Holly Race - A Gathering Midnight

Many years ago, in a time shaped from legends

The forge burned sapphire in the many-sunned light of Annwn. The metal that was not metal threw flecks of inspyre into the shimmering air as it was shaped. The Fay bent over their masterpiece, taking turns to bring the hammer down upon the blade. Merlin, the oldest and strongest, thrust his bare hands into the fire to form the hilt from melting crystal.

Is it complete? The voice came from the darkness at the back of the hall.

Soon, Andraste answered, throwing her face up to catch her breath. A sea breeze whistled in through the open doors of the hall. The tang of saltwater and seaweed caught in her throat. She glanced towards her lover, waiting in the shadows.

There is only one thing left, Merlin said, as hilt and blade joined with a hiss. Are you certain you wish it?

I am certain, he replied, shifting impatiently.

Merlin nodded, placing one withered hand on the hilt. The rest of the Fay followed him. Andraste was last. She should be happy to do this for him. A goddess and a mortal; she had fallen in love with many men and women of Ithr before, but never with one such as him. So why did she feel uneasy? Why did her bones such as she had them tremble at the prospect of this gift?

I am indebted to you, he said, seeming to address them all. Certainly Merlin thought he spoke to him, but Andraste knew that the words were meant for her alone. His voice was so sincere that she dismissed her misgivings as the insecurities of a proud woman. She did his bidding; bent her will to the task before them. The forging was the easy part.

They did it as one, untwisting the stories that bound them together and finding the common threads. From Merlin, the firstborn, was cunning. Nimues thread was more delicate: fortitude. Pucks was gaudy: he gave desire. Andrastes twin, Lugh, gave strength. Andrastes gift was many-threaded, and it was power. There were other, lesser gifts too, from the myriad Fay: memory, foresight, charm. Each one spun out from the Fay in glistening inspyre, before sinking into the sword. Andraste could feel her own strength diminishing as she pushed her gift into the metal. It matters not, she thought, for when it is done, there will be stories for us all.

At last, when they saw that it was good, the Fay stepped back. Andraste went to her lover and touched her heat-glistened forehead to his. He looked into her eyes in the way she adored: the way that told her that he knew her, as no mortal had before.

It is done, my love, she said.

He kissed her cheek, then stepped past her to look at what they had made. The others, her family, were panting. The glow of inspyre that surrounded them was hazy. They were all weakened from the effort of their creation. They watched as he pulled the weapon from the fire. It hissed as it branded his palm, but he didnt mind the pain. He flicked his arm and inspyre flooded down his muscles, healing the burned skin.

His gaze was shrewd.

It is perfect, Andraste assured him. She had never made anything so beautiful, or so powerful. The Fays threads had woven a pattern of violet and gold across the crystal hilt and down into the blade. When he moved it, the light from the open doors threw coloured patterns across the assembled faces.

Yes, he said, smiling at last. It is good.

The way he said it made Andraste pause. She reached out to him, but he drew away, casually, moving towards the entrance.

Our deal is done, Merlin croaked. You are in our debt.

We will all have stories, will we not? Nimue said, her high voice carrying around the chamber.

We are hungry, Puck said, flitting towards Andraste. When will we feed?

But Andraste said nothing at all. She followed her love as he moved into the fresh air. Outside, the undulations