I hear the whispers of green leaves, of meadow grass, and river reeds. I feel the wind that pays them heed. a warm caress the heavens breathe I hear the singing of the larks, and fat gray squirrels on wet tree bark, of buzzing bees, do flowers tend, a Lovely song that never ends. I hear the summer singing free, of life, of love and reverie. From every voice, in every tree a lovely song --- but not for me. by Sarah Lynn Morgan

The Unicorn's Gift           Part One

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     All who lived near the village agreed that the sun had never seemed so warm. Never had the crops grown so quickly, so bountifully, nor yielded as sweet. Never in living memory had the river flowed so clear, and even in the depths of summer, so cool. In fact, even in the midst of those short and mild winters, which must give rest to the fertile earth, the river never froze, but continued to flow even as the fields continued to yield abundant winter forage for the herds.

All agreed that in those happy days they seemed to have been blessed for reasons beyond all ken. They had been especially blessed with children who grew strong and well. Even Couples thought long past their years of parental blessing, added to or even began new families, bringing forth children who were well formed, healthy, clever, and most especially beautiful to all did gaze upon them.

After years of comfort and bounty, the most popular explanation for this good fortune was that some profound and benevolent spirit had inhabited their little river valley. It was an explanation that was as good as any; and, as people will do, other topics soon began to intrude on the wonder, and many of the villagers began to accept the times as their due. Most simply did not think of, nor appreciate their fortune. The children, who never knew of else, never knew to concern themselves.

It was a happy time. Everyone agreed: Except of course, for those very few who did not share in full measure that good fortune which so many had long ago forgotten to enjoy…

 
 

 
 

     Dyre could feel every small stone on the road through the thin bottoms of his shoes. The Trip back from the village usually only took a single turn of the glass, but today he was walking far more slowly. On most other days, he would also have enjoyed the relaxing walk away from doing his chores.

He shifted his bag again uncomfortably. It held little enough with only some ground sweet grains for bread, two small spools of thread, and most importantly a small badly needed axe-head that the Smith had mended for his father. Even so, the bag felt heavier and more uncomfortable than it usually did.

On such a warm and pleasant afternoon, the handful of neighbors he passed were working their fields, and had waved or called out pleasantly. In the trees and meadows that bounded either side of the road, just as on the farms of men, there was also life working and playing. Most of the small creatures there too called out in their own fashion when they spied him walking quietly by. On any other day, he might have paused here and there to watch, or to call and wave back to those who might understand him — but not today. Today Dyre’s sad eyes hardly ever left the road before his feet

He had almost reached the path that would lead him to the slopes of the hills, and to his father’s farm, when he realized that amongst all the other quiet sounds of the valley he could hear someone calling his name. Looking to his right across a field of grain, he could see two small children laughing and running toward him as fast as they could

“Syna! Syna! Wait! Please come and play with us!” The children shouted even as they ran to reach him.

For the first time in many hours, Dyre smiled. It was Maleah and Arlen, the twins. Even though the children called him Syna too, he smiled weakly back at them and waved. For the last two years, since the children had grown old enough for their mother to turn them loose to play on their own, he had come to love them dearly, and often stopped to play with them for a little while as he passed to and from the village. They called him Syna, because that was what their mother called him, and were just too young to realize, and he could hardly be hurt by two such sweet voices.

Seeing that he had stopped, Arlen and Maleah ceased calling, and ran in earnest for the road. Dyre took a step toward the fence that separated the road from the field, where he paused to hang the bag on a post beside a flowerpot. He knew the children lived too far away from the village to see many other children, so they would always watch about this time of day for Dyre to pass.

As they drew near, they began to giggle once more, out of breath, but all smiles. Maleah reached him first, and quickly gave him a hug, before taking his hand.

“Oh, Syna!” The little girl grinned, “We were so hopping to see you today. Can you stop and play with us? We were planting flowers over by the stream.” With that, she held out a handful of badly crushed flowers, their stems broken off above the roots. “Please come and play with us! Please?” She hugged him once more, and Dyre dropped to his knees, and hugged the child back, before reaching out to give Arlen an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Maleah. I have to take a new axe I just got from the smith to my father. He needs is now, and I promised him that I’d hurry, and I’ve already been…, delayed in town...”

“OH!” Maleah moaned, acting as if she were badly disappointed as only very young children can be.

“I’ll tell you what!” Dyre said, trying to raise the children’s spirits. “I have to work at the Inn for Keely tomorrow evening. I promised Dara that I’d be there in the evening, so I can stop by and help you plant your garden tomorrow afternoon. OK?”

“Yea!” Maleah squealed, and jumped into Dyre’s arms.

“Will you help me with my tree-home too?” Arlen asked hopefully.

“I’ll have plenty of time to do both. We’ll put a roof on your tree-home, and I’ll even show you how to plant flowers so that they will keep growing Ok?” Then smiling, Arlen also stepped forward to hug Dyre’s shoulder.

