#havel of deeprock

[ellaofoakhill]

Havel of Deeprock

Ella heard a rap on the shop door. “It’s open!” She called. She heard a click, and the tramp of work-boots.

Havel was an earth fairy with a neck nearly as broad as Ella’s waist. It was a rare fairy that approached four inches; Havel topped five.

“Good morning, Master,” he called as he set down his tools. He’d recently made a backpack to carry them, in addition to the bags he had in each hand. He would soon have more tools than Ella could easily lift.

“So, find anything for us tonight?”

“Well, there are some bits of brass the people left in the shed,” Havel said. He started twiddling his thumbs, a sure sign of nerves. “…along with some steel filings.”

“Hmm…” Ella scratched her chin. “Did you find anything in the mines?” Havel had been on a roll recently, with an entire set of copper pots and cooking utensils finished just last week. The scribing he’d done on the knives was impressive; they could hold an edge almost as well as

Ella’s. He’d earned a break from reconnaissance. And most earth fairies liked spending time underground, anyway.

Havel immediately brightened, and pulled out a beeswax tablet he’d written his notes on. “Well, there’s a garnet down North Fire shaft—”

“Spessartine?”

“Grossular, actually.” Ella gave him a thumbs-up. “And we have three large lumps of gabbro, one down East Wood shaft, and two down West Earth.”

“Ooh!” Ella resisted the urge to rub her hands together. “What’s their content?”

“Mid-grade I think,” Havel said. “I’m fairly certain I did the naming right, but you’ll want to check.”

“Of course,” Ella said, “I’m your teacher.” Havel inclined his head. Ella smiled and gave his arm a gentle slap. “Who’s hardest to extract?”

“Hmm…” Havel tapped his stylus against his broad nose. “Probably the lower gabbro in West Earth. It’s partly encased in bedrock, and wedged between a piece of granite, and a piece of limestone.”

“Still not too bad, then.” Ella started gathering her tools.

“Not like the Azurite Incident,” Havel said. Ella groaned.

The trek to the western mine took them far enough around the great panels that Havel wouldn’t feel their iron.

“How has Meline been, Master?” he asked as they reached the pines along the west edge of the yard.

“Quite well,” Ella said. She’d visited Wild Rose the previous night. Meline had shown her the western pasture up to the border of the wood, and they’d gotten into a lengthy—friendly—debate over how to properly harvest and store moonbeams, deep-black, and tree whispers. Meline favoured the crystal resonance technique, where Ella was more inclined toward the silver jar. It had been a fun exchange of ideas.

“How does she like the knife?” Ella smiled. Havel had quickly taken to Meline, and the two got along famously. Meline described him as the most adorable giant she’d ever seen, and he couldn’t get enough of her rosehip preserves. The knife in question had taken Havel a month to make, with a bronze back and a slot into which Meline could fit any of sixteen blades, depending on what she needed it for. There was even a blade with a corundum edge, with red flecks in the glittering material that made it look like it was braided. Meline had given him a kiss on both cheeks, and Havel had turned redder than a tomato.

“Last she told me, she was making good use of it,” Ella said. In addition to their visits back and forth, they were exchanging letters. Mostly they spoke of current doings, but Meline did reveal bits of her past, too. Like how her father had taught her all he knew about brewing when she was young. How her mother and she had served in the War all those millennia ago. And how the pasture had changed a great deal and hardly at all since she moved there eight hundred years past. Ella felt a warm crinkling in her chest when a letter from Meline arrived.

They passed the last of the panels.  Just beyond them, the opening to West Earth shaft was covered by a thick layer of moss overlaying a limestone lid.

They checked safety equipment—helmets, vests, boots, gloves—before entering the mine. One of the higher side-tunnels had clues that a substantial creature had been living there—Ella suspected Thamnophis, though the evidence was old.

At the top of the shaft was the elevator, a cage made of reinforced bronze. Once they were inside, Ella pulled a lever, and the elevator began to drop as, some thirteen feet down, the counterweight rose.

“So where exactly is our gabbro?” Ella said. She tapped her copper helmet and spoke a word of power. It began to glow. They’d arranged crystals along the walls, which caught and reflected the light up and down the shaft.

Havel pulled out his tablet. “Sub-shaft Vy, spoke shaft Honey Yellow.”

“Bit of a haul, then,” Ella said. They’d have to take tunnel Marsh Green, then down Vy, and almost to the end of Honey Yellow.

“A bit,” Havel said.

Ella pulled the lever back when they reached Marsh Green, and got off the elevator. They’d bypassed hardpan and were into parent material. As they’d excavated, they’d shaped the shaft into an arch and lined it with stone, and Havel had used words of power to fuse the stones together. They repeated the process as they dug, every time they removed stone that wouldn’t serve another purpose. Split into blocks, carry blocks, fit blocks into place, fuse, go find new stone, repeat. Now, Havel was learning how to turn sediment into stone. He’d started with hardpan—which was practically stone already—and as his skill had grown, he’d learned how to fuse progressively coarser and finer pieces.

Sub-shaft Vy was unlined, being relatively new. The earth was stable, though, so the odds of the tunnel collapsing before they lined it were small. They descended, until the walls of the shaft changed to bedrock.

Spoke shaft Honey Yellow was named for the colour of its siltstone walls. Veins of granite, dolomite, gneiss, and other stone ran through it as well. They mined that, too, especially the granite, which had quartz crystals excellent for knives and abrasives. And, apparently, there was even the occasional hunk of gabbro.

Havel led the way along the spoke. He took a left, and then a right, and there it was. Ella unspoke the word on her helmet, and its light faded.

“Hmm,” she stepped close. It was indeed wedged between granite and limestone. She set a hand upon it, and spoke a word.

Ella’s normal vision shifted. The yellow limestone went black, and the granite turned a dull, patchy red-orange. Bits of iron in that, then.

Her attention was mostly on the gabbro. It had many clear spots of bright pink-orange, and white, and a few yellow patches, with clouds and rivulets running off in every direction. Typical gabbro. What surprised Ella was not what she saw, but where. The lights extended far back into the stone, and down, and across, almost as far as Ella could see. This wasn’t a chunk of gabbro. It was an entire layer, extending who knew how far.

She blinked, and unspoke the word. She turned to Havel. He was clearly resisting the urge to twiddle his thumbs.

“We could mine just this,” Ella said, “for six thousand years, and never come close to running out.”

 It didn’t take long to mine enough stone to fill their packs. They checked each piece for quality. Havel would carry the substrate, and Ella would carry the useable ore.

They returned the way they’d come. When they came to the place in Marsh Green sub-shaft where the fused stone ended, they stopped, and unloaded Havel’s backpack. As Ella passed him stones, he spoke words of power, fusing each piece to the stone already laid down. When they finished, they split the ore in Ella’s backpack between them, and continued on their way.

“So what’re we gonna do with the metal once we smelt it?” Havel asked as the elevator took them up West Earth shaft. Planning out a new project always got him excited.

“Well, I don’t have it earmarked for anything,” Ella said. She looked sidelong at him. “Did you have any ideas?”

