My Voice for My Heart

Chapter 17: Preparations.

Keela

I found the cave nestled into a a rock face. The stream disappeared inside the rocks, but when I climbed over the top, I could see that it trickled under the rocks and ground before springing up in a tiny pool near the mouth of the cave. It wasn't large. There was room for me, a fire pit, and that was it. It was long enough for me to curl onto my side, but I couldn't stand. I gathered grass from the meadow, making sure to only collect it from the far edges so if anyone was to find it, it wouldn't give away my presence. I laid out the grass to dry, later I would weave it into mats to protect me from the cold ground. I dug a pit, lined it with stones and peat and and surveyed my work. It would do. It was time to work.

I stared at the thistle, its spiked leaves, its stem that looked soft and white. I would need to cut it, not pull it, because there was a chance it could grow back as long as I didn't pull up the roots. I'd devised a plan that I hoped would save my hands as long as possible. I would lay a piece of wood next to the flower, step on it, and then cut it with the stone I'd sharpened. I'd collect it in my shawl and bring it bring it back to the cave to separate the fibers and then spin it. There would be no way to avoid touching it once I started the spinning and weaving.

I took a deep breath, and slowly stepped on the plant. My shoes were firm enough that the barbs didn't pierce the soles. It didn't take me long to have a thick collection of flowers, and I had to make myself stop. I wanted to collect it all, right away, and start weaving, but if I collected too much, it would dry and I would no longer be able to twist the fibers into the thread I'd need for the mens' shirts.

I brought the bundle back to the cave and dropped it at the mouth. I sat next to the pile, eyeing it and the tools I'd made ready for my task.

It was time.

My fingers shook as I reached for flower. I grasped it where the fuzz wasn't so tightly packed, but it didn't matter. My fingertips were embedded with the needles. The heat from the oils in the plant were released under my skin, and they immediately began to swell. I would get nothing done if I stopped to remove the barbs. I had already made the decision to continue through the pain, hoping I would eventually make protective callouses. These first hours and days would be the worst. I knew this. But I still wasn't prepared for the pain.

I bit my lip, refusing to let the huge sob escape my body. My hand trembled. I had to force my body not to release the plant as I laid it on a flat stone and began to roll it back and forth, separating the fibers so I could later twist them back together as thread.

I refused to look at my hands, knowing they would be red and swollen from the barbs and oils, and reached for another stem. The heat from the oil built so quickly I had to plunge my hands, time and again, into the stream before going back to my task. The cold would numb the pain, but only momentarily. The barbs worked their way under my skin, but I left them there.

I thought about Iasan as I worked. He would have had a salve for me. Ciaran would have swore, and Rab would have found some sort of tool to remove each needle. I closed my eyes for a moment, and it was almost as if I could hear Rab's voice. I remembered the song he sang last night with Aohdan. I imagined Aohdan's hands moving gracefully over his lute, plucking out notes that Rab's clear strong voice would match.

I wondered how Athol, my warrior, would have approached this task. I had seen him injured many times when he would spar with the boys. He'd be bruised and bloodied, but he always had a smile and a look of triumphant pride. I eyed the growing pile of fibers. I could be proud of this. No matter how much it hurt. I would weave those shirts.

I picked up my handspindle, and shakingly gripped a fiber, twisting it around the hook I'd made from grapevine, and twisting it in my fingers. My thumb and forefinger were now masses of clumsy flesh, too swollen to bend so each turn of the spindle was laborious, slow, and purposeful.

I had feared that it would be impossible to spin the fibers into thread, and while it wasn't smooth, and it often broke and I'd have to begin twisting it together again, it held. I worked all day, forgetting to eat, the only time I moved was to plunge my hands in the stream for a brief freezing respite. It wasn't until I felt a wave of heat and dizziness that made me drop the spindle that I realized it was dusk. I finished the thread, picking up the precious material between my palms and bringing it to the corner of the cave where I could hide it. The night was warm, which was good, because I'd never be able to strike a spark and light a fire. I held my hands up to my face, peering at them and biting my lip hard. I wouldn't be able to remove the barbs that were left. I could barely touch my finger tips together, there was no way I'd be able to pull any out. I stumbled to the stream, and laid down on my stomach, letting the water run over the heated digits and resting my head on my arms. I stared at the ground and then twisted my face to stare up at the sky.

Balthair, I thought, picturing his panicked eyes as he was covered by feathers and then soared gracefully into the night. Where are you? 
I saw a dark smudge against the sky and stood up, tipping my head back. A huge shadow soared over the trees, and then another, and another.

My breath caught and I followed them, taking step after step until I was running, falling, crawling after them. I wanted to call out, to let them know I was here, but I remembered the undine's warning and bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

I fell out of the forest and into the meadow where the swans were landing, one after another. They stood together, their wings beating agitatedly, as if they were confused and upset that they found themselves in a meadow. They walked, nudging into each other and flapping in warning. Their necks stretched and they stood up tall before tucking back into themselves.

I stayed at the edge of the meadow. They hadn't seen me, and everything about them was so swan, that I was afraid they would fly away as soon as they sensed me. I huddled lower, slowly sitting on the ground and pulling my knees in, making myself seem small and unthreatening.

I watched them closely, trying to tell them apart, slowly creeping closer until I could see their eyes. I expected them to have small black soulless eyes. Eyes that only reflected the animal, but their eyes were different. I knew right away who Balthair was. He stood a little bit apart from the others, and his eyes flashed a silvery grey. He saw me, I know he did, because his head slowly turned in my direction. He took a step toward me and then back again. Iasan stood closest to him, his eyes blue. Dand and Athol, Ciaran and Finn huddled together. Their necks extending and retracting. Còiseam's green eyes roved the meadow intelligently. Aodhan and Rab paced, their wings flapping, bumping into the others and squawking angrily. They were confused, and yet aware of that confusion, and it seemed to increase their terror.

It broke my heart to see them this way, especially since it was my fault. I could have distracted Maeve, given them a chance to escape, stepped forward and let Maeve punish me. I was glad my hands hurt. I was glad my body was swollen and sore, but it didn't touch the pain I felt watching them try to make sense of their world.

Rab and Aohdan noticed me at the same time, and approached me quickly before some instinct screamed in their brains that I could harm them. I stayed silent and small, and prayed they would come close enough for me to touch.

Còiseam pushed them out of the way, eyeing me from the side, warning them to be smart, and not hasty, while Balthair watched the entire interaction play out. Finn moved forward, curious, and Ciaran squawked at him angrily. Finn ignored him and waddled forward, and Ciaran pecked at him. Finn lifted a wing and seemed to slap Ciaran aside, and Ciaran followed him, squawking and pecking the whole time.

I lowered my chin to my knees, pressing against my hands accidentally and sucking in a pained breath. It was surprise enough to terrify my swans. They beat their wings and flew away, circling again before leaving for wherever it was they went. One swan remained in the sky, circling over and over.

Balthair.

It's alright, I thought, I'm alright. You can go.

He circled once more before disappearing, leaving me alone in the warm night, body and heart aching.