 

 

     Dara, the innkeepers wife, was just coming around a turn in the road, when she finally caught sight of Dyre. She had been his mothers closest friend, and on hearing from her daughter, Keely, what the other children had done to poor Syna, had been hurrying to catch up with him to make sure that he was going to be alright. It broke her heart to see what the poor child went through at the hands of the other children, as well as many of the adults in the village. It had been several seven-days since she had checked on his father and him,and planned to use that as an excuse to drop in if she could not catch him on the road.

Smiling she could see that Dyre was once again being accosted by Chandi’s pair. Chandi herself was unpleasant, but her children were inexplicably as sweet as they could be. It always amazed her how young children seemed so drawn to Dyre. The children his own age, or worse, those a little older were usually very cruel to Syna, with a few exceptions like her Keely; while the younger children seemed to always want him to stop and play games, and to spend time with them. Dara was always glad to see someone being kind to the gentle child.

Dara was still smiling, as she watched the second child lean over to hug Syna affectionately, when a movement in the field caught her eye. It was Chandi, making her way rapidly across the field toward the children.

Dara increased her pace instantly, but Chandi was almost upon them.

 

 

      “I thought that was you, Syna.” Chandi said harshly.

Dyre and the children were startled by Chandi’s voice. Looking up, Dyre could see the anger that had contorted Chandi’s face even more than her usual mood, and quickly stood to face the woman. “Good day, Chandi.” Dyre began with a dry throat. “I was just on my way home when the children came over to say hello.”

“I can see that for myself, Syna!” Chandi snapped rudely at him. “Don’t you think I watch my own children?”

Dyre tried to reply. “Chandi, I didn’t mean to say…”

Chandi ignored him, and reached over the fence to draw the children back through. “Children, I’ve told you not to talk to people on the road, now I want you to go to the cottage, and get a drink, and I’ll come and get you a treat to hold you over till supper.”

Maleah, as usual spoke up. “But Momma, its only Syna. He’s going to help us plant my flower garden tomorrow!”

Chandi grimaced before replying quickly. “Maleah, I don’t think he will be able to. I’m sure that he has to help his own family tomorrow. Now don’t argue or there will be no supper. Run along to the cottage, and no more arguments out of you girl.”

Both children looked disappointed, but they recognized the tone in their mother’s voice, so turned toward the cabin. Looking back, Arlen called out “Bye Syna! I hope you can come and play tomorrow like you promised.”

“I’ll try.” Dyre smiled back at them, but his eyes were quickly drawn back to Chandi, who seemed to be waiting for the children to get out of earshot. That wouldn’t be long, because Arlen had begun to race for the cottage, and Maleah had squealed and begun to race after him.

“Chandi, I don’t know why you’re angry with me. I was just being kind to the children.” Dyre said softly, trying to sound as reasonable as possible.

“I don’t care what you thought you were doing. Syna!” Chandi replied venomously. When she used the name, it sounded like the children in the village. It sounded like a curse. “I don’t want you here, and I don’t want you near my children.”

“But, Chandi, I’ve done nothing to you. Why are you so angry?” Dyre tried his best not to show the hurt he felt inside at yet another confrontation, but it was too much, and he could not keep it out of his voice.

“It’s not what you’ve done, it’s what you are. I don’t want your kind, here.” Chandi said, with a look of someone who had delivered a devastatingly clear and winning argument.

“And what kind is that, Chandi? What harm have I done?” Dyre said, his anger beginning to rise at the unfair treatment.

“Shut up, and go home, before I take a stick to you, you Syna!” Chandi said with a reddening face.

Dyre’s shoulders began to slump again. One look at Chandi’s face was enough to convince him that talk was useless. Sadly he slipped his bag from her fence, and turned to continue down the road. He was already several paces along when the children’s disappointment occurred to him. “I’ll be here tomorrow near midday.” he said with only a quick glance back at the angry woman glaring at him. “If you don’t want them to see me, you might want to keep the children inside.” He finished in a dejected voice

Angry as she was, Chandi took the statement as defiance despite his sad tone, and even though she should have known better. In a blink, she looked around, and quickly stooped to pick up a stone which threw it at the boy’s back. The stone hit him behind his right ear, and he was on his hands and knees before he even knew he had been hit.

Chandi herself was shocked. If she had hurt the child, the village fathers would make trouble. No matter that the boy had been willful, or that everyone else would understand. If she had to pay, her husband would be very angry at her temper and foolishness.

Afraid of the consequences, Chandi had begun to climb over the fence, in the hope that the child was not really hurt, when Dyre began to rise to his feet once more. Looking down, he could see the rock, which was the size of his fist lying in the road, and picked it up.

Turning toward Chandi, he raised his other hand unsteadily to feel the back of his head. When he looked, there was blood on his fingers. “Why?” He asked, before he had to stop speaking to fight down a wave of nausea that suddenly swept up from his stomach.