He flushed, rubbing his neck. “Well, uh, I’ve been meaning to try a scale belt. Or maybe a cloak clasp?”

“Oh?” Ella used her most inquiring tone. Havel flushed deeper. She shook her head as they came to the top of the shaft. “Is it for Meline?”

“Um…”

“Havel,” Ella said, struggling to find the gentlest, clearest way to say what needed to be said, “I cannot fault your taste. But… I don’t think Meline feels the same way.”

The elevator stopped. So did Havel. Ella waited. He mumbled something.

“I’m sorry?”

“I know.” his shoulders were sagging. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

Ella laid a hand on his elbow. Saying he was far too young for Meline would only twist the knife harder. “Loving feelings for another can hurt, when they are not returned. And hurting is a sign you are alive, Havel. If you need to fight or run a circuit about the estate, or mayb—” Her feet suddenly not touching the ground, Ella found herself crushed in arms bigger around than her thighs, as Havel’s sobs echoed off the shaft walls in a melancholy din. Wriggling so she could free up an arm, she shh’ed him, patting his shoulder as he cried into hers.

Eventually, the tide ebbed, Havel let Ella down—soggier than she had been—and he succumbed to a fit of hiccoughs. She rubbed his back in sympathy.

“Shall we eat cookies and play Jack of Spears tonight?”

“Mhmm.” Havel sniffled, took out his handkerchief and sounded a blast like a foghorn. “Maybe it’s just (hic) as well I didn’t tell her,” Havel said as he put his handkerchief away. “That would’ve made (hic) things more awkward for all of us.”

“Perhaps,” Ella said, hiding a smile; by any measure, Havel was a mature young man. “I could feign a mild ague, if you’d like some time to compose yourself.”

Havel half-smiled. “(hic) No, thank you, Master. I know how (hic) much Miss Meline likes to come here.”

“That she does.” Ella stepped out of the elevator. It was hardly a walk at all up to the hatch. “Across the pasture and the fence, into the people’s yard. Most fey wouldn’t.”

Havel grunted an affirmative. “She loves you a lot, Master.”

Ella felt like Havel had shattered a pane of glass over her head. The past several months flashed before her eyes. Every laugh, every smile, every knowing look sailing so low over Ella’s head it must’ve brushed her hair, every kiss on her cheek or her hand. All clearer than spring water.

Ella had missed all of them.

“Master?” Havel touched her dry shoulder.

Ella jumped, and wiped her eyes. “I love her too,” she almost whispered.

Havel gave a wet chuckle. “You better.” Ella chuckled, too.

They lifted the lid of the shaft and climbed out. “I think you will be ready to meet the Sage soon,” Ella said as they started back.

There was a sound like a warhorn as Havel blew his nose. “Really, Master?” He sounded happier.

“You have shown yourself to be a fairy of uncommon kindness, and you are a superior student,” Ella said. “I think he would be pleased to meet you.”

Havel didn’t skip back to Oakhill, but he wasn’t sagging either. As they drew close to the tree, he pointed. “Master, there’s a bat fluttering by the stable door.”

Ella quirked an eyebrow. There was indeed a large bat flapping about the base of Oakhill. “I wonder what she wants.” Ella called out, and the bat flew in their direction. It was a red bat, bigger than Ella, though not so big as Havel.

She had a letter in her mouth, which she transferred to one claw when she landed. “Lord Ella of Oakhill, yes?”

“I am.” Ella recognized Meline’s writing on the envelope. There was no wax seal. Odd…

“Lady fairy flagged me down as I was waking up this evening. Offered me four cutworms if I’d fly this to you. Mighty generous, if you ask me!”

Ella took the offered letter, pulled it out of the envelope, and read.

“Master?” Havel said. His tone strongly suggested he found this odd, too.

Ella froze as she read the last line. “Havel.”

“Yes?”

“I need to get to Wild Rose with all speed.” She thanked the bat, hardly noticing her anymore. “We need axes. Bring the armour as well, and the log splitter.”

“The armour?”

“There’s plastic involved.” Havel almost tripped over his feet. “I’m taking Coarser, the lance, and the spikes ahead. Come when you have everything, including provisions.” She took the fairy key from around her neck. “Lock up the hall behind you.”

On another night, Havel might’ve goggled at such responsibility. He shook himself, and snapped a crisp bow. He lumbered for the hall.

Ella put two fingers to her mouth and whistled, piercing and clear. She saw the bat was still there. “I’m to return to the young lady with your message.”

“‘I’m coming,’. Give her that message, and I’ll feed you and yours a cutworm every night for the rest of the summer.”

The bat was already in the air. “Maia Squeak at your service, ma’am!” Ella was already running for the hall. She heard a familiar whinny off to the south, and redoubled her pace.

Meline needed her.

[ellaofoakhill]

Thanks for the tag, @pluttskutt!

From a story I’m adding to tftem between Oak and Stone and Havel of Deeprock, in case anyone was curious.

“What?” Meline gave Ella’s ribs a light backhand.

“Ow! Alright, alright, let’s get you cleaned up then.” She stood and offered Meline a hand. “You look like you were murdered in a Thallendr tragedy.”

“Ha!” Meline took Ella’s hand. “I haven’t waxed half the eloquence I’d need for that.” Ella started the kettle as soon as they reached the stove. “You don’t need to, I can—”

“Shh!” Ella’s finger was over Meline’s lips before she could say more. “Let me do this for you.”

I tag @writingamongther0ses​, @latenight-stories​, and @valpur​, and anyone else who’s interested!

Last Line Tag

@avrablake tagged me in this thank you! This is from Evermore. Not the last line I wrote since I'm editing but it'll do:

A large statue of a mabari towered up when they turned a corner. It bared teeth in a snarl and stared past them into the woods. Had it not stood on a plateau, Fenris had thought it was an ice statue like the woman by the gazebo. The plaque was snowed over so the name or the story of the hound couldn't be read. Not that Fenris could read it anyways.

Tag list below the cut:

@nikkywrites @musingofaninsignificantwriter @keyboardandquill @amapofyourstars @zoya-writes @ink-fireplace-coffee @wormsonastring @razegold @sharraus @oblolongue @frogbearwhatever @galaxial-darktale @petrolstationflowers @darth-salem-emperor-of-earth @lilithfairen @lexwritesgayshit @ellaofoakhill @writingonesdreams @avrablake @desastreus @the-orangeauthor @aalinaaaaaa @mschvs @writing-is-a-martial-art @smellofsnoww @ethereal-yoharu @talesofsorrowandofruin @distantflickering @manka437 @crazybunchwriting @ramblings-of-teen-angst @foxy-lisard

[ellaofoakhill]

The Great Battle

“One and a half time, Master!” Havel had his tongs ready. Beside him, Vaness had a slender cone of ash eight inches long.

Ella picked up her pace. The bellows whooshed in time with her step. She grabbed a sip of water from the skin she had hung from the treadmill. Her bladder grew more restive by the night, but she did not want to push herself; Meline would have her hide if she did.

