Authors: Jamie McHenry
“Thank you,” said Nia. She pushed Cameron back toward the trail. “We’ll be okay from here.”
“Are you certain?” Cameron glanced around us before staring at Leila, and then at me. He had one hand on the short quiver at his waist while the other gripped his bow, as if ready to strike anything that moved. His apprehension unnerved me.
Leila whimpered again and hugged me. I put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her for comfort. She was shaking and cold. I wished I had warmth to offer her.
“Yes,” said Nia, shoving him harder and pointing. “Their home isn’t far. I’ll tell my father of your service, and he’ll reward your kindness. I’m certain the other men need your aid.”
“Go home, girls,” Cameron insisted with a low whisper. “Don’t let the danger find you again.”
“Thank you,” I said to him, bowing with respect.
He smiled at me nervously, and then dashed into the trees and the darkness between them.
Nia took my hand from around Leila and held it while the three of us watched Cameron’s retreating figure. After we could no longer see him, she released it, stepping back and away from us. “I’m going home,” she told us. “We’ll speak again tomorrow evening.”
“Aren’t you worried about the bandit?” I smoothed Leila’s hair. “Maybe we should stay together.”
Before Nia could answer me, yells erupted from the meadow, and we instinctively turned and ran. While Nia dashed across the village, I pulled Leila toward the safety of home, refusing to stop until we were past our front gate. Leila was panting.
“Are you okay?” I asked, lifting her face to offer a smile of support.
Her tears reflected the moon. “Don’t ever leave me,” she whispered. “Please?”
I held her hands and realized mine were still shaking. “I promise,” I told her. “I 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.
This time I rushed to his welcoming embrace.
“This is for you.” He squeezed me tighter than before and handed me the necklace. It was beautiful. Tiny silver links that twisted like a fancy rope to a blue diamond charm that sparkled from every angle.
“Oh, Father,” I said, holding the necklace high to admire it in the light. “This is wonderful. Thank you.”
“What’s going on?” Ethan, my young brother, entered the room, rubbing his eyes from his normal overdose of sleep. His hair stood straight like white fire.
“Father gave Rhiannon a necklace,” reported Leila, proudly, “for her Day of Promise.”
“Oh.” Ethan collapsed onto the long bench next to the table. “Girl stuff. I thought there was a bird in the house, or something exciting.”
Mother left the kitchen and sat next to the Ethan on the table bench. She rubbed his back. “This is exciting,” she told him, pulling him tight to a hug. “Aren’t you happy for your sister?”
Ethan offered a thin smile while trying to squirm away, but Mother’s grip around him was too strong. “Yes, Rhiannon,” he said, resigning his struggle. “I’m happy for you.”
His voice wasn’t convincing, but I didn’t care. So far, the day was perfect.
It didn’t take long for the chaos to continue. Before we finished our meal, the first visitor arrived.
“Rhiannon!” Shayla, my mother’s sister, held her arms out wide as she entered the dining room. “Your Day of Promise, at last.”
I left my seat and hugged her. Without daughters of her own, Shayla treated Leila and I like royalty, constantly offering us gifts and praises. She was oddly demanding, but easily my favorite relative.
She winced as I released her. “This is a fantastic day. Guess what I brought for you?”
I had no time to answer before Shayla lifted a satchel from her feet and retrieved a wrapped package. “Open it,” she told me, watching with wide eyes while I unwrapped layers of soft silk that tickled my fingers.
I lifted one shiny fork and held it high. “Wow,” I said. “Thank you.”
“There’s a matching set. You two will have the best meals with silver in your hands.” Shayla beamed. She had always insisted on extravagance, so I knew the wares had been fashioned with quality. “There’s more,” she said, refusing to wait. She held an apron in front of me.
“It’s beautiful, Shayla,” said my mother, caressing it with her fingers.
Mother was right. Weaved of thick cotton, the apron had magnificent angel vines of gold and white embroidered along its edges.
“The cook makes the kitchen,” said Shayla, equally proud of the apron. “You’ll make a wonderful wife.”
I held my arms out so she could tie the apron around my waist. “It’s the Promise Ceremony,” I told her. “Sean and I can’t get married, yet.”
Shayla tugged on me, examining my look until she appeared satisfied. “You will,” she insisted. “It’s only a matter of tradition. You’ll give your gifts and marry before the season passes. I want to be the first to congratulate you.”