Chandi was still in shock at what she had done, but managed to get out. “You’ll think twice before you talk back to me child. Now get away from my farm.”

Dyre felt his anger growing. His fist gripped the stone in his hand tightly, even as he could feel the blood on the tips of his fingers. His eyes could see the fear begin to grow in Chandi’s eyes, as he took a step toward her. Then he caught sight of the flowerpot standing on the post, and instantly threw the stone as hard as he could.

Chandi let out a little yelp, and stumbled back, even as the stone was thrown. She was several feet away when the pot exploded in all directions.

 

 

     Behind him, Dara saw him moving away and began to slow her pace in response. When she saw Chandi bend to the ground, she knew with a sick certainty what was coming, but she was too far away to do anything about it. The yell she had in her throat was choked off, even as the stone flew. “Please.” She whispered, even as she now began to run. She prayed that the stone would miss, but no sooner had the thought occurred than poor little Syna was down on his knees in the middle of the road, and his body slumping forward as he put his hands out to catch himself.

“Dear God, no.” Dara gasped, as she gathered her skirt in on hand as she ran.

 

 

     Chandi and Dyre just stared at each other for several breaths, before the boy turned and fled up the road, making for the path to his father’s farm as fast as his aching head would allow.

Dyre had already turned off the road, and was out sight in the trees when Dara reached Chandi. “What are you doing?” Dara gasped in astonishment.

Chandi turned to the woman in shock.

“He…” She was speechless in fear for a moment, frightened that someone had seen. Finally she continued. “He was willful, and wouldn’t leave.” Chandi finally got out.

“Dyre? Willful!” Dara was yelling at her now, causing Chandi to take a step backwards yet again. “You evil wyitch! How do you expect anyone to believe that when you hit him in the back of the head? If that child is hurt, Chandi, I’ll make sure that the village fathers know exactly what you did. You just try to tell them it was because Dyre was willful. They’ll double your punishment! You’ll be lucky if they don’t take a branch to you in the middle of the square!” Dara only tarried because she was out of breath from running.

“But, he tried to kill me. He threw the stone at me!” Chandi gasped.

“Threw the stone…” Dara could believe the gall of the woman. “Chandi. No one and I mean no one would believe that even Dyre could miss that fat head of yours if he had wanted to hit you.”

“Well who’s going to pay for my pot?” Chandi said, putting her hands on her hips, and glaring at the older woman, thinking she had the upper hand finally.

Outraged by Chandi’s very stance, Dara took several steps with a growl low in her throat, and actually slapped a matching pot off of a nearby post, causing it to shatter as it hit the ground. Then turning toward the now pale-faced woman, she said. “The same person who’s going to pay for that one, you wench! Your poor dumb husband!”

Even in her anger, Dara remembered that the child might still be hurt “Chandi, if that child is hurt, I’ll make sure you pay for more than an ugly pot.” Then without looking back, she began to hurry along the road to try once more to catch up with Dyre.

 
 

 
 

     Dara was out of breath having come so far from the village in so short a time, so her progress on the hill was slower than she would have wished. She could tell from the noise of the animals in the trees, that the boy had passed, but she could not see him. She paused to breathe, and shook her head at having lost her head that way with the foolish woman. It might just be Calum, her husband, who paid for one of the pots. No matter, though, she thought with shadow of a smile reaching her lips. She could just see the smile on his face, as he waked to the table in front of the elders, to lay the few coppers down. She could see him place a few more on the table, just in case anyone else wanted to throw a rock at Chandi as well.

“He’s a good man.” She said quietly to herself.

Her only regret would be that Chandi’s husband probably wouldn’t beat her, because she knew that Ladd was a good man too, in spite of what she had said. If he would, all their lives would probably be a whole lot better.

Dara began to climb the path again, but more slowly at a walk. The quietness of her passage was all that allowed the soft sob coming from her left to reach her ears. Softly, she turned in the direction of the small noise, and quickly came upon the child laying face down on the ground, sobbing almost silently, even as his hand held the black of his head.

Dara froze for a moment. It was the first time she had seen him cry since he had been very young. Even with all the taunts and hurts she had witnessed; even when his poor mother had disappeared, she had never seen him cry. His usual response to sadness was just the sad mournful look, so old and out of place on a child as young as he.

“Dyre?” She said softly, as she crept over toward him. He must not have heard, because when she spoke the second time, he jumped. “Dyre? Child, are you all right?” She asked as gently as she could, half expecting him to rise up and flee.

Dyre only looked at her though watery eyes, before putting his head down on his arm where he continued to sob softly.

“Oh, child. Let me take a look at your head.”

Kneeling beside the boy, Dara began gently to move his long hair aside to see how badly he was hurt. There was some blood, but not too much. The lump on his head was by far the more impressive. She could tell that it hurt, because he flinched, and began to shake when her fingers came close to the lump, but he made no sound now. Finally, with difficulty because his hair was so long and thick, she found the wound. The rock had broken the skin, but the bleeding was already beginning to slow, even before she pulled a cloth out of her apron, and pressed it to the back of his head.