“Good!” With practiced ease Havel had the forge door open, the tongs in, the silver out. Vaness met him as he pushed the red-hot silver onto the wood. Even over the roar of the forge Ella could hear the wood sizzle.

As Havel pushed the head on, Vaness thrust the haft into the drum of oil beside her. A gout of flame shot into the air.

Ella got off the treadmill, ignoring the cramp building in her side; those did not used to happen. She approached as Vaness lifted the lance out of the oil. “So?”

The head was a simple bodkin. Havel had inscribed a unicorn’s head in the cap that went over the shaft. Though invisible under the soot, a little polish would bring it out. The shaft was still rough, but Vaness could finish it without difficulty.

Havel tapped the head, then took it in a firm grip. He pulled and twisted, but there was no wiggle. “Solid as Deeprock, Master.”

Ella smiled. “Good work.” The stitch in her side grew suddenly worse, and much, much larger. “I think I’m finished for the night.”

She met with two quizzical looks. “Why so, Auntie El?”

Ella’s lips pulled back. “You two can keep working, if you so wish,” she said with a groan. The pain subsided. “But I do believe little Flossy is on the way.”

Havel zipped to her side. Ella waved him away; she would be damned if she could not climb the stairs.

“Are you certain?” Vaness asked. Ella held up a hand. There had been a couple false alarms. She took a breath, slowed her mind, and listened.

Since she had realized she was pregnant, Ella had listened to the wind at least once a night regarding her unborn child. Every time, the wind had given her a feeling of growth and building. Now, incontrovertibly, she felt the wind pushing down and out, into the world. She met her niece’s eyes.

“Yes, Vaness. It’s time.”

Meline was re-organizing the spice rack when she heard footfalls on the stairs. The clock confirmed her feeling it was too early for them to be done for the day; even Ella—who was told in no uncertain terms to take things easy—rarely finished in the shop before lunch. She took one look at Ella and knew. No one glowed like that under any other circumstance.

Meline had Evelyn on the mirror; she and Vedris would be there within the hour. Meline had midwifed before, and no force in all the worlds would stop her from helping Ella, but they’d decided it best to let someone else take the lead this time.

Meline sent Vaness and Havel to fetch Evelyn and Vedris; they’d go quicker on Coarser and Vernon. The massage table and all unnecessary items were shifted out of the infirmary. Selva was extremely helpful; she’d copied Meline’s list of everything they’d need, every procedure and step.

“You know,” Ella said as she sat on the birthing stool, “three years flew by, didn’t it?” Meline was about to reply when another contraction had Ella gritting her teeth. Meline grabbed her hands and squeezed; she’d let Ella squeeze her hands, but there wouldn’t have been much of them left.

“Didn’t you say people only take nine months?” Meline said once it had passed.

Ella snorted. “Yeah. They do everything fast.” Meline swiped at the perspiration on Ella’s brow. “I can do that myself, you know.”

“I know,” Meline said, “But I want to. You have more important things to worry about.”

“Is the baby out yet?” Selva said, scampering in with an armful of cloths. “Did I miss it?”

Meline laughed, and shook her head. “We’ve got a few hours before the baby comes, Selv. Speaking of,” she glanced up at Ella, “I’d like to make sure Flossy’s still in a good position.”

“By all means,” Ella said. It suddenly struck Meline—maybe it was the way Ella’s legs were planted, or the arch formed by her arms and shoulders as she braced—how unshakeable her wife was.

Meline knelt in front of Ella. “Selva, dear, could you please turn off the lights?” Selva hopped up and tapped the button by the door. Meline poked Ella’s kneecap with a stone needle. She spoke a word of power.

Ella’s kneecap glowed. Then her thighbone—brighter where it had healed—then her pelvis. And then the blurry shape of little Flossy. Turned again.

Meline groaned, and unspoke the word. “That child, Ella,” she said as she straightened, “is every bit as stubborn as you are!”

“Oh, wow, are they—” she stopped at Meline’s nod. “But didn’t you turn them just last week?”

“And they turned right back!” Meline ran her hands through her hair; she refused to let them tremble.

“What is it?” Selva said. She had a little hand on Ella’s belly.

Meline sighed. “The safest way for a baby to be born, Selva,” she said, struggling to remember that keeping calm was the best thing she could do, “is head pointing down, facing toward her mother’s back. But your stubborn little sibling has their little baby butt pointing down, even though I have re-oriented them three times in two months!”

She felt Ella’s hand take hers. “Meline,” Ella said. Meline turned to Ella. “I can do this.”

Meline gave her a hug, and leaned in close. “How do you know?”

Ella gave her a grin. “I don’t—” she paused while a contraction came and went, “—but thinking I can’t will only make this harder.” She took a few breaths. “Now, do you believe I can do this?”

Though her tone was light, something in Ella’s voice made Meline think she was less than perfectly confident. She did know something of the healing arts, but in this Ella was thoroughly out of her depth. She was placing enormous trust in Meline. And Meline knew what Ella could accomplish through sheer force of will.

“If anyone is strong enough to deliver a breech infant,” Meline said, “You are.”

Ella’s eyebrows set in a firm line. “Then I will.”

 Time stretched out. Meline checked regularly if she was ready to push yet, but for thirteen hours Ella had to wait and bear her womb spasming as she alternately sat and waddled around. It was not so bad for a while, but her patience was at war with increasing pain and the visceral desire to push this wonderful—stubborn—life into the world already. This little life who contrived to make the process as difficult as they bloody well could.

About four hours in Vaness and Havel returned, bringing Evelyn and Vedris with them. The tunnels had collapsed in places, forcing them to take several detours. At least the snow was thick enough for tunnels; the wind shrieked about Oakhill like a pack of demons. Once Meline explained the situation as it lay, and Evelyn’s assessment corroborated hers, the night turned to socializing, which paused here and there as another contraction moved Ella’s belly.

“Why won’t you just get out!” Ella pounded her fists into her thighs as her womb spasmed for the umpteenth time. Everyone jumped. She knew she didn’t usually explode; she also did not much care.

“You’re almost there,” Meline said, setting a cool hand on her hot cheek.

Ella felt something in her mind tear. “Everyone out but you. Please.” She added as an afterthought. She bowed her head, until the soft patter of feet was blocked by the closing door. She took Meline’s hands in both of hers. “What if I can’t do this?”

“What?” Meline knelt in front of her. In the soft light from the crystal lamps, Ella hadn’t seen anything so beautiful as that look of tender concern. Tears started running down her cheeks.

“What if I can’t?” She hated the pleading in her voice. “What if this all goes wrong, and—and the baby—”

“Ella.” Meline flicked her forehead. “You survived a dragon dropping on you! And so did Flossy!”

Ella barked a wet, scornful laugh. “For a few seconds! You can’t exactly punch this problem away, can you!”

Meline shook her head. “You can’t worry about ‘what if’ your entire life. I did it for years, and it helped no one.”

“You still worry more than anyone I know!”

