The Faeries' Harp

5: Through the Darkness and the Dawn

Galloping through the dark early morning and then the breaking dawn is thrilling for both Saoirse and Bergljot. They’ve had precious few chances at a real adventure while confined to Lord Rioghnan’s property, and they’re both determined to enjoy this adventure to the fullest while it lasts. Saoirse, however, is still thinking strategically; she takes Bergljot through a few different villages, doubling back on their tracks each time, to lay false paths for her father’s hunting dogs, should he try to hunt her down. Once she’s satisfied with these diversions, she guides Bergljot to jump off a low bridge and into a shallow stream, and they trot downstream until the village they came from is no longer visible.

“That ought to keep the hounds from picking up our scent,” Saoirse says with satisfaction as she lets Bergljot return to dry land. Bergljot nickers her agreement. She is happy that Saoirse is happy and would do anything to keep her that way.

The stream meanders through a forest, which is still quite dark even as dawn is breaking. Bergljot picks her way carefully over fallen branches and around brambles and stumps. Saoirse hardly needs to guide her mount; instead, she gives gentle nudges with her legs to indicate the direction she’d like to go, based on her observations of the surrounding forest, and Bergljot handles the rest.

“Looks like the trees thin out, that way,” Saoirse observes, which Bergljot takes as a suggestion to gallop full tilt in the direction her rider indicated. She practically soars over the logs and other obstacles that litter the forest floor, and Saoirse barely manages to stifle her shrieks and whoops of terror and joy. Golden light filters through the trees ahead of them; the trees beside them are a blur thanks to Bergljot’s long, swift strides.

Suddenly they burst through the trees and see water ahead of them. Bergljot rears and turns on a dime to avoid plunging into the lake they’ve stumbled upon. Though she is surprised, Saoirse keeps her seat with grace and ease; she and Bergljot have been riding partners for years, and she’s been riding for ten years, since she was eight years old.

“Wow,” she breathes as Bergljot slows to a walk, taking in the splendor all around them. The early morning sunlight tints the mist rising from the lake all the colors of the sunrise and makes the mist sparkle. The water reflects the sky, creating a natural kaleidoscope of colors any artist would long to have in his box of paints. A fish jumps in the middle of the lake, disturbing its glassy surface. Birds had scattered from the thundering of Bergljot’s hooves but resume their songs and flitting amongst the trees now that the horse moves more sedately.

Then Saoirse sees him: A young man, rough around the edges but undeniably handsome, watching them on a mossy rock several paces away. His dark hair is attractively disheveled, and a few days’ stubble darkens his cheeks. His dark eyes study her and Bergljot intently, somewhere between admiration and alarm. Clearly a villager, and none too well off, based on the condition of his clothes, Saoirse determines. But I’ve yet to see any man of noble birth with a more handsome form or face. She gently pulls on Bergljot’s reins, asking her to stop a short distance from the young man; Bergljot complies, being only slightly less curious about him than Saoirse herself.

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

The young man nods and points in the general direction of his village mutely; words do not seem to come easily to him.

“Village that way. I live there,” he answers after a couple moments of struggling to find his tongue. Did I startle him that badly? Saoirse wonders.

“You and your village are blessed, to have so beautiful a place so close.” Saoirse looks around again, appreciating the lake and forest in their early morning splendor. The higher the sun rises, the more the myriad colors fade into something more typical and less magical, and Saoirse’s sense of adventure begins fading to disappointment. Would that such beauty could last forever, she muses.

“One of the few blessings we have,” the young man remarks, reminding Saoirse that he is still there and that she’s the one who started a conversation with him.

“Under the thumb of Lord Rioghnan, are you?” she responds airily, then adds, “may the devil take him and his stingy ways.”

The young man shakes his head and stares at her, seeming startled by her words. “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.”

Saoirse laughs lightly; she had not meant to speak in a riddle, but she has no intention of giving away her identity to a stranger, not knowing whether he’s the sort who might betray her. The young man frowns in response, and Saoirse worries that she’s offended him. “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.”