“Dyre, I’m so sorry.” she said. “I was coming to find you. Keely was very upset, and came to tell me. When I found that you had already left on the south road, I followed to make sure you were all right. I saw Chandi throw the stone.”

She sat on the ground, and partially pulled the boy onto her lap. “I’m so sorry she hurt you.” Dara said, feeling so bad for the child. He was so kind and gentle; she could not understand how so many people could take actual pleasure in hurting him.

Dyre lay limply there, for several minutes, the tears still running down his face even though he had sopped sobbing. He was so quiet, that Dara began to fear that the wound was worse than it looked. “How do you feel, Dyre?” she said softly.

“I feel sick to my stomach.” The boy replied very softly.

“Is it getting better, or worse?” Dara asked fearfully.

“It’s much better since I lay down.” He said. “I’ sorry if I frightened you, I just felt sick and dizzy.”

Relived that it was getting better, Dara began to stroke his shoulders and neck while he lay still. “Good, child, good. I’m sure you’ll be feeling better in a little while Just lay still for now. You did the right thing.”

She could feel the boy tense slightly, even before he spoke again softly. “What right thing would that be, Dara? Stopping that rock with the back of my head?”

“No, Child.” Dara shook her head slightly to herself. “You tried to walk away from Chandi. It was her fault, not yours.”

“I don’t think it matters whose fault it was. I’m the one who has to live with it.” The boy said this holding out his arm, to show Dara for the first time that the skin around is left wrist was badly discolored.

“Oh No, Dyre. Let me look at that.” Even as she reached for his hand to feel his wrist.
“Does it hurt?” She asked, though she knew how stupid the question really was. Of course it hurt. From the looks of the bruise, it must hurt quite a lot.

“No.” He said quietly.

“Well, at least we can put something on the skin, to make it feel better.” She paused to think of what to say next, unsure if it was the right time. She wanted to talk with him before they saw his father, and that left little choice.

“What did Chandi say?” She asked, in a voice that she hoped sounded level.

“She said that she didn’t want my kind around her or her children.” He said softly.

Dara had to fight back a curse that came to her lips unbidden, and take a few breaths before she could ask the next question as calmly as she wanted. “And did she say what ‘kind’ she thought you were?”

“No.” Dyre said softly, as he gingerly rolled himself over to his side before laying his head once again on Dara’s thigh, and closing his eyes in the aborted effort to raise himself. Dara stopped him with a hand on his shoulder to hold him still. Then, after a long pause, he continued, “I’m sure she meant the kind that the boys in the village were talking about.”

Dara had heard most of the story from Keely, but she felt she had to draw him out. “And what kind was that, Dyre?”

“Braun was trying to get me to kiss him in front of his friends. He told them that he thought that was what I wanted to do. He said that I really liked boys, and that that was why I was so odd.”

Dara could see a little tremor around his mouth as he stopped speaking, and his eyes squeeze tighter as if he was fighting back against the new tears that squeezed from beneath his lids.

For long moments Dara was unsure. She felt sure she understood the child as well as his own mother might have, but there was just the smallest chance she was wrong. Either way, she felt that she had to use this chance to draw him out as far as she could. She was fearful that he might never be able to overcome the hurts he had suffered if she did not find some way to help him now. She needed to hear the truth from him.

One of the older women in the village has spotted his oddness many years before. It was just after his mother had gone missing. Dara had always known that he was a special child, having even discussed it with his mother a time or two. He had always been very gentle and very kind. She had never known him to misbehave, or even join in the more raucous games and pranks the other boys played. In fact, from the very beginning he usually preferred to play quietly with her Keely.

It was the older women who had begun to call him Syna. They said that it was because he was more like a girl than a boy. The woman had not meant to be cruel, as the name only meant that he seemed not to fit in well. His mannerisms, and his gestures; the way he sometimes walked and spoke; so many things about him seemed more apt for a girl his age, than a boy. If she could only see him now, Dara thought, as she softly brushed his long reddish blond hair away from the side of his face. His latest curse was that the boy was pretty. His fine features were so like his beautiful mother’s that it strained her heart to look at him sometimes.

His mother, Aria, had been a very beautiful woman, as well as Dara’s best friend from earliest childhood. Unfortunately, he had too many of her beautiful features, and as time went by, it only seemed to be growing worse and not better as some of the adults had thought it should. His maturation seemed noticeably delayed.

Yes, the old woman had not meant anything cruel by calling him Syna, which simply means “two as one”, but over the last few years, the name had taken on many awful meanings. The children misunderstood some or most of what they heard, and for the last year it had gotten much worse, even as he seemed to fit in less and less. When he was younger, he was often mistaken for a girl in boys clothing, but now that he was older still, he looked even stranger; or worse, more like a young woman in boy’s clothes…

Hesitantly, Dara chose her words very carefully. She knew she was most likely to hurt him worse. “Why did he do that, do you think? Has he tried to kiss you before?”

