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Chapter Three – Freya

I paused halfway down the seagate stairs and stared through the white mist that now covered the twilight sky. My heart thumped from my hurried steps, and my breath came in short gasps. Each exhalation sent a little white puff from my lips. I swept my gaze over the dozens of tents below me on the beach, through the crowds of revelers and over bonfires. My vantage point was high, but I did not see my friends. I did smell something delicious, though. The savory scent of roasted meat drifted to me making my stomach growl and mouth water.

I was just about to give up the cause and descend into the merry chaos, when I spotted Katreine, Elena, and Muireall huddled together on a log near the lapping waters of Dunvegan Loch. They were gathered in a circle around a woman who rested on her haunches beside a fire. Orange flames slashed through the shadows of the looming night. The woman’s long white hair flowed down her back and over her shoulders to graze the ground on either side of her. Something about the scene made my scalp prickle, but I shook off the odd sensation. It was simply lingering wariness from my encounter with Morgana. I wound carefully down the narrow steps toward the beach, into the throng of people, weaving in and out, making greetings, but not stopping to talk. I did pause at a fire pit to help myself to a stick with chunks of perfectly cooked rabbit meat skewered on it. Food would help me think better how to solve my problem.

“Thanks, Egrid,” I said to the plump head of the kitchens, blew her a kiss, and continued toward my friends.

Their excited faces and enthusiastic waving pushed away my worry for a moment and warmed me. Everything was going to be fine. They’d know what to do. If not, surely the four of us could think of a solution together. They were scooting over to make room for me as I reached them. I sat down beside Katreine, and she plucked a chunk of the rabbit meat off my stick. She paused, the meat near her lips, leaned toward me and whispered, “’Tis a Summer Walker.” She motioned to the woman in the center of the circle. “She claims she travelled through the Dark Forest alone and came upon Morgana.” A tap came on my shoulder, and I leaned back to see Elena and Muireall grinning at me from the other side of Katreine.

“We missed ye!” Elena said in a low tone. Nevertheless, a chorus of people hushed her.

“Same,” I whispered and then turned my attention to the Summer Walker. Only a Summer Walker would be brave enough to move through the Dark Forest unaccompanied, and foolish children—like I had once been—and well, I suppose a desperate person might. Was it a Summer Walker’s hard life that made them brave? I liked to think of myself as more fearless than other women, but I had not faced the sorts of hardship a woman without a true home or clan to protect her had. I imagined that sort of life called for a special kind of bravery, and I found myself leaning in to hear what the woman had to say. I could use some advice on bravery.

“As I was saying before the latest guest joined us—”

“That’s nae any guest. That’s the laird’s eldest daughter, who will soon belong to me.”

Donald’s nasally voice made me rigid. With a hefty amount of dread, I drew my gaze to him. He stood with half a dozen of his men on the outside of the circle, behind a log. He gave me a smug look that made my insides tangle into knots. There stood the man who would have the ability to control me, unless I found an acceptable solution quickly.

“Ye can nae own another truly,” the Summer Walker said.

Donald laughed. “Of course, ye can, woman. ’Tis the law of man’s land.”

Every word out of Donald’s mouth increased my certainty that I could never be his wife.

“Freya, come to greet me!” he demanded.

Greet him? I glared at him. Our impending union hadn’t even been announced yet, and if I could help it, it never would be. “I’m nae yers yet, Donald,” I said, through clenched teeth. “And ye’re being rude. We were in the middle of listening to a tale, so go on with ye. I will see ye later.” Or not.

“Ye’ll nae be talking to me like that when we’re wed,” he growled.

“If ye say so,” I bit out, knowing full well when my insolent behavior reached my da’s ears, I’d likely get a sharp lecture and be required to beg forgiveness, but I’d take my chances. Chuckling erupted amongst Donald’s friends, turning his face red, and sending him stomping away.

