the horse with remarkable poise. Rhys cannot help but stare; he’s never seen a woman riding astride before. He thinks she’ll just ride past him, but then their eyes meet and she pulls the horse up short, stopping less than a stone’s toss away from him.

I should say something to her, Rhys tells himself, but he cannot get his mouth to form words. Her deep blue eyes are mesmerizing, her skin flawless, her features exquisite. He’s never seen a more beautiful woman. Am I dreaming? he wonders.

“Good morning,” she greets him, eyes scanning him coolly. “I didn’t expect to see anyone else about at this hour. Do you live around here?”

Rhys nods and points in the general direction of his village, praying that his tongue will be loosed from the binding she’s inadvertently placed on it.

“Village that way. I live there,” he answers after a couple moments of struggling. He silently curses his own awkwardness.

“You and your village are blessed, to have so beautiful a place so close.” She spends a few moments appreciating the lake and forest in their early morning splendor, although the higher the sun rises, the more the myriad colors fade into something more typical and less magical.

“One of the few blessings we have.”

“Under the thumb of Lord Rioghnan, are you? May the devil take him and his stingy ways.”

Rhys shakes his head and stares at her, surprised to hear such strong language and opinions so early and from so fair a source. “Aye. How did you know it? Are you from around here? I don’t think we’ve met before…”

“Once I lived not so far from here, but no longer. The place I once occupied holds no joy for me.”

“It’s too early for riddles.”

She chuckles a bit, and Rhys frowns; he had not meant to make a joke. “I’m sorry. I’ve been awake for hours. It seems none so early to me.”

“Could you not sleep?”

“Sleep is a rare luxury for me. And for you, also, apparently, to bring you here for sunrise.”

Rhys shrugs; he’s not sure what to make of this woman, and her cryptic answers to his questions have brought his guard up. Can she be trusted? Mayhap she’s a witch, or an apparition, he considers. That would certainly explain why he can’t take his eyes off her for more than a moment or two at a time.

“My name’s Saoirse, by the way,” she tells him when it’s clear he has nothing to say about his own early wake up call. “What should I call you?”

“Rhys,” he replies without thinking. “I’m Rhys.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Rhys.”

“Likewise…Saoirse.”

“So, if the village is that way,” she points in the direction he’d indicated earlier, “what might I find in that direction?” She points across the lake, further into the woods.

Rhys shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never gone too far from the village.”

“Then do you fancy an adventure with me? I think it’d be fun to find out, don’t you?”

“How long d’you expect it to take? I have to return to the village soon, for work.”

“Oh, just a little adventure. I won’t keep you from your life. Come on.” She scoots forward in her saddle, indicating he should climb up behind her.

“On foot, if you don’t mind. I’ve never ridden before, and I wouldn’t want to inconvenience your horse.”

“Bergljot. Her name’s Bergljot.” Bergljot tosses her head and whinnies a greeting at Rhys.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

“Come on, then. If you have to be back to your village soon, the adventure must start right away if there’s to be any chance of something exciting happening.”

“Lead the way.”