The young man shrugs in response. He hasn’t taken his eyes off her for more than a second since she first noticed him, and it’s starting to unnerve her. He seems just as wary and guarded as she feels, though. What’s to say that our adventure can’t include making a new friend? she asks herself silently.

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

“Rhys,” he replies quickly. “I’m Rhys.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Rhys.”

“Likewise…Saoirse.”

She barely manages to keep from smiling when he says her name correctly, though it’s clear he’s never heard the name before.

“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?” She’s never been this bold before, especially not with a man she’s just met, but then, she’s never decided to run away from home before, and she’s feeling particularly daring and reckless.

“How long d’you expect it to take? I have to return to the village soon, for work.” Rhys, it seems, is not nearly as daring and reckless as Saoirse aims to be today.

“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.” Is he a coward, or overly considerate?

“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.”

Saoirse and Bergljot gladly take his invitation, although Bergljot kindly chooses a pace that Rhys can match without too much trouble. The lake is long and narrow, and to get where Saoirse wants to go, they must trek some distance around it. Rhys follows them with trepidation, myriad questions swirling inside his head.

“What are you hoping to find, on your adventure?” he asks her nervously.

“Freedom,” Saoirse replies immediately with a toss of her head that makes the scarf containing her blond waves of hair flutter to the ground. Rhys retrieves it and hands it to her. “Thank you kindly.” She tucks it carelessly into one of her saddlebags, letting her hair fly free, which would be considered quite improper if they were anywhere near anything resembling society.

“Do you usually ride astride?”

“When I can get away with it. Riding sidesaddle is much more precarious.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“What work is it you do, that mandates this adventure be short?”

“Anything I can to bring in some money, while taking care of my mother.”

“So sweet of you! You’re the man of the house, then?”

“Aye.” He doesn’t want to talk about it, that much is plain; Rhys still hurts deeply over his father walking out when he was still a boy, leaving him and his mother with little to keep themselves alive. They’ve been struggling to stay afloat ever since.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer my questions,” Saoirse tells him, seeing the pain in his eyes.

“It’s all right. I’ve been nosy, myself,” Rhys answers with forced brightness.

“Did you see that?” she asks, suddenly stock still. Bergljot mimics Saoirse’s stiffness, and both stare deeper into the dense forest beyond the lake.

“See what?” Rhys asked.

“I’m not sure. A light, like a small fire, but blue, flickering…. Let’s go see if we can find it.” Without waiting for a reply, Saoirse urges Bergljot into the woods.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Rhys calls, but he follows his newfound companions anyway. “What if it’s an imp, or a will o’wisp, or something more dangerous?”

“That’s half the fun, if they even exist,” Saoirse replies gaily. “Do you believe in such things?”

“I believe in not pushing my luck. I’ve never had the best luck, anyway.”

“Perhaps today your luck will change. Hurry! There it is again!” Saoirse sees a small, blue, glowing thing ahead of them. It seems to be calling her somehow, though she cannot hear it. Around them, the mist is getting thicker, which is the opposite of what it should be doing as the sun rises higher in the sky, but Saoirse doesn’t trouble herself about that at the moment.

Rhys, on the other hand, gets more apprehensive with each step further into the forest and the fog. “I really think we should turn back. We don’t know what’s out here—”

“That’s exactly why I want to keep going. No one’s forcing you to come along, if you’re so afraid of the possibilities.”

“I can’t exactly let you face whatever unknown dangers might be lurking out here alone.”

“Sure you could. We just met today. What’s it matter to you what risks I take?”

At this point, the fog is too thick for Rhys to see anything, and his thoughts are as clear as the fog. As he tries to articulate an appropriate response, he feels something like torn ribbons all around him, brushing his skin and tangling in his hair. Saoirse and Bergljot have the same sensation of torn ribbons everywhere, and of the world seeming to spin around them. Still the blue glowing being beckons, and Saoirse presses on.

Suddenly, the blue thing vanishes, along with the fog and the invisible torn ribbons. The air seems to be sparkling faintly around them as they examine their surroundings in the pinkish sunlight. Saoirse, Rhys, and Bergljot find themselves standing in a forest clearing, with unfamiliar flowers growing in patches on the ground and ethereal, lilting voices singing faintly all around them.