“No.” Dyre said with some surprise creeping into his voice.

“Well he must have wanted to kiss you pretty badly, to have held your arm so tightly.” She even tried to smile to draw his attention away from seriousness of the question she was really trying to ask amid the joke. “And besides…,” she tilted her head slightly to the side, “at least it was Braun. At least he’s better looking, and bathes a lot more often than his friends.”

“Oh, Dara. Please don’t tease me too!” Fortunately, Dyre sounded at least a little amused by her observation.

Dara hesitated, before continuing. She felt like she was walking the edge of a cliff… “Seriously, child, did you ever say anything, even casually about one of the boys that might have given them the wrong idea?”

“No.” he said softly.

“Are you sure? I mean everyone says things that come out wrong once in a while. You too are at that age now, that you begin to notice others in a different way. Perhaps you and Keely were talking about a boy one of you had a crush on, and someone overheard you?”

Dara’s heart felt like it had seized up in her chest, half of her wanting to take it back. However, the question was asked. If he took it badly, he might never speak to her again. She was afraid she might have just stuck a knife into his heart, but yes, she had to ask if she were to help him.

“Dara?” he finally said softly after too many silent moments. Somehow she was able to respond with a noise, even though she had no breath left. “You don’t have to worry about that. Keely’s never told me she had a crush on anyone, and I…” he stopped talking.

“Go on, Dyre.” Dara said after waiting several more moments, only to have the boy surprise her yet again, by answering with a maturity that was far beyond his years.

“Dara, I don’t like the other boys in that way. I don’t even like most of them in any way at all. Kissing Braun was not my idea. I’d rather kiss the Smith’s old horse. Do you understand?” He finished without ever opening his eyes.

“I do, Dyre.” She murmured, the fist that had been squeezing her chest easing up a little.

Then he took her by surprise, by continuing. “The person I like the most is a girl, but I’ve never even told anyone about that.”

Dara wanted to lift him up and hold him. There had been so many pains in his young life. The worst was his mother just vanishing one evening on the road from the village. Then, his father, still a very good man, had withdrawn so from the loss of his wife.

Of course, Dara had known all along to whom he was attracted. It was her eldest, Keely. Even as Keely had only begun to grow into such a beautiful young woman, Dara would sometimes see Dyre’s eyes resting upon her. She had always known of the affection there, but had never chosen to mention it. She hadn’t felt any fear of there being a problem, because the boy was just so… Well she could see that she was possibly wrong on that score..

“Does Keely suspect how you feel?” She finally asked.

Dyre Jumped physically, and turned his head up to stare at her in amazement.

“Well, has she ever shown any of those feelings for you in return?” Dara asked, not being able to keep the smile from her lips in the face of his shocked expression.

“No.” He finally said.

“Well.” Dara continued. “She is always very nice to you, and I’m sure she thinks very fondly of you too. Perhaps you should content yourself with that, and see what time has in store?” Dara finished, shaking his shoulder gently.

“How long have you known?” Dyre asked in awe.

“A long time, I guess.” she patted his shoulder. “At least as long as you have, I’m sure. I’m also sure that Keely knows too. I don’t think she’s likely to have missed that little puppy look you give her when you forget that someone might be watching. She’s used to having people looking at her, you know.”

Dyre smiled a little now. “I know she is. That’s because she’s the prettiest girl in the village.” He said softly, and began to try to sit up again. “I suspect, just like her mother, when she was like us.”

Dara chuckled at that, and put her hands under his arms, and helped him to a sitting position, but restrained him from rising any further until she was sure he had his balance. “I hate to tell you, but back then, that was your own mother, Dyre. She was far prettier than anyone else was, as you well know. A damned sight prettier than I could ever hope to be, that’s for sure. Anytime I stood next to her, I was afraid people might just throw rocks at me!”

Dara paused to watch him close his eyes again, as she suspected, unsure of his balance. She was struck by the sudden fact that she cared for her best friend’s child, as much as she did for her own. For a moment she thought she might cry, but fought the urge so that they could continue to talk.

“Have you ever told her that you thought she was pretty?” She asked him.

“Yes. A lot of times, but I’ve never made too much of it. She really doesn’t like people making too much of how she looks, you know. All those dolts fawning after her makes her feel uncomfortable.”

“I know.” said the only mother he had left.

“Do you feel that you can walk?” She asked him, looking at his eyes carefully. “If need be, I’ll go and get Bryan to carry you home.

“Yes.” He said. “I’ll walk.” The look he gave her clearly meant that he did not want his father to know. Well, there was no chance of that, she thought. Bryan was a good man, and deserved to know. Slowly, with her hand under his arm, he began to move back toward the path up the hill.