Beside me, Katreine poked me in the side. I knew before I turned my head her way, that all three of my friends would be gaping at me, which they were. “We’ll discuss it later,” I whispered, knowing full well they wanted an accounting of whether I was to wed Donald. “Please continue your story,” I said to the Summer Walker who gave me a nod.

“As I was saying, I passed through the Dark Forest a sennight ago, and there I did see Morgana at the Twisted Tree of Life—”

“She lives there!” someone called out.

“In an underground cave,” someone else in the group inserted. “With her mama, the red witch!”

“Shh!” I said, wanting to hear the rest of the story. Something about it, stirred an odd excitement in me.

The Summer Walker smiled gratefully at me. I knew from previous years with others of her kind, she would likely offer one tale and then ask for coin to offer another. That’s how these travelers survived. Some sold wares, others sold their skills, and the ability to weave a convincing tale was a skill like any other. Perhaps a greater one since so few people could do it.

“There I did see her with her magic goblet of gold, which she set to a crooked man’s mouth. He made a wish, drank from the goblet, and his spine straightened right before my eyes,” the Summer Walker exclaimed.

Laughter erupted around the circle and people stood. “Ye need to work on yer story telling skills,” a man called out, tossing a chunk of bread at the Summer Walker before he turned and left. One by one people departed with various discouraging comments and having tossed things at the woman. A half-eaten meat stick. A smooshed mince pie. A piece of thread. It was not long before Katreine, Elena, Murieall, and I were the only ones left. The poor Summer Walker looked as if she were on the verge of tears, so I fished in the inner pocket of my gown, touched on the single coin in there, and rose.

“Is that yer first time making up a tale?” I asked in a gentle tone .

“I did nae make the tale up,” she said on a sigh as she took the coin. “Do ye see my hair?”

I nodded.

“’Twas the color of the sun afore the ban-druidh Morgana turned it white for spying on her.”

My lips parted in surprise. Beside me, Katreine, Elena, and Murieall gasped. “Ye were nae making up a tale,” I blurted.

“Nay, I was nae. I truly did come upon Morgana in the Dark Woods at her home when I was traveling through the woods on the way here for the Samhain festival two nights ago.”

“And ye really saw her straighten a man’s spine?” Elena asked. The tremor in her voice and excitement on her face made me think she might have her own problems she needed to fix.

“Aye,” the traveler said while nodding. “I heard him beg a wish of her, and she said she was nae in the habit of granting wishes for men unhappy with their lot. Then he pulled out a ring and said that his mama had saved Morgana from drowning when she was younger, and Morgana’s own mama had given her prized ring to his mama for the deed with the instructions that when the woman, or her unborn child who would then be grown, was ready for her wish, they were to return the ring in exchange for their heart’s desire. The man’s mama had departed the earth, and the man’s one wish was to be able to stand up straight. Morgana placed her hands on either side of the man’s face, determined he was telling the truth, then disappeared into her cave. When she returned, she was holding a glowing goblet. She dipped it in the fairy pool and then told him to drink from it, and that his wish would become his reality.”

My heart raced as I listened to the Summer Walker. Her words drifted on the breeze, swelling in my ears, filling my head and heart like a melody I had hoped to hear: a sign that my deepest desire, my chance to wed for love, was not lost. But only if I dared. Only if I could drink from Morgana’s magical goblet. The goblet! Morgana would never allow me to touch it. I would have to steal a drink from it without her knowing.

Then my wish could come to pass. But Morgana wasn’t in her cave. She was here, in the gardens, searching for an herb to save her mama. If I found the goblet, brimming with its enchantment, and drank before she returned home, she’d never know it had been used. The plan seemed perfect, as perfect as the tale the Summer Walker had spun. But there was one more problem: Morgana’s mother. She could be there, and she was a witch just as Morgana was. I had no notion if she was ill, injured, or if Morgana had some vision of a sickness to come. I had to have help if I was to dare it. I knew just whom to ask—or rather, which three people to ask—for help.