Wings of my Enemy

My Day of Promise

My Day of Promise

Early the next morning, I balanced eleven warm eggs in my apron while twisting the latch to the back door of my home. There was a hint of frost in the air and small whispers of steam rose from the eggs before fading into the violet sky. I creaked open the door. Inside, it was darker; only a hint of dawn highlighted the tall windows of our dining room. As I turned to close the door behind me, I noticed a thin shadow in the corner.

“Hello, Mother,” I said, smiling. Even in the dark, her long black hair shined like glowing silk.

“You’re awake early.” Standing in the kitchen, she held a long knife in one hand and a strip of salted pork in the other. “After your late night, I expected you to rest this morning.”

I emptied the eggs into a metal bowl by the stove and wiped my hands clean on my apron. “Not today,” I told her, “I couldn’t sleep.” I reached over Mother’s outstretched arm and offered a hug. Her warmth was comforting.

Mother leaned her head and nestled it against my arm. “It’s an exciting day,” she said, “for all of us.”

I patted her on the back and released my hold. While she resumed cutting the meat, I grabbed five wide plates from the cupboard and walked across the room toward the dining room table.

“Hello, my beauties!” Father thundered out an oddly cheerful morning greeting. Grinning through his yellow beard, he caught me in a tight embrace before I arrived at the table.

I struggled to keep the plates from falling while accepting the strength of his arms and the familiar scent of tobacco weed from his tunic. “Hello, Father,” I said politely. “Did you sleep well?”

He released his hold on me and went to the kitchen. I escaped to the table and arranged the plates while my parents exchanged affectionate greetings to the day. The sun peered over Taylor’s Ridge and filled the room with amber light.

“It’s here,” I whispered.

My Day of Promise had officially begun.

Suddenly, screams from upstairs—and their continuance down and through the hall—announced Leila’s excitement. “Your Day of Promise!” She whirled into the room and pulled me into a giddy waltz. “I’m so excited!”

Her joy was contagious and I squealed with her. This was the day that every girl in Aisling dreamed aloud since learning to speak. We twirled our way over to Mother and pulled her into our dance. Together, we celebrated the dawn of my new life with increasing volume and exuberance, until my long-suffering father could stand no more.

“Okay—okay,” hollered Father. “Stop!” He tugged Leila with one arm and set her near the table, away from us. “You’re hurting my ears. It’s worse than the bards.”

“Your ears will recover,” answered Mother, smiling. She left my side and moved over to Father, who stood in the first rays of the morning sun. She stroked his beard with one hand, while rubbing the back of his neck with the other. “Neal,” she told him, “it’s the Day of Promise for your oldest daughter. It only happens once—and this is it.” She kissed him on the neck. “Try to enjoy it. Do you remember ours?”

It was rare for us to see Father embarrassed, but Mother’s caressing quickly turned his face bright red. Leila muffled a giggle.

“Yes,” he answered, his voice quivering, “I remember.” He stepped away from Mother and reached into the pouch across his tunic. “That’s why I have this.”

He revealed a long silver necklace.

“Come here, my faerie daughter,” said Father, holding his arms wide.