They walked up the hill at a leisurely pace, talking as they went. Dara was glad to see the boy far more talkative than usual, even as she occasionally reached out for his elbow to steady him over a root or stone. As his home came into sight, she reached out to place her hand on his shoulder, to slow his pace even more. By the time they reached the door, Dara was more assured than she had ever been that she understood how Dyre felt. She also felt worse, for the pain and loneliness in the boy that even she had not even begun to appreciate.

 
 

 
 

     By the time they crossed the fields on the slopes that marked his father’s small farm; it was getting to toward the middle of the afternoon. Dara could see Bryan briefly through the door of the cottage, as she paused before following Dyre through.

Bryan turned back to the door as he saw the shadow fall across the room. “There you are Dyre. Did the Smith have the axe?” He asked this pleasantly enough, though he had been beginning to worry because it was so unlike Dyre to be distracted when he was running an errand for him. He’d assumed that the Smith must have been called away on some errand of his own, and that Dyre might not be able to get the needed tool from him. His smile froze, however, when he saw Dara step through the door, having paused a moment or two just outside before stepping across the threshold. His smile froze almost intact, but his eyes no longer held pleasantness they had when they greeted his son.

“Hello, Bryan.” Dara said agreeably enough. “I hope you don’t mind, but I though that as long as Dyre was coming out this way anyway, that I’d take the opportunity to come out and see how you two men were doing on your own.

Bryan almost chuckled. He had long ago gotten used to Dara, and several of the other village women, dropping by for ‘visits’ to make sure that he and Dyre were cared for. They were forever dropping off sweet breads, or a stew; and often as not, taking away some small item of clothing to mend when they did the same for their own families.

Most had stopped coming, though, because they had come to realize that they were both just fine.

Dara had also realized this, of course, but she would still occasionally bring sweet bread, or just stop in to help with mending even though she knew better than anyone that the two were taking good care of themselves. In fact, looking around the cottage, it was almost surprisingly neat and clean. Dyre, had taken it upon himself, and he was if anything, a better housekeeper than most women; even as Aria had been before she disappeared three summers before.

“Problems,” Bryan said, without really needing to make it a question. The look in Dara’s eyes had already told him everything he needed to know.

Uncomfortable, Dyre placed the sack on the table before walking over to check the fire. He had left a stew on a very low warming fire so that it would be ready for their evenfeast come sundown. Quietly, he drew the coals from the back wall of the hearth, and piled some dry wood on the coals to bring the stew to a simmer once more. Carefully he adjusted the gate on the chimney, to make sure it did not smoke, but the chimney was still warm and drawing well.

“The food will be ready soon.” He said hopefully. Perhaps you would eat with us, Dara?” He finished with little hope of changing the subject.

Looking back, he could see that Dara and his father had already had a silent, but complete conversation about how his trip had gone. He felt ill again, at the thought that Dara might tell his father what Braun had said, or had tried to make him do. He had felt sure that Dara would not say anything; but for a moment or two, the fear was very real, and caused him to doubt.

“Chandi.” Dara said finally, even though she could see the look in his eyes. She had silently decided to allow her husband, or perhaps The Elder, to deal with the issue of Bram. “She threw a rock, and hit him in the back head, Bryan. I was too far behind to stop her.”

Bryan’s face changed completely then, and it was a look that would have frightened her, if she’d had any thought that it might be directed at her. Bryan, like her Calum, was a very large man.

“Are you hurt, Dyre.” He said almost calmly to Dyre, who never the less, flinched slightly at the question.

“I’m sorry, father. I think that Chandi thought I was being rude to her when…” Dyre tried to explain.

“He didn’t do anything.” Dara said, as Bryan took a step around the corner of the small wooden table, and placing his hands on Dyre’s shoulders, and turned him so that he could examine his head. He gently moved the hair that was so like his mother’s aside, and looked briefly at the wound before pressing it gently with one finger, making the boy shy away.

Dara spoke as she walked over to the basin, and quickly located a clean cloth, which she wet with the cool clean water that she found in the cistern. Handing it to Bryan, she watched as he began to clean the wound, before she herself took the cloth, and began to do so for him a little more gently, even while briefly telling the story of all she had seen and done.

“I’m sorry, father.” Dyre said again, this time not trying to explain further.

“Don’t apologize” His father said. “I know Chandi well enough.” He said this as he moved toward the door, and lifted his hat off of the peg. “I’ll be back soon.”

“No Father, please.” Dyre said desperately, wanting no more trouble. “There’s no need too…,” He was forced to look up as his father stepped directly in front of him. The act of tilting his head so far back in looking up made his head throb, and his body sway because his balance suddenly failed him again.

“Dyre” his father said calmly placing a hand on his shoulder, not having noticed. “Don’t worry. I know that you don’t want any more trouble, and I promise there won’t be; but I’ll not have that woman throwing rocks at a child of mine. I promise she won’t do that again. I’ll be back well before sundown.”

He then turned to Dara, and asked her, “Would you stay with him for a little, until I return?”