“Yeah, but I worry less than I did even a hundred years ago!” She wiggled a hand out of Ella’s grip, and touched Ella’s damp cheek. “And that’s because… you’re here with me.” Tears started running from her eyes, too. “You’ve helped me become myself in a way I never was before.”

“But—”

“Trust me,” Meline said, giving Ella a kiss. She nodded behind her. “Trust Evelyn and Vedris.” She freed her other hand, and took Ella’s face in both. “And trust you. Trust yourself half so much as I do, and you’ll do this.”

Ella gave a tremendous sniff. “But… breech?”

Meline half-groaned, half-laughed. “If Evelyn deems it the best thing, we’ll numb your belly, make a cut big enough to get the baby out, and stitch you back up. Evelyn and Vedris are both water fairies, so you’ll hardly lose any blood.” She gave Ella a fierce hug. “It’ll all be okay.”

What did I do to deserve you? Ella returned the hug. A shade too passionately, judging by the staccato tap on her shoulder. As she released a laughing Meline, a powerful contraction had Ella gritting her teeth, digging her nails into her palms and grinding her knuckles into her thighs. She was gasping by the time it ended.

“Shall I fetch Evelyn?” Ella nodded. “And some ice chips?” Ella vigorously nodded. Evelyn must have been in the kitchen, as she returned the instant Meline left. As Meline gave her some ice, Evelyn inspected her.

“Bad news is I’ll need to make a quick cut, to widen the opening and minimize tearing,” she said. There was an anticipatory smile on her face. “But the good news, Ella, is that you’re ready.”

Ella laughed. “I was ready nights ago.”

Evelyn shook her head. “To push, I mean.”

“She knows,” Meline gave Ella the gentlest of cuffs, “she’s just—unwisely—sassing her midwife.”

“Regardless, I’ll call Vedris in.”

“And the kids?” Ella knew she sounded haggard. “Only if they want to be here.” After a moment, Evelyn nodded.

 “Elmum, you’re… all sweaty,” Selva said as she bounced into the room. Meline almost smiled.

Ella chuckled. “You can stay while the baby’s born, Selv, but only if you behave, and do whatever Evelyn and Meline tell you. And if you need,” she looked up at Vaness and Havel too, “you can—” she groaned, straining for a moment, “step out, and maybe play a game or something to pass the time.”

“I’ll stay,” Havel said in firm tones. He shrugged when Meline and Vaness gave him wondering looks. “The birthing stool broke when Sadie was born, so I held Mom up while she pushed. I’ll do the same for you if I have to, Master.”

“That’s… really sweet, Havel,” Ella took a deep breath. Meline wiped the sweat from Ella’s face, and fed her some ice.

“I did it for one mom,” Havel said, “I’ll do it for the other.”

Meline grinned while her heart crinkled. “Well, if Vaness made this stool, I have my doubts it’ll break tonight.”

“Quality oak, through and through,” Vaness said. “You could beat it against the floor and it wouldn’t—”

Ella let out an enormous groan and doubled up.

“Good, that’s a good push,” Evelyn said. She was kneeling in front of Ella, one hand on her belly, watching to make sure everything was going well.

“I… thought so,” Ella said as the pressure let up.

“You must be feeling ok,” Meline said, chuckling, as she relaxed her grip on Ella’s hand, “if you’re still at it with the smart remarks.”

“If it makes you feel better, keep ‘em coming,” Evelyn said; her focus could’ve pierced iron. “You made lots of progress with that push.”

Ella was panting. “Good. Only…” she looked up at Meline, “you said two or three hours?”

“That’s about normal for a fairy, yes,” Evelyn said.

“So two or three hours left to go,” Ella said. She was pushing again a moment later. Meline squeezed her hand for all she was worth; it helped a lot of women, fey and creature, to have something else to focus on.

“How’re we doing, dear?” Evelyn asked once Ella relaxed.

“Her blood is normal, heartbeat high, but steady. The babe’s as well.” Oh, to be a water fairy, Meline thought. Vedris had tapped Ella’s shoulder as soon as they walked in, and spoken a word of power; he could probably feel every drop of sweat on Ella’s skin. Meline was doubly glad she’d asked them to manage this birth.

The next hour and a half went on much the same. While Vedris attended to Ella’s vital signs, Evelyn watched how things progressed, occasionally asking Vaness, Havel, or Selva to hold or fetch something. It wasn’t a slow birth by any stretch, but it certainly wasn’t quick; Meline had helped with many. A few had ended badly, for mother, child, or both; among the fey, it was the most dangerous ordeal of a woman’s life. Most ended well for everyone, and some had started from much worse places than Ella had. And there were few mothers who approached Ella’s physical condition. Meline just hoped her previous reassurances didn’t end up as noxious wind.

Meline had always known what she could do, even as the primary midwife, was limited. Much was up to the mother, and the baby, and the powers holding sway over life and death. Now, when her own wife was rolling the dice...

Whatever spirits watch us here tonight, she thought, please, please, bring my Ella and our baby through this safely. We just found each other, please don’t take her away so soon. I lost my sun, please don’t take my moon and stars.

 “You’re doing good, now bear down!” Evelyn said. “We’re coming to the end, I can see two little cheeks!”

From so far away she hardly noticed, Ella heard someone roar. The slightest twinge in her throat, and the roar twisted into a shriek. Her legs trembled, her ribs ached, her belly was so, so tired.

Push, heave, strain. In the brief moments she had space to think, she remembered saying—shouting, perhaps—things, and wondered what she said. There were probably a few words Selva would need explained to her, which she’d be told never to say. But those moments were few and years between.

Evelyn was saying things. So was Meline. The only words that made any sense to Ella were “good” and “push”. She could feel the baby shift, slowly, so slowly, as she pushed, barely the tiniest sliver.

After an age, she felt it was almost over. She took the biggest, rasping breath she could manage, and heaved, throwing her whole torso down on top of her belly. The baby made a big shift. Two more pushes, that hardly felt like anything, and it was out.

Gasping, Ella sagged back, into… she looked up, and blearily saw Havel supporting her shoulders. She started laughing, tears streaming down her face.

She heard a small wet slap, and a strident cry that drove everything else from her mind. She snapped her head forward, arms out. A deep brown-red, still slimy even after Meline towelled him off. Ella unbuttoned her gown and held him to her chest. He settled the moment he touched her skin.

“Hi,” she said, as he found her breast. Meline’s hand entered her vision, towelling him as he sucked. Ella wanted to look up, to see the tears of relief in Meline’s eyes and the smile on her face.

She felt Selva’s hand on her shoulder; Vaness was lifting her so she could see. “He’s all squishy-looking. Hey, Elmum, he looks just like Pops!” Ella heard Vaness’s huge belly-laugh.

But she could not look away. Not right now. In over twenty-three thousand years, Ella had never seen anything, or anyone, so beautiful.

[ellaofoakhill]

The Spring Bloom Festival

Hello, my wonderful readers! I can't speak for you, but I'm glad to be back posting chapters, and thank you so much for your patience. I've built myself up some buffer again, and I've straightened a few things out with my editing process that should make my life less stressful.

