The longest night

The winter solstice is bringing a kiss of cold with it this year, which for Florida means we will see temperatures in the 50s, maybe even a quick dip into the 40s! Sadly, no snow (as only someone who has never lived in snow would say :D)

Lately, I have been working on The White Hind, the third book in the Stolen Away series, so I thought I might share some wintery excerpts from the first two books.

Excerpt from Lumina and the Goblin King – Chapter 3, Summer Winds and Winter Snows

A snow storm greeted the dawn of the winter solstice. All through the night, Lumina had heard the winds blowing. Normally, she would have slept the cold season through, curled up amongst the bare brambles of winter or in the boughs of an evergreen. But not this winter, with a young cat, not yet a year old, trailing along in her footsteps.

So now they were tucked up in a warm, dry den, far beneath the roots of Old Father Pine. The floor was lined with rose petals and wild thyme. And in one corner was a nest of cattail fluff and feathers, brought in before the snows by Crow and Hoax. The turtle shell sat near a hearth made of stone where Ember danced. The smoke from the flames curled up a small tunnel that served as a chimney, twisting out through the old pine’s roots. A door made of birch bark covered the entrance of a larger tunnel, keeping in the fire’s warmth.

Lumina watched Ember dance as she lay contentedly, snuggled up next to the young cat who lay sprawled in his nest, oblivious to the world. He had grown so quickly since the summer, and was now three times as long as she was tall. In fact, she could almost fit under his chin when he stood. She smiled to herself. Their little den was peaceful and mostly quiet, save for when the sylphs would race down through the small chimney. They whistled and laughed as they swirled around Ember, causing him to flare brightly for a moment, before racing out the larger entrance, banging the birch bark door behind them as they left.

They did this often at first, until Lumina pointed out that if the young cat froze to death, he would no longer be able to chase leaves with them. After that, they only came in every once in a while, but they still raced past the door tapping on it and calling out to her as they blew passed.

It was still early morning when Lumina heard a tapping on the door that did not come from the wind. The tapping was quickly followed by a raven’s feathered head.

“Bright and happy morning to you, fair one,” said Hoax, his large body filling the doorway. Suddenly, he let out a squawk and hopped all the way inside, flakes of snow scattering everywhere as he ruffled his wings in indignation. Crow followed in behind him, a hand full of downy black feathers held tightly in one fist.

“Something more with which to line the kitten’s nest,” he said, handing them to Lumina with a slight bow.

“What did you do that for?” asked Hoax, feathers still fluffed in outrage.

“For standing in the doorway while others waited out in the snow,” answered Crow.

“Can I be blamed if the Lady’s beauty had rendered my feet motionless?” said Hoax giving a little bow in Lumina’s direction.

“A shame it cannot render you speechless,” said Crow as he pulled the now familiar earthenware jug out from the satchel hanging around Hoax’s neck. He went over to the turtle shell, and pulling the stopper from the mouth of the jug, began to pour the contents into the shell. He continued to pour until it was full to the brim with milk.

“The milk will warm in a little while,” he said, fitting the stopper in the jug once more. He came over to sit near Lumina, handing her a packet as he did. When she opened it, she found that it held a bit of the brown bread with honey she loved so much.

Still grumbling, Hoax came to join them.

They settled in, sitting close together as the sleepy fire wrapped them in its warmth. The falling snow shushed the world above, until even the moaning of the wind was quieted. Lumina shared the bread and honey that had been brought to her, watching the firelight shimmer across the surface of the milk as she ate. The deep shadows cast by the soft light invited one to share confidences, and ask questions not usually asked.

“Hoax,” she said, in a voice as soft as the fire’s glow. “Why is there such enmity between your king and the Fairy Queen?”

Much to her surprise, it was Crow who answered.

“Because long before the Goblin King was the Goblin King, he was a knight of the Fairy Queen’s court,” he said, turning his dark gaze on Lumina. “She was his beloved, and he, one of her favored. But then there came a time when she believed that he had betrayed her. In a rage, she blinded him and banished him to exile. For a hundred years he endured, the love that had burned brightly for his queen turning to bitter ash.” His voice held no rancor or judgment as he told the story, but the white fires that burned in the depths of his black eyes were as cold as starlight.