The room felt warm. At least, my face felt warm. “You’re very kind,” I told her. “Thank you for these.”
She waved an acceptance and rushed my mother into the kitchen to cook.
The day was wonderful. I felt like a queen. Shayla’s offerings were only the beginning. Family and neighbors brought gifts and wishes of good fortune. I was gracious and shy, joyfully beaming while accepting everything. My cousin gave me a blanket, and the ironsmith’s wife brought candles. All were fine things, but of all the gifts I received that day, my father’s was my favorite. I told everyone about my necklace and made certain he heard my voice.
Mother stayed busy in the kitchen, filling the rooms with sweet smells of apple and cobble berries. Insisting on protocol, she waved away offers to help from everyone except her sister. Her pies looked delicious and their flavors were perfect; Mother was the best cook in Aisling. More than a few of our guests spent the day filling themselves with gossip and dessert.
Father offered his own greeting to the men who came to call. Always willing to share a drink, he did just that, loudly exclaiming his pride with a goblet, and his love for me with a strong shoulder hug. I absorbed too many squeezes to count, but appreciated his effort.
“What will your requirement be?” Tara Dunn finally asked the question of the day.
I smiled back without answering. She must have known I wouldn’t—not before the Ceremony.
The tradition of requesting a gift from your betrothed had always been a custom in our village. Many moments of thought went into these requests. The gifts were more than mere baubles. They revealed the needs of the suitor and were symbolic of the marriage that would follow; the marriage wouldn’t happen until the requirement was fulfilled. Accepting the requirement was an oath, a promise. Promises in Aisling were eternal.
Still, Tara pried. It was her personal obligation. When gossip filled the air in Aisling, her voice usually carried the message. When I didn’t speak, silence hung in the room, like the smoke from my father’s pipe. It quickly ended as she launched a barrage of new questions.
“When is the wedding? Where will you live? How many children do you want? Will you still care for the horses? What do the Fae think of Sean?”
Mother saved me from the attack. “Let the engagement happen first, Tara.” She handed Tara a goblet of warm cider and corralled her toward the kitchen. “The ceremony is enough to think about, don’t you agree?”
As the afternoon lingered, the visits ended and my stomach started dancing. The Promise Ceremony,
my
Promise Ceremony, would begin at nightfall. I left Father and Ethan to their chores and took Leila upstairs to help me prepare. When long shadows darkened the day, we still weren’t ready.
“Rhiannon, Leila, we need to leave. Come downstairs,” called Mother from the hall.
Leila peered over my shoulder and studied our reflections in the mirror on my dresser. She stood behind me, holding a long clump of my hair in one hand and a bone handled brush in the other. “You’re perfect.”
I smirked and turned for a better view. “It looks the same as before you started.”
“I know,” she answered. “That’s why it’s beautiful. I love the way your hair curls below your shoulders and wraps around your waist. The brushing only makes it shine.”
I leaned back on my wooden stool and lifted my arms, allowing the wide sleeves of my golden shawl to drape like a glittering curtain in the candlelight. I searched for flaws. I needed to be perfect…for Sean.
“Rhiannon, Leila?” Mother yelled louder.
“We better go,” said Leila, tossing the brush into the woven basket on my dresser. “Mother sounds annoyed.”
I took a deep breath and gazed around my room; the room that I would soon abandon, that Leila would claim once I was gone; the room with a perfect view of our horse meadow, and of Taylor’s Ridge in the distance. I exhaled and walked to the window. Apricot rays of sunlight highlighted the top of the eastern trees and the ridge above it. The sun was close to setting.
“I’m ready,” I said, confidently. I followed Leila down the narrow wooden steps.
When we arrived at the front door, Father was stomping a straight path between opposite ends of the hall. He started to yell something, but then he really looked at me and dropped his fist. “Just like your mother,” he said, widening his beard with a grin that made me smile back, “beautiful.”
Mother stood behind him, beaming from around his waist. “You are gorgeous, dear,” she said. She turned to Leila. “Both of you.”
“My gown feels tight at the shoulders,” I said, twisting my back to show her.
“That’s because you’re growing.” Mother tugged at the stitching under my shawl. “Poor Sean will always have to look up to admire your eyes.”
A young woman never wants to hear that she’s growing, but I had become used to it. By age fifteen, I was as tall as my mother; by sixteen, I stood above every woman in Aisling—a gift from my father, no doubt. I gave her a weak smile and rubbed my new necklace.