Dara nodded, and then placed her own hand on Dyre’s shoulder, as he made a motion to follow his father to the door, once again to implore him to let it be. His father was almost across the yard before Dyre could move, and soon to be out of sight as he headed down the path toward his closest neighbor’s farm.

“Let him Go, Dyre.” She said softly. “I know you just want to forget, but this is something that he needs to take care of. It won’t take long, and your father is a very good man to make sure it never happens again.”

Nodding, Dyre, turned back toward the pot, and lifting the lid before it got too hot, he reached in with a large spoon, and began to scrape the contents from the bottom. He only paused, as Dara moved over by the large chest that stood by the door to his father’s room, which she opened to withdraw out a piece of ribbon. Then taking the damp cloth, she refolded it, and then quickly tied it in place over Dyre’s head. Amused and distracted by the soft sigh Dyre let escape from his lips at the relief of the cool cloth, she did not at first realize that she had tied a large bow in the ribbon out of habit; but, Dyre was already moving to the shelves where the wooden bowls were kept.

Just as quietly, Dara began to move about the cottage, casually checking and adjusting here and there, even though she already knew her help was not needed. Finally, she took another cloth, pausing to look at the neat stack of them she found ready on a shelf by the basin. She could see that they were all clean and dry, and that only a few were even stained. “The cottage looks nice, Dyre.” she commented, even as she took a small sliver of soap, and pouring a ladle of water into her hand, quickly washed the dust of the road from her face and hands.

She could hear Syna behind her, efficiently setting the table, and putting a pot of herb-tea on the fire. Then, as she dried her hands, she noticed that the towel and her hands smelled slightly of flowers and herbs. It was as pleasant as it was surprising. She had heard of women who placed flowers in with their laundry, to freshen their clothes, but this was much stronger than that. On impulse, she lifted another clean towel, to find that it also smelled of herbs and flowers. Spying the soap slivers, she lifted one to her nose. Her eyes widened in wonder to find it smelled the same, but much more strongly still…

“Dyre?” She turned back to him. “Are you making the mild soap like I taught you?”

Concerned that his father might have left stronger lye soap on the basin, Dyre came forward quickly. “Did you burn yourself, Dara?”

“No, the soap is fine. It smells…, very nice.”

“Oh.” He said, smiling slightly. “That was just something I wanted to try. Yes, Dara, it’s the same mild soap you taught me to make, but I added some essence to it, that’s all.”

“Essence?” She asked, once more lifting the soap to her nose, and inhaling the fragrance. Then she looked at the soap again to see if it contained any pieces of flowers, which she already knew it did not. “Did you add flowers to the soap, then?”

“No.” He said. “That just makes a mess. Here, look at this and see.” He quickly walked to the window, where he removed a small pot from where it sat in the late-afternoon sun, and brought it over to her. When he carefully pealed the wax seal from the top and lifted the lid, she could smell a different, but equally wonderful scent filling the room.

“You see.” He continued to explain. “I use the clear spirits that I got from Calum, to soak the flowers and herbs. I have to seal the pot, or it dries up, but if you set it in the sun for a seven-day or so, and if you pack in enough flowers, the spirits begin to smell even more strongly of the herbs and flowers than the flowers themselves do. Some flowers take a fortnight. When it’s done, though, I just pour a little into the soap at the last little while that I cook it, just before I let it cool, and when you cut the cakes they still smell like this.” He finished proudly.

“How Clever.” Dara said, clearly amazed. “Doesn’t it become fetid, and begin to smell foul if you leave it that long?” She asked.

“No.” he shrugged at her. “This pot’s been here for almost three weeks. If you use water, it rots and smells worse than the swine pen, but the spirits just seem to keep as usual.” He answered, amazed by her interest.

Bringing some of the flower soap to her nose again, She asked. “May I have a bar, for Keely and me?”

“Of course.” he said, reaching for a small basked “I have some for you, I meant to show you already, but I forgot the basket this morning when my father told me I had to hurry.

“That’s a very clever idea, Dyre” She said patting him affectionately on the shoulder.
“You should sell your soaps to the ladies in the village. I’m sure they would buy all you could make.”

“Do you really think so?” he asked, his eyes growing wider.

“I truly do. It’s wonderful.” she assured, pressing yet another cake to her nose.

Then she walked over to check the stew. Taking the shallow cooking ladle that Dyre had used to stir it with; she reached into the warm mixture to give it a quick stir before taking a small taste herself. “Hummm.” she said as she carefully wiped the edge of the ladle before putting it in to stir once more. “This is very good. I sure wish Keely could cook as well. When your father gets back, you tell him I’ll surely stay for dinner.” She smiled at the boy, not without a sudden but brief pang of regret for having thoughtlessly compared his housekeeping skills to her daughters.

The boy seemed not to notice, however, as he picked up the wax and stepping beside her to take a small black ladle that hung on the other side of the hearth, that he lay amongst the coals. “Don’t be silly, Keely cooks as well as I do. She just doesn’t get to do it as often as I do, that’s all.”