“He was blind and alone for a hundred years?” she said, her heart weighing heavily in her chest.

“Not entirely alone. There was one who followed him faithfully, a loyal servant who helped him as best he could. And others joined him,” Crow continued. “Until he had a court and a kingdom of his own. Now none of the Fairy Queen’s subjects will lightly trespass in his domain save for a certain desperate sprite who decided that saving a kitten was worth the possibility of starting a war.”

“A war?” she said incredulously, believing perhaps that she had misheard the goblin.

“Yes, Lady of the Glade, if it had been deemed that you were sent by your Queen to steal the goblin’s tribute, or even if you had done so with her knowledge, then it would have been war,” Crow assured her. “But she did not send you, and so it is only you who owes a debt to the Goblin King. Do you still feel that it was worth it, I wonder?”

“Oh yes,” Lumina said, fondly stroking the kitten’s fur once again. “He has become very dear to me, and now I could not imagine my world without him.”

All was silent for a while. Lumina could not help but think of the blind knight, maimed and exiled from all he knew by the one whom he had loved the most. To be alone, cast out and left to your fate without a care. A deep sadness filled her and she felt an intense need to hug the young silver cat laying next to her. So she did, resting her cheek against his soft fur, taking comfort in knowing that he was safe and alive.

“What betrayal could be so terrible, Crow?” she asked. “What could be so unforgivable, that she would do such a thing to one who had loved her so?”

              He did not answer; he only sat watching her with his inscrutable eyes. The firelight danced across his coal-black feathers as the moment stretched on and on. Until she began to wonder if there would be any answer at all. Finally, he spoke.

“Sometimes, my sweet sprite, even a small betrayal can seem as vast as the sea,” he said softly. “More so when love is concerned. And that begs the question, have you never been in love, Lumina?”

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “I certainly have those that are dear to me. And there are those I miss when I do not see them, but it wasn’t until the kitten came that any one being so consumed my thoughts.”

“That is love, in the same fashion as how a mother feels for her child,” he said. “But, a love such as the one the Goblin King once had for the Fairy Queen, that is a much different love. Such a love is like the sun, warm and golden. It fills your world and your heart basks in its light. But when that sun is taken away, the heart becomes a barren thing where nothing will grow save bitterness and thorns. And after a while not even those.”

There was nothing she could say to that, so she said nothing at all. But she reached out to touch the hem of Crow’s coat, though she could not say why she felt the need to do so.

It was at that moment that the sylphs came racing down the chimney.

“Come see, come see,” they cried, swirling about the room, stroking Ember awake so that the fire rose higher and higher.

“The snow has stopped!”

“The sun has returned!”

“Everything is white and it sparkles! Come out with us, come out and see!”

The sylphs made to leave by the birch bark door as they had done so many times before. But it refused to budge until Gale raced back out through the chimney to blow away the snow that had covered it.

The sylphs’ excitement swept away the sorrow. Lumina stood, reaching out her hand to Crow who took it with what she thought might have been surprise. Together they slipped out through the door and into the cold clear morning.

The world was covered in pure white, just as the sylphs had said. A perfect blanket of snow that sparkled like stardust in the sun. Its brilliance was only broken here and there by the pale blue shadows of the trees.

Delighted, Lumina danced out over the pristine landscape. Out of the glade and across the meadow she went, all the way down to the water’s edge, leaving not a single footprint behind her.

The frozen lake was a black mirror, an unblemished reflection of the clear blue winter sky. While Serene was deep beneath the ice, playing in her garden, Mistral and Gale raced across the surface, conjuring up little flurries of snow to swirl in their wake.

A shadow was standing beside her when she came to the lake’s edge, and she found that she was holding onto Crow’s hand still, having never let it go. It was almost as pale as the snow and tipped with talons like long obsidian blades, but his grip was warm and gentle. Smiling up at him, she took his other hand in hers and led him out onto the ice. They glided across the surface as easily as the sylphs. The two figures swooped and soared across the sky’s reflection in the mirror of the lake’s face, like birds in flight. They moved in perfect harmony until he broke away from her with a frightening suddenness, spinning and ducking as a smattering of white scattered across the ice in the place where he had just been.