I'm not planning on doing anything special for NaNoWriMo, though I'm currently working on the next instalment after Ella and Meline's story--or, rather, before; yes, I am attempting that dangerous work of fiction that is the prequel!

I will make posts on here and my tumblr regarding how much I've written over the course of the month. I SHOULD be able to manage 15k+ words, wish me luck X)

Anyway, I'll shut up and let you get into the story you've waited so patiently for. Enjoy!

Ella opened the door at Havel’s knock. She had to hand it to him, he cleaned up well. The deep green stonemail went well with his walnut tunic and saffron leggings.

“What brings you by this evening, my pupil?” As if she didn’t know.

“I am here, m’lord,” Havel said, playing his part with a nervous smile, “to escort a young lady about this year’s Spring Bloom Festival.”

“Enter, then,” Ella said, standing aside. Havel hung his cloak, and followed her up to the hall. Pops and Stuart were already down, looking presentable. Ella did notice Pops was in slight need of a comb. Meline would have one with her when she came down.

“To this day, Master,” Havel said as he took a seat, “I can’t believe you’ve never been!”

Ella shook her head. “I attended my fair share of festivities, Havel, when I was younger. The games were fun, certainly, but I found myself in a lot of fights, which got old.”

Havel stopped with the faerye Pops poured him halfway to his mouth. “You got into fights, Master?”

Pops cackled, slapping his thigh. “Havel m’boy, there was a time in El’s life when she couldn’t go one moon to the next without giving or getting a bloody nose. By Puck, none of her front teeth are original!”

“Pops!” Ella laughed, feeling a flush creep up her neck. Her tongue licked over her chalcedony incisors and canines. “Anyway, Havel, I learned the importance of gentleness from those days. You’re already wiser than that.”

Stuart snorted. “I doubt many fey would pick a fight with him, anyway.”

Ella shared a look with her father. “An elf of a certain stripe might. Or someone with cronies skulking nearby. But,” Ella clapped Havel on the shoulder, “this young man is already too smart to go looking for trouble.”

Havel nodded; he had reddened a bit. They waited only a short while before the far door opened. Selva and Arlen scampered to Ella and Pops, respectively. Selva started tracing the branches of the white tree on Ella’s tunic.

Afleth came next, followed by Meline. Her hair was braided in seven rows, each braid’s end jewelled with emeralds and aquamarines. The sight of her torc about Meline’s throat sent a thrill down Ella’s spine. Meline stood by her shoulder, one finger toying with the chain running from the stud at Ella’s eartip to the one in her lobe.

Afleth cast about the room, pretending to look for someone. “Is a Havel of Deeprock in this hall?” Her tone was thick with maternal ferocity.

“Yes, Ma’am!” Havel jumped out of his seat; Ella suspected he didn’t have to act as he played the anxious young gentleman.

Afleth approached. She was—Ella would be first to say so—far lovelier than her elder sister, especially now she was dressed up, but her authority dwarfed Havel, though her crown hardly reached his navel. To be fair, she was a baron of the Fey court.

“And what, O Havel of Deeprock,” Afleth said, arms akimbo and eyes flashing—with mirth— “are your intentions regarding my firstborn daughter?”

Ella could have fried an egg on Havel’s face. “I—uh—that is…M-Ma’am, I mean only to show her about the Spring Bloom Festival. No other intention I have!” Ella had never seen him so shaken he lost his grammar. She gestured behind Havel’s back for Afleth to tone it down.

Afleth arched a mock-scornful eyebrow. Havel had more to fear from Vaness—still not much—than vice-versa. “You will have her home before dawn?”

“I will.” Havel calmed down with the change in her tone.

Afleth spun on her heel and flounced to the door. Her hard soles clicked on the old oak floor. “Then if she’ll suffer you, I’ll not gainsay her.” She opened it.

Vaness dressed very much like a younger version of Ella. Green boots, white hose, and a green sleeveless tunic with matching gloves. Blazoned on the tunic was the kingfisher of Sycamore Rill. Over all she wore a white half-cape. All she was missing, Ella realized, was the smallsword at her hip; in its place, she had a carven wand with a malachite pommel. Her smile could have charmed tannin from oak.

After a brief much-making over the pair, the group moved downstairs. Meline looked expectantly at Ella. “You have your prize?”

Ella raised her eyebrows. “You ask as if I’d forget.”

Meline waited a moment. “Did y—”

“No!” Ella gave her a kiss on the cheek as she reached for the shop door. “It’s in here!”

She came back to the landing with a long package wrapped in horsefly hide that clinked as she held it under one arm. Coarser, Charger, and Destrier were swiftly decked out in fine barding, over which went their stonemail, save Destrier; her stonemail was iridescent blue scales, and so made perfect formalwear.

Ella hefted Selva into Coarser’s saddle as Pops helped Arlen into Charger’s; Afleth rode Destrier, Deyna tucked safely under her cloak.

Meline squeezed Ella’s hand; they headed the procession. “At your call, my lord.” She grinned from ear to ear.

Ella barked with laughter. “That’s a first!”

“And a last, unless you get on my bad side.”

“Prom—”

“El, you can flirt when we get there!” Afleth called, only half-exasperated.

One last laughing kiss, and they were off.

 It was the perfect time of year for a festival. The nights were warming, the frogs and fireflies filling the pasture with light and song. The smell of fresh-woke earth and the texture of freshening life beneath her bare feet filled Meline with a glowing contentment. Brightening it was Ella’s hand clasping hers.

In the dip between one rise and the next were the Party Grounds. Most other nights there wasn’t much, save the odd stall at the crossroads to take advantage of the traffic, some warm, secure holes a traveler could safely spend the night in, and a walker house, which the community kept for Felix and others of his order. But at special times, like tonight, if a travelling circus came through, or for, say—Meline flushed to think of it—a wedding, the Grounds would fill with folks from the entire area. Potentillas and wild roses ringed the open space, save the north side, bounded by poplars and a single mighty oak, the Party Lord, greater than Oakhill; she had seen many gatherings since Meline moved here. The lord was currently dressed in fireflies and fairy lanterns, silver string, and her first golden flowers.

Meline led them to one of the holes; they received a key and a room number from a thickset young toad, and his encouragement to enjoy themselves. Ella handed over their prize; it saved them the price of admission. They bundled their stonemail in, and once everyone was in order, Meline offered Ella an arm, and showed everyone around. Or tried to.

The problem with spending centuries helping everyone with every malady and ailment under the stars was that, provided you knew your stuff, they tended to like you. Meline could hardly point out a single amusement before a gremlin would—politely—demand a few minutes to catch Meline up on her life. Or a fox would inform her of his grandfather’s stories about the cataracts she’d operated on years ago, or a bat would drop in front of her and tell her the white-nose still hadn’t come back. Even the reeve and the sheriff inclined their heads to her; fortunately, they were much too busy to stop and chat.

