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The village is brightly lit by the central fire. It’s built bigger than it has been since I’ve been here and the carcass of one of the cows they’ve stolen roasts on a spit over it. The rich scent of the meat fills the air as its juices sizzle in the fire, mixing with the music of bagpipes, flutes, and drums.
Villagers dance around the roasting meat, boys and girls swinging each other with such wild abandon that more than once I’m sure one or the other is going to land in the bonfire. Thankfully, by some miracle, no one has, yet.
Everyone is gathered which includes Alesoun and me. We are surrounded by the clan, yet they still manage to make me feel their distance. It’s obvious in their sharp glances, quick signs of the cross, or warding against the evil eye. I’m an outcast. I don’t belong here, and they want to make sure I know it.
It doesn’t stop the fun though. Even for me. Though at moments it feels like it, not all the villagers are mean. A long table is set up and laden with food: breads, cheeses, nuts, fruits, smoked fish, and even some sweets. There is plenty of drink to be had and I’ve had more than one mug of the sharp and bitter ale. After the third one, it doesn’t taste so bad.
“He’s making eyes at ya,” Alesoun says, drunkenly grabbing my arm.
She speaks in a stage whisper, loud enough that the closest people turn and look. She has a big smile on her face as she weaves on her feet. I glance in the direction she’s looking then turn quickly away when I see Duncan staring. He’s standing with Robert and some other men, talking and drinking.
“I see that,” I say.
My head is light and the world around me has a slight rocking as if someone broke the equilibrium of the ground. Or the earth is a ship, racing through the waves of space, and the ground is rising and falling as we crest each one.
I can’t keep myself from smiling. The firelight casts an intriguing orange glow on his face that highlights his strong jaw. I like the way his eyes glitter with the reflected light. It’s as if they’re burning themselves. Burning because of me, at least in my slightly tipsy imagination. Warmth flashes across my skin, but it’s probably because I’m too close to the fire. That must be it.
The music is loud as if it is at war with the conversations and laughter. Alesoun laughs loudly, squeezes my arm, then wanders off, leaving me on my own. I glance in Duncan’s direction again. He’s still staring.
Oddly uncomfortable, I walk around the outskirts of the gathering and bask in the happiness of the people. Their joy is a palpable warmth beyond that the fire casts. Their lives are hard. Every day is a struggle for survival, but they are happier and more alive than anyone I’ve ever known. More than I’ve ever been.
It touches something deep inside. That sense of déjà vu pulls at the fog of forgotten memories. A mix of feeling as if I’ve been here before, experienced this, and knowing that there is something important I’ve forgotten. It’s frustrating to not be able to recall it. Like having something stuck in your teeth that no matter how you try you can’t get it to work free.
All my life I’ve felt I didn’t belong, not quite fitting in no matter where I was. Growing up I blamed losing Mom young as I did. Her loss was so sudden and unexpected, it taught me to not trust anything. Nothing is forever, even the one constant you should be able to rely on.
I push aside those worries and let myself bask in the moment. The joy the Clan takes in the moment is an energy that I can’t help but let affect me. It lifts the dark cloud of my thoughts. An effusive feeling of warmth and love fills my heart and then I realize a truth.
I’m happy. Here.
Relaxation comes with understanding. These people, even Agnes and her group, they’re good people. Living each moment to the fullest. The men have been nothing but kind and honorable. Alesoun is, well she’s the mother I missed out on growing up. I love these people and for the first time in my life, I don’t feel completely out of place.
An older man with a long, thick rust colored beard steps out into the center of the crowd to stand close to the fire. The bonfire outlines him so that he looks almost like a phoenix in human form, as if he’s rising from the flames. He raises his arms, and the crowd falls silent. The music changes from a raucous Highland explosion, dropping down until there is only a soft, repeating beat on the drums.
“Come now, listen and I’ll tell ya the tale of Crann Bethadth, the Tree of Life itself,” he says. He’s a skilled showman. The lilt of his voice, the motions he makes, and the way the crowd responds; they’re enthralled and so am I. “Now you’ll well know that Crann Behadth is considered to be Irish in origin, but tonight I’m going to give you deeper truths.
“Our cousins on the Island do nae even know this. The Tree is much older by far. Did the Vikings not have their Yggradasil? Even the ancient Egyptians knew of the Tree of Life and does nae the Good Book itself tell the tale of Adam and Eve? And what cause their fall from tha Lord’s perfect garden?”
“The tree,” a young boy exclaims.
“Aye, you’re a well-schooled lad, blessings on your mother. A tree. The tree. The Tree of Life, no matter what name you give it. But this is a tale of Scotland. A tale of our ancestors and what tale would be complete without the entrance of the Fair folks?”
The crowd makes appreciative sounds of oohs and ahs, and I join along with them, swept away by his storytelling. His voice is rich and entrancing. The beating of the drums perfectly accent his words. I move closer and no one gives me a second look. At least in this moment, I feel welcome.
“You’ll know the Fair ones, the ones who came before,” he continues. “Who we know but rarely encounter and when we do, you do nae know if it will be a good or a bad event in your life, but an event it will be. The Fair ones are connected to the tree itself, you see.
“Tha Queen of the Fair, Queen Maebe herself, was bathing in a pool when a poor lost shepherd came upon her, seeking a lost lamb. When he stepped around the tree, he knew he was seeing tha which he never should. The Queen of the Fair in all her glory, bathed only in water and moonlight. Even so, he felt what any man would feel seeing such a sight, despite his fear.”
My breath catches in my chest as the image is drawn in my mind's eye by his words. I’d swear no one else is breathing either. I risk a glance. The crowd’s eyes glisten and like me, everyone is seeing the pictures he’s painting with his words. The only person who doesn’t seem to be enraptured is Duncan. He sees my glance and my heart leaps into my throat. My stomach clamps and a shiver starts under my ribs, working its way up.
“Tha poor shepherd, he stared, stopped in his tracks by the beauty he saw and the desire it stirred in him. As he stood enraptured, two of the Fair folk appeared and took him into custody. For the Fair Queen was no sight for mortal eyes. They dragged him before their Queen and forced him to his knees.
“And she looked on him with the disdain of the Fair. He trembled and begged her forgiveness and I know he’d not be ashamed to say he groveled. What man would nae when faced down by the Queen herself?
“His pleas were as naught to the Queen. She passed her judgment, telling him he would come with them to the Bright Lands. Well, as ya know, in the Bright Lands time does run differently, but by her decree he was to spend one week in her palace. And if after a week he had not partaken of any of the delights, if he was able to hold strong to his will, she would return him to this world.
“And though he was filled with terror such as to almost kill the desire her pure form created, he understood this was to be his test. So it was he agreed he would go with her. He knew he could nae fight and win against the lads that held him and this was his one chance to return to his home.”
Desire burns in my lower belly, either from the tale, or perhaps from my inebriation. Biting my lower lip, I glance at Duncan. He’s still staring at me and now his face is naked with desire, much as the man in the tale.