On the near shore, Hoax stood laughing while snowballs rained down around Crow like arrows in a siege.

“Ha! That’s what you get for pulling my feathers,” said the phooka flapping his own wings for emphasis.

“I’ll pluck you bald if you don’t stop,” warned Crow, deftly avoiding all that was thrown at him.

“Ah, but it isn’t me,” said Hoax, once again holding up his wings and thus showing why he could not be the one responsible. “Look to the sylphs,” he said, gesturing off to his side.

“At your behest, goblin,” said Gale.

“True enough; but still, it is not m…” Hoax spluttered, cut off mid-word as a snowball hit him unerringly in his open beak.

Perhaps that was why the phooka did not notice the little silver shadow, doing its best to be stealthy as it crept across the snow. The second snowball was most likely the reason he did not see that same shadow as it launched itself towards him.                

In a heartbeat, the scene changed from a young cat trying to hold on to a raven’s tail feathers to one doing his best not to let go of a stomping pony’s mane.

“Ah, you little…” the phooka snorted, shaking his mane in an effort to dislodge the young cat. “I’ll take you back down into the lake you came from if you do not let go!”

“You will do no such thing, phooka!” said Lumina, her voice strident. The tableau froze as all stopped and looked at her in surprise.

“But, Lady!” Hoax pleaded, the kitten still hanging on to his mane with teeth and all four claws.

“You will not hurt that kitten!”

“What about him hurting me?” the phooka pleaded, and when it seemed that there was no sympathy in the offing he sighed with resignation.

“Fine,” he said. Then he was a raven again, his tail feathers still clamped in the kitten’s teeth. He reached back and pecked the young cat between the ears. “Let go!” he admonished.

“But I caught you fair and square!” the young cat insisted around a mouthful of feathers.

“And what do you think you are going to do with me?” the phooka asked.

“I don’t know,” the young cat admitted. “Eat you, I guess.”

The Broken Court – Chapter 2, A Summer Crown for Winter’s Head

That afternoon found her standing at the table, the evergreens she had gathered earlier stretched out before her like a miniature forest. The warmth of the hearth was at her back as she deftly wove the fragrant greens into garlands, wrapping them in red thread and stringing them with silver and brass bells. She watched the snow blow past as she went about her task; the window’s multi-hued panes making a kaleidoscope of the flurries as they swirled by.

In only a few hours, the weather had turned bitter. The snow, which was at best only a light dusting at this time a year, was even now piling up into tall drifts. Usually, she did not mind being snowed in, enjoying the hush of the world outside as the snow blanketed the house. As long as the water butt and pantry were full, there was little need for her to go much further than the spring cellar door. But this year was different.

Glancing back over her shoulder, she found Thom sitting on the hearth rug watching the fire, the silver cat curled up next to him was fast asleep. Checking on the boy was something else she found herself doing often now. An increasingly familiar weight settled on her shoulders even as she looked at him fondly.

She had not had a name for that feeling of heaviness the first time she felt it, but she did now. Strangely enough, it was loneliness. The loneliness of caring for Thom on her own, and the uncertainty of what the years ahead would bring for him. And for herself as well, if she were honest. It was a foolish feeling perhaps, but she felt it all the same.

Once the garlands were done, she set about hanging them above the windows. The sharp piney scent of them tickled her nose as the bells strung throughout winked merrily back at her in the firelight.

She had just finished hanging the last one when there was a sharp tap, tap, tapping at her window. Opening it, she found a snow-covered raven perched on the sill. He wasted no time in shaking off his feathers and hopping inside.

“Fah! My wings are nearly frozen,” the phooka declared, gliding from the table to a spot on the floor, closer to the hearth.

“What did you expect, flying out in such weather?” she asked, closing the window behind him.