It was not without tremendous relief that Meline bumped into Felix, along with Gillian, and Julian with his wife, Millie. Everyone knew Julian from Selva’s harp lessons, and when Arlen had started capering as they played, Julian had asked if he might bring Gillian, who knew a little dance and acrobatics. Annafleth loved that this used up a mountain of her son’s time, energy, and mischief, but he’d grown more slippery when it came to bed and bathtime. Millie was a deputy, but had managed to get the night off; Meline remembered her as a new but useful friend near the end of the troubles in Oak and Stone. The older members of their group dispersed, with Aiden and Stuart agreeing to watch the children. Did Aiden flash her a wink as he strolled off with Arlen’s rambunctious hand in his?

And so the pair was alone. Meline sagged against Ella, who hugged an arm around her. “You’re not passing out on me, are you?”

Meline snorted. “No. It’s nice to have some time to ourselves. Don’t get me wrong, I love your family. But I do miss a quiet Oakhill, sometimes.”

Ella nodded. “Me, too.” She looked around. “The excitement is a lot like the carnival, but the entertainment is more…”

“Down to earth?” Meline said. Ella nodded. “Ooh! Wanna throw some hatchets?”

“Yes!”

It turned out Ella was a masterful hatchet-thrower. She hit the kine’s eye three times with three throws. Meline only hit the ring once. Between them, they won thirteen wooden tokens.

“What does this get us?” Ella asked as the manager counted out their tokens.

Meline shook her head. “Not much. This isn’t like the carnival where you win something specific. The prizes are raffles, which are awarded at the end of the night. And it takes three tokens to buy one ticket.”

Ella nodded. “So if I wanted to be greedy, I could throw hatchets the rest of the night and get three hundred tokens?” There was mischief in her grin.

Meline reached up and put a hand to her cheek. “But you don’t want to be greedy, right?” She only put a little sickly sweetness in her tone.

“No, dear.”

Meline kissed her cheek. “Good answer.”

Ella put a javelin through a ring no bigger than her thumb. She hit three swinging chokecherries with three arrows. And then she caught three—cotton-wad tipped—arrows shot at her heart. By then the pair had gained something a following. At first, Meline was just glad their attention was off her. And then…

“So are you her prize, then?” one gnome said, too quiet for anyone else to hear. Meline didn’t like his tone. She slowly turned around. The smile on her face made him take a step back.

“Oh, no. She’s mine.”

They moved on to the bat. Ella was about to pick one up when Meline laid a hand on hers. “I can do this one.”

“You sure?”

In answer, Meline hit three stones between the eyes of the furthest figure. She wrapped three bolas around the necks of three dummies. And she split three bricks with a chop of each hand. After the last, she grabbed a bemused Ella by both ends of her torc and pulled her down for a kiss.

They bought ground grasshopper buns and a small bowl of dipping sauce, along with a bag of chocolate honey clusters. “Is that an amphitheatre?” Ella asked, pointing to a raised structure nearby.

“Yeah,” Meline said. “For Spring Bloom, they usually put on a few action romcoms. That’s also where they’ll do the raffle draws.” She gave Ella a sidelong glance. “You wanna watch?”

Ella thought for a moment. “Sure.”

 Surprisingly, Ella recognized the play. Every fey knew the story of Sand Nidollas, the most recent and famous person to become one of them. He was about to realize his betrayal by Gramba, the man he had thought his best friend. Given Meline’s description of the usual fare, this seemed an odd choice. Not to mention it was the wrong time of year.

Meline made to sit near the middle. Ella stopped and took her hand. She gestured to the back row. Meline shrugged, and followed her to a spot where no one was sitting adjacent.

They sat quietly for a moment, settling in. Ella leaned her head on Meline’s. Meline relaxed into her.

“Did something happen earlier?”

Meline tensed for an instant. “Was it that obvious?”

Ella put her arm about Meline’s waist. “You went from the wallflower to making every game look easy. And there was a… a tension to it.”

Sand Nidollas banged at the gate of Gramba’s castle. The gate opened of its own accord. He found his old friend in the courtyard. Gramba had made his deal with the demon, Tarklafer; the make-up and horns were clearly on, but the actor wore the mask of an ordinary person. He was about to reveal his evil deed to Nidollas.

“Some guy said something,” Meline said, “while you were catching arrows. It… woke a lot of old insecurities.”

“Insecurities?” Ella watched as the final confrontation began. Nidollas was a superb man with a spear, but with Tarklafer’s skill at Gramba’s disposal it was all he could do to defend himself. Without the demon’s help, Gramba could never match his former friend. “Is it because I’m a lord? That difference has never mattered to me, not in the slightest.”

Meline shook her head. Gramba removed his mask. “You—Ella, you’ve no idea who I am, what I’ve done. And I don’t know what you’ll think when you find out.” Her voice trembled.

The look of horror on Nidollas’s actor’s face was convincing, if melodramatic. He was about to have his final, famous, monologue.

“No. I don’t,” Ella whispered. “But, Meline, I think you need to tell me soon.” Meline looked up at her; the anguish in her eyes ripped at Ella’s heart. “Not tonight, if you don’t want to.”

They listened for a bit. Nidollas finished his monologue. The battle concluded. The play ended with its explanation of the ongoing contention between Nidollas and Gramba, fastest friends turned vicious enemies. There was a good deal of applause. Ella was a bit disappointed she had not seen the first acts; the final had been good.

She made to get up, along with the rest of the audience. Meline’s hand on her wrist stopped her. She sat back down. Meline took a deep breath. “I—”

“Elmum! Melmom!” They both jumped as Selva rushed up, Stuart, Aiden, and Arlen close behind. “The raffle’s gonna start! Didja put your tickets in?”

“Uh…” Ella looked at Meline, who gave her a sad smile and the slightest shake of her head. “Not yet, no. In fact, we haven’t traded in our tokens.”

“I can do it!” Selva and Arlen held out their hands while Ella and Meline gave them their tokens. “What do you want us to put the tickets in for?”

Ella smiled. “Whatever you want, Selv.” Selva’s eyes grew huge. As the four of them left, Afleth—Deyna exposed, his dark little eyes goggling at everything—along with Julian and Millie, Gillian, and Felix came and sat by them. Ella saw Havel and Vaness by the far end of the stands. Vaness had a cheerful grin on her face. Havel saw Ella looking, and inclined his head. She inclined hers back.

There was a brief comic routine, at the end of which the quartet returned, Selva planting herself on Ella’s lap. The reeve took the stage to general applause. A stately old badger in a cream-coloured suit, he gestured with one impressive paw. Several ground squirrels wheeled a table onto the stage, with buckets and one massive barrel on a spit, to greater applause.

The reeve gave a typical speech, thanked everyone for supporting the festival, whether through purchases, donations, or volunteering time, and began drawing.

“What’d you put in for, Selv?” Meline asked.

“I put one ticket in each bucket,” she said, “then we can win everything!”

Ella bit her tongue. “No need to be greedy, dear.” A second group of ground squirrels lined the prizes up beside the stage. “What are all the different prizes, then?”

Selva held up the list, and read them out as the reeve started pulling bits of bark from the thoroughly turned barrel. Folks cheered and applauded as names were drawn.