Lifting the now hot ladle, he melted the wax and poured it once more on the seal ring of the pot where it quickly congealed against the cool crockery. Then, to finish, he plunged the ladle into hot water, where he would recover the wax once the water cooled down again. Lastly, he used the ladle to scoop up some of the hottest coals, and lay it back in the hearth while the little wax that remained, quickly burned off, leaving only the darkly carbonized metal surface behind, which he wiped carefully before putting the ladle back in its place.

Dara watched his every move with fascination. She walked over to the table to take the chair closest to the door, and pondered Dyre as he was bringing the tea to the table. She was shaking her head slightly, and reminding herself to retie the bow, when she noticed that there were some clothes on the chair nearest the fire with some sewing supplies lying on top.

Reaching under the table, she pulled the clothes onto her lap. “Have you been mending some shirts?” She asked, but clearly, the one on top was woman’s blouse, and under that a vest that had been his mothers. Below those, were several other men’s shirts that were very badly in need of repair.

“Have you been trying to mend these?” She asked, holding one up to examine it critically.

“Yes.” He said simply, but in a tone that spoke of such frustration, that it made her smile

Talking the one from the bottom, she could see that the whole side was torn so badly that it was beyond fixing.

“Father and I were clearing the thorny bushes away from the margin of the stream, so that the animals can drink. We both tore our shirts. I’ve outgrown almost all of mine, so I was trying to fix them myself.” He finished simply.

“And these.” She held up the woman’s vest and chemise.

“Well, I thought that if I could make a vest for father out of leather, it might save his clothes, and protect him from the thorns. I was looking at the blouse to see how my mother had sewn the seams. I couldn’t tell, though.”

Dara just shook her head slightly, as Dyre poured her some tea and added a little honey the way she liked it.. “Your mother was one of the best seamstresses I ever saw, Dyre. You should have brought them to me.”

“I know you said you’d do them for us, but it really seems unfair. Besides, my father usually prefers to work in the fields alone, and to leave the house and the animals to me. I have the time, so I thought I’d try.”

Looking down at the other garment, the one he had begun to mend, she began to wonder if even she could repair that one now too. “Oh, Dyre.” She said in a cross between concern, amusement, and exasperation. “Get your mothers sewing basket, and come here.”

The sun was disappearing when his father walked through the door to find him sitting next to Dara, each of them mending a shirt, but Dara obviously had most of her attention guiding each move that his son made. The sewing lesson surprised him enough, that it took him a few moments to notice the bow, that hung on the back of his bowed head. He looked just like…

In light of the conversation that he and Ladd had with the Chandi woman, it was the last thing he wished to see. However, he said nothing, because the woman’s foul-minded bigotry had left him too sickened and angry to say anything even remotely similar to what the woman had at first said to him. That is, before Ladd had firmly put an end to her tirade.

“Something smells good.” he said simply, causing Dyre to look up and smile. The boy placed the shirt he had been working on onto the table, and rose quickly to meet his father.

“Did everything…?” Dyre began to ask worriedly.

Seeing the look of worry growing in his sons eyes, almost made Bryan laugh. “Everything is fine, Dyre. Except that is, for Chandi. I think Ladd may still be talking with her. I’m sure that she won’t bother you again. In fact, Ladd said that Chandi would be going into town tomorrow, to help Jon at the bakery while Ladd’s brother is feeling sick. He said that you would be more than welcome to stop by, and check on the children, and to hopefully feed them lunch while he is rebuilding the fence on the far side of the valley.”

Dyre’s eyes widened at this unexpected and complete reversal of fortune. He said no more however, as his father removed his hat, and moved to the basin to wash. Looking over, he could see Dara was carefully packing up the sewing basket

“Thank you for showing me how to fix them, Dara.” Syna said in his thoughtful way. “I don’t know if I could have saved them myself.”

“That’s not a surprise.” Dara said amused. “Just promise that you won’t try anything new, until you ask me how first. I know you only mean well, but one of the shirts was beyond fixing before you started, and it’s a shame you wasted your time.”

“I will.” He said.

Dara began moving the sewing out of the way, to make room for the food, as Dyre quickly moved to refill a pitcher of water for the table and began to ladle the stew into three bowls. He also set on another pot of tea, and poured some wine in honor of their guest.

It was a good meal, mostly enjoyed in silence, as they each shared in the savory stew Dyre had prepared. The small conversations, that began sand ended in little pauses, were of little moment. They served only to share in each other’s company.

It was always nice to have Dara there, but the sky was not fully dark, before she made to leave. She needed to be home in time to supervise the cleanup at the inn, having left Calum there without her for a good part of the day.. After saying goodnight to Bryan, and after affectionately brushing her cheek against Dyre’s, her last act was to reach up and pull the ribbon from his head and place it in his slightly confused hands.

 
 

 

     -S.L.M.
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