“Tch! Cold-hearted! That’s what you are. Suddenly, the weather outside seems balmy,” the phooka said, shedding his feathers and holding his hands out to the fire. “And here I am, having braved the elements, riding on the very back of the Northwind no less, all the way here just to tell you…”

There was a knocking at the door.

“…to expect visitors,” she finished his sentence for him as she made her way towards it.

“Just so,” he grinned.

Answering the knock, she found a golden-eyed Lumina standing there smiling at her, snowflakes strewn through her hair like a string of stars in a blue evening sky. The sprite’s arms were full of snow-dusted bundles which she began to hand to Hoax, who appeared as by magic from inside the cottage.

Lumina turned around to the pale stag standing behind her, unloading the last of the bundles from his back before stepping inside. The White Stag, now relieved of his burdens, followed in on his bride’s heels, changing to his more human seeming as he ducked his antlered head to cross the threshold.

“Welcome,” the eld woman said, kissing first Lumina, then Lorne on the cheek as they moved past her. “What is all this?”

“We’ve come to spend the solstice with you,” Lorne said, walking over to where the various bundles had been piled. “And we brought gifts.”

He began unwrapping them one by one. The first held a warm coat for Thom. The ones that followed were filled with shirts and trousers and a sturdy pair of shoes, all just the right size for the boy.

There was also a great deal of food to be had: wheels of cheese, loaves of bread, a cold ham, and small bags stuffed with sugared fruits and nuts. There was even a tightly tied basket of cranberries sitting off to one side, which she immediately set Thom to stringing.

Leaving them to the unwrapping, she pulled on her old shawl and made her way through the narrow door that would take her to the spring cellar. Just as she had hoped, there was still a jug of cider left from the batch she had made out of last season’s apples. They had been gathered from the progeny of the old apple tree, and though they did not contain the same virtue of immortality as their parent, they were tasty and made excellent cider.

When she returned, she found there was barely room on the table for the jug she was carrying, so full of food was it. Which was fine because the cider was soon in a pot, set high over the fire to warm, spices from her dwindling stores simmering serenely atop the golden liquid.

They ate and laughed while they hung strings of cranberries, taking care to light the candles she had waiting in the windows, so that their warm glow would shine out into the darkness beyond.

She tucked Thom into bed just around midnight. The silver cat followed along, claiming that his hearth rug was too crowded. Which was true, for the rest of her guests were all sitting together on the floor in front of the fire, content in each other’s company, sipping mulled cider as they reminisced about the passing year.

And what a year it had been! It had seen one of her oldest friends, and her newest, find their happiness in each other. It saw herself give up a gift beyond price when she gave the oldest tree’s last apple to Lumina. Which she did knowing full well that by doing so, she would once again age as any mortal would, for a time at least. And it brought her Thom, and with him, the changing of her whole world.

The shushing snow outside and warmth of the fire in front of them conspired to lull everyone into a dreamy contentment. Lumina and Lorne lay to one side of the hearth, heads pillowed on each other’s hips, and she could not help but smile softly at the sight. Perhaps it should have seemed odd to have such beautiful, otherworldly creatures tangled together like two kittens asleep on her hearth rug, but it didn’t. Seeing their happiness had chased away the loneliness of before, reminding her of when she was young. Of long nights just like this one, spent in front of a fire, keeping warm with friends or lovers.

She felt a soft weight settle across her back. The phooka’s chin came to rest on her shoulder, his breath warm on her cheek as he spoke low next to her ear.

“Do you wish that for yourself?” he whispered, in a voice made for secrets.

“What would make you ask something so foolish?” she retorted softly.

“Am I asking something foolish?”

How to explain the different aspects of love to a creature such as the one sitting next to her?

“Yes, you are. And if you understood the human heart, you would know how foolish a question it was,” she replied.

“Perhaps, and perhaps the question I am asking is not the one you are answering,” he suggested, smoothing his hands over her shoulders as he moved away.

He had left something behind. Her fingers, reaching up, brushed across fabric thick and luxuriant. Drawing it closer, she saw that it was a lovely green shawl, beautifully woven. The silken threads beneath her fingertips were cottony and soft, and unlike anything she had seen before.