There were almost thirty prizes. They ranged from several jars of various preserves and candles, through tools and instruments, like the pair of lurs Ella had donated, through art objects like rugs, tapestries, fine clothes and thick books, up to—

“A fey cow?” Ella asked. Her eyebrows reached her hairline. She surely had not heard right.

Selva nodded. “And a bull. He liked me, he picked me up on his head, and his name’s Vernon.”

Ella looked to Meline. “They’re fairly common in these parts,” Meline said. “And cows regularly put themselves up for raffle. Some of the festival’s proceeds go to her herd, and in exchange for feed and shelter for herself and her bull, she gives milk.”

Ella nodded. “And the bull?”

“In order for her to give milk, she needs to have a calf. And two sets of eyes are better for watching a little one.”

That made sense. “Well, it’s not like Selva wouldn’t use the milk. And we could make cheese and butter and cream and things. But I’m sure that one’s a popular prize, so the odds of us winning—”

“—Lord Ella of Oakhill!”

Ella jumped to her feet; she only kept Selva from spilling into the row ahead by sheer reflex. “Yes?” she called as hands started clapping.

“Come claim your cow!” the reeve replied. Ella’s jaw dropped. She looked at Meline; there would be no help there, as she was laughing too hard to stand up. Giving her head a little shake, Ella inched her way along the row, Selva dashing ahead and down the aisle. The crowd laughed as she reached the bull—Vernon, was it?—and after letting him give her a sniff, he hoisted her up while she clung on to his horns. He was almost four inches at the shoulder, rangy, long-legged and powerful, at present a placid blue. The cow was similarly built, though smaller, and much the same colour. Given her ripe abdomen, Ella guessed the calf would be along soon. She raised a long head at Ella’s approach, fixing her with a big brown eye. She sniffed Ella’s hand, then nudged her with the side of a long, curving horn. Ella flushed as the crowd produced a series of “aww”s.

“Follow me?” Ella asked. The cow flicked her ears.

“Her name’s Vesi, Elmum,” Selva said from her perch; she sat just behind the hump on Vernon’s broad back.

“Vesi, then,” Ella said. “Follow me?”

Vesi looked sidelong at her, then shook herself. A flick of her tail, which caught Vernon in the head—to get his attention?—and she plodded after Ella out of the amphitheatre.

 There was a surfeit of mounts on the way back. Annafleth rode Destrier, Selva perched on Vernon, Aiden rode Charger with Arlen, and Meline rode with Ella on Coarser. Only Vesi walked unencumbered, and only Stuart went on foot. Havel and Vaness would return closer to—though still before—sunrise.

As they rode, Meline felt Ella cuddle against her. “What?” she whispered with a soft chuckle.

“Thank you.”

Meline hesitated. She remembered their interrupted conversation. “For?”

Ella rested her chin on Meline’s shoulder. “Oakhill’s been my home for six thousand years. And I’ve never gotten to know anyone in the area. There are good folks who live here, and I never took the time to meet them. Maybe I was afraid to.” She gave Meline a little squeeze. “So thank you, for pulling me out of my shell.”

Meline set her head against Ella’s. I hope I have a fraction of your courage, she thought, when my family comes for the wedding.

[ellaofoakhill]

Kindling, Part Two

Author’s Note: Yeah, you’ll notice I asked (the talented) Heidi Varis to change my username to my actual name on my little cover art up there; I just decided recently to start putting myself forward as an author more seriously, and since I’ve (for now) decided against using a pen name, you get my actual name. I’ll shut up now and let you get reading.

Havel was late the next evening. Ella poked her head out the shop door; his boots were on the welcome mat, his cloak was on its usual hook. She rolled her eyes, suppressed a smile, and headed up to the kitchen.

“Ooh!” she heard Meline’s voice, “I like this one.” Ella edged the door open. Selva, clad in a soft green tunic with brown leggings, zipped across the kitchen and fastened a hand on Ella’s trousers. Havel was laying out hand-me-downs on the table, which Meline was looking over. A honey-coloured dress with walnut accents was the object of her praise.

Ella rested a hand on Selva’s head. “Yes, you look very pretty.” She looked at Havel, who jumped when she spoke. “Come down to the shop when you’re finished.”

Havel nodded, a mildly guilty look on his face. A light went on in his eyes. “Selva,” he said, kneeling, “I have something for you.” She turned toward him.

Ella set a hand on her shoulder. “Go on.”

Selva approached. From a large pocket on his overalls Havel drew a patched, careworn creature that could plausibly have been a stuffed dragon. It had a snaky body, four stubby legs, and two flaps that may in the distant past have resembled wings.

“This is Flappy,” Havel said. “He was mine when I was little, and my sisters are old enough they don’t play with him anymore.” He glanced sidelong at Selva. “He’s looking for a new home and a new friend.”

After a moment, Selva held out her hands. Havel tenderly handed the stuffed animal to her. She looked Flappy all over, from his square muzzle with more patches than teeth, to the end of his tail, which looked like it had gotten caught in a door. She gave him a hug.

“Say ‘thank you,’” Meline said.

Selva looked at her toes. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Havel said, getting back to his feet.

As Ella and he turned to go, she felt a hand fasten on her shirt. She set her hand over Selva’s and shook her head. “After you’ve been here a while, you can help me in the shop,” she said. “But it can be dangerous work, and I don’t want you to get hurt. Right now, stay with

Meline and help her, alright?” After a moment, Selva nodded. Ella swept Selva up in a hug. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“She’s a dear,” Havel said as they descended the stairs. Ella kept glancing behind to make sure she wasn’t followed.

She closed the shop door once they were both inside. “She knows what kindness is, at least.”

Havel gave her a confused look. “I think all children do, Master.”

“But they can unlearn it.” His confusion deepened. Ella shook her head, trying to clear it. “Selva was beaten by someone in the last week, Havel.”

He had just taken up his hammer. His knuckles went white. “Who?” The thought occurred to Ella that no fairy valuing his life would lay hand on a Deeprock sister.

“I don’t know,” Ella said. “She came into my home yesterday, and has far to go before she fully trusts us, I think.” Seeing that Havel’s grip didn’t slacken, she set a hand in the centre of Havel’s chest. “Take a deep breath, my son. Deeper than the roots of the earth.”

Havel’s belly swelled and swelled, until Ella felt the trembling anger in his sinew yield. “Now breathe out, and let this anger pass like a storm in the day.”

In three breaths, Havel was himself again. His knuckles reddened. He opened his eyes. They were the grey of rainclouds. “What will happen to her, Master?”

Ella shook her head. “So long as she lives in my hall, she will be cared for.” She smiled. “Now, you asked last night about smelting silver with moonbeams?”

Ella had just set out her writing desk, and was mixing her ink when a soft tap came at the door. “Yes?” The door opened a crack. “Come in.”

Selva squeaked in. “Meline’s outside.”

Ella nodded. “She told you to stay in?” Selva shook her head. “Did you… not want to go with her?” After a moment’s thought, Selva nodded. “So she said you should find me?” Another nod. “Well, we just had lunch… what would you like to do?”