“I don’t see why Thom should be the only one to receive gifts,” he said, wrapping the shawl more securely around her shoulders. “A gift freely given. To keep you warm, and to give me a soft place to rest my weary head,” he finished, laying his head on her shoulder, daring her to admonish him.

She sighed in defeat and fond exasperation, allowing him to stay where he was. Resting her own cheek against the top of his head, she watched as the salamanders danced in the fire. The furry tip of Hoax’s ear twitching ever-so-softly against her lips with each out-going breath.

“Do you want to see something wondrous?” a voice whispered quietly in her ear, waking her from sleep.

She opened her eyes to find herself looking up into Hoax’s face, her head now lying comfortably in his lap. He gestured for her to stand, so she did, wincing as her stiff muscles complained. Hoax took her hand and led her to the window nearest the hearth, its glass panes, traced in frost, hid the world outside behind icy lace. He undid the latch, opening it just a crack so that they might see out.

The night was clear now, sharp-edged, and brilliantly cold. Just beyond the linden tree she could see two figures dancing out on the snow.

Their feet left no prints to mark their passage. No music guided their steps, or at least no music that she could hear, yet they moved with sureness and grace. The moon was caught up in his silver antlers and the stars tangled themselves in her hair. With each sway and turn the world was made right around them. Spring was in every touch they shared, and autumn in every kiss. Every parting brought with it winter and every return summer. Their dance was eternal, and in that infinite moment, the music of the world revealed itself. It was a song not meant for mortal ears, though they themselves were a part of it. The endlessness of eternity filled her mind as she understood truths she knew she would not remember. She was but a mortal being, and her heart ached as she watched the dancers. They were as stars in the sky, pure and beautiful and so very far above her.

 A warm hand cupped her cheek, wiping away tears she had not even known were there.

“This is not at all what I intended.” And for once the phooka’s face was serious. “Forgive me, sweet witch; I did not think. Humble beings such as you and I are not meant for such lofty things.”

“Such lofty things?” she repeated, her ire growing unreasonably. “Is that what you think I wish for? Only a fool tries to hold the sun. I, for one, would much rather bask in its warmth.”

“Would you? I thought you loved him once.”

“I do still,” she admitted. “But not as I think you mean it.”  

“You sacrificed half your sight for him,” the phooka pointed out.

She had given up much more than that to see Lorne happy and whole, but she had no desire to bring the phooka’s attention to that.

“And when he was blind, you were his eyes for a century or more. Though you were no more obligated to do so than I was,” she retorted, annoyed at his interrogation, yet at the same time feeling perversely grateful for it. “You will admit there are those who are deserving of such kindnesses. Ones like your king and his bride, who do for others with no thought of gain for themselves.”

“I will wholeheartedly admit it,” he said, closing the window. The dancers disappeared from her sight behind the frost-laced glass. “But your answer is really no answer at all.”

“It is as plain an answer as you could ask for, and certainly plainer than any one you have ever given.”

“That may be, but I think I need it to be even plainer.”

“Even plainer?” she scoffed. “How can I be any plainer than ‘I love him still’? Is it the ‘still’ or the ‘love’ that I need to make plainer?”

“Oh ‘love’, definitely ‘love’. I think everyone could stand to have that made plainer!” he laughed softly. “And I am curious to know what you meant when you said, ‘not as I think you mean it’.”

“I am not going to try to explain the different aspects of love to a twisty-tongued creature such as you,” she said, voicing her thoughts from earlier. “You would get too much pleasure out of spinning my words on their heads.”

“Explanations of love should set your head spinning,” he nodded sagely, but the twinkle in his eye told her he was taking great delight in teasing her.

“Ach! You make me tired,” she said.

“I could if you would only let me!”

“Enough, you ridiculous goblin,” she said with familiar exasperation.

Hoax held his tongue, smiling at her in much the same way as the silver cat did when he happened upon an unattended crock of cream. She eyed him suspiciously, wondering what mischief he was up to.

There was a shifting in the world around her, a turning of the tide. Though the darkness still held sway, the longest night was over. The old year was passing, and soon the sun would rise, bringing with it a new year and new beginnings.