This seemed to baffle Selva. She came over and looked at what Ella was doing. “Squiggles?”

Ella smiled. “Writing. One of my teachers taught me the Fey script long ago, and I find it helps a great many things.” She thought back over twenty thousand years. The new world of Gaea, cold and wild, and so beautiful. Centuries lived in a cave on a desert escarpment, devoted single-mindedly to internalizing the teachings passed to her, of arms and words and the space no words could fill.

She returned her attention to Selva. “Do you know your script yet?” Selva shook her head. “Come, sit.” She patted her lap.

Selva curled her legs inside Ella’s, and Ella folded her blanket over them. The top of Selva’s head brushed Ella’s chin. It was a cozy arrangement.

“Now,” Ella took up her pen, “there are seven vowels.” She paused. “A vowel is the… the meat of a word. ‘Ah’, ‘E’, ‘Eh’, ‘I’, ‘Y’, ‘O’, and ‘U’ are the vowels of Feyish. All other sounds, the

consonants,” she enunciated the word, “are the bones that give the meat shape.” She tapped the top of Selva’s head with her chin. “Does that make sense?”

Selva nodded.

“Can you explain it back to me?” Selva’s quick nod turned into a shake of her head. “I’ll try again.” She explained again a few times, until Selva at least had the meat and bones idea down pat.

“That’s good,” Ella said, wondering if her teachers had felt this far out of their own depth; they’d seemed unshakeable to Ella, anyway. “Now I’m going to write them nice and big, and you’re going to try and copy me.”

Across the top of the page she wrote them out, in as fine a hand as she could manage. Then she gave the pen to Selva. “Now you try. Write each one under mine.”

Selva took the pen in her right hand—Ella tilted her head; most fey were left-handed—before switching it to her left. Holding it in her little fist, she touched pen to the paper. Then she twisted and looked up at Ella.

“Go on,” Ella murmured. “It took me many, many years before I could write them well.” Selva’s eyes widened, and Ella set a hand on top of her head. “But I could never write them as well as I can now if I hadn’t kept trying.”

Selva’s nod and the little grunt she gave were decisive. She furrowed her brow as she turned back to the paper. The pen moved with a child’s care, hitching and stopping and correcting its course as it drew the Ah.

When she finished, Selva looked up at Ella again. “It’s bad.”

Ella drew back. “What? No it isn’t!”

Selva pointed at her letter. “But I made squiggles, and it’s all spikey, and yours is silky.” She curled up on herself. “I can’t do it.”

After a moment, Ella leaned forward, putting her arms around Selva. Who raised you? “Selva,” she said, “you’ve never made even one letter before, right?” After a while, Selva nodded. “This is the first letter you ever made?” Another nod. “Do you want to make good letters?”

“But I can’t!”

“But do you want to? Do you want to make a better Ah than you just did?” She leaned forward. “Do you want to make a better Ah than I can?”

She felt Selva uncurl a bit. “But yours is…”

Ella waited. Selva uncurled a bit more. She sniffed. Ella gave her a handkerchief. She blew her nose.

“… but mine’s bad.”

Ella shook her head. “I watched you put your heart into that letter. You gave it your best.” She set a hand on Selva’s head. “And your best is never shameful. But with time, and with practice, your best can become better. So, do you want to make a better Ah than this one?”

Selva turned her head. In her dark almond-shaped eye, Ella saw a flame kindle. “Yeah.”

Ella smiled. “Then you will need to practice, and practice, and watch, and practice.” She pointed her chin to the paper. “A good place to start is with these vowels. Write them until you get to the bottom of this page.”

So Selva wrote. And Ella watched.

Eventually, Selva came to the bottom. “There’s no more page.”

Ella chuckled. “You can flip it over.”

Selva did. She held the pen out to Ella. “Make the vowels again.” Ella did so, and made to hand the pen back. But Selva shook her head. “Write something.”

Ella raised her eyebrows. “What should I write?”

Selva held a finger to her lips, and her eyes wandered in thought. “Something pretty. Like the letters.”

Ella gave a pensive sigh. “Something pretty like the letters…”

She held the pen just off the paper for a while, and closed her eyes. And then she wrote.

Vis dani,

Didnin dum sevnin sal emmilan,

Ethash dalvriash vran.

“Little spark

Coming through the dark and freezing night,

Has kindled brightest flame.”

Selva hmmed once Ella read it to her. “It’s… a little song?”

Ella chuckled. “It’s a poem.” Selva quirked an eyebrow, and Ella bit her cheek. “Poems are pieces of writing made to be beautiful. They usually have specific rules. This one is an elfling poette. It has three syllables—those are… bits of sound—in its first line, nine in its second, and six in its last. It’s an easy form to learn, but poets might practice for centuries and still not master it.” She touched the sheet. “My master would find this one acceptable.” She glanced at Selva. “Back to vowels?”

“Yeah!”

Meline woke to a sudden noise. She turned over. Ella was on the side of the bed furthest from the wall. Selva was between them. By the lamplight, she could see a wide little eye. Selva was breathing like she’d sprinted from Oakhill’s front door to her crown. It was sweltering under the blanket.

Meline stroked Selva’s hair. Selva tensed for an instant, then cuddled against Meline. This did not help the heat.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Meline whispered so as not to wake Ella.

Selva cuddled closer. “Yeah.”

“Do you wanna talk about it? That can help sometimes.”

Selva carefully sat up. She looked at Ella, who had just started snoring. She tugged the sleeve of Meline’s nightgown.

Meline made them each a cup of warm milk and honey in the kitchen. Selva sipped hers. It seemed to Meline the swelling about her eye had gone down.

“I was back there,” Selva said. “He was mad at me. He was madder at Stu.” She clenched the cup. “And I burned the house.”

It was hot in the kitchen, too. Meline went to open the window when she saw the milk in Selva’s cup starting to boil.

Meline came around the table and put her arms around Selva. The child was radiating heat.

“Did this… actually happen?” Meline asked. “Was it a remembering dream, or a made-up one?”

“He didn’t know about Stu.” The heat became just a bit less. “Not really.”

“Selva,” Meline said, “take a slow, deep breath for me.” She did, and got hotter again. “Now let it go.” The heat dropped, lower than before. “Again, deep breath in.” Hotter. “And out.” Cooler still. “This time breathe in and focus on your dream. Tie it into your breath.” Hotter, and then hotter. Almost so hot Meline couldn’t touch her. “Now breathe out, and breathe the dream out with it.”

An actual tongue of flame licked at Selva’s lips. It vanished, and Selva felt a normal warm to Meline’s touch.

Meline sat in the seat beside her. “How do you feel now?”

Tears leaked from Selva’s eyes. Meline stroked her hair. “Come here.” Selva curled up in Meline’s lap, and Meline wrapped her arms around her, rocking back and forth until she finished her milk.

“Shall we go back to bed?”

Selva was already asleep. Meline carried her back, pulled the blankets up over her, and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

Ella stirred. “Ever’thing alrigh’?”

Meline kissed her too. “Yeah. Go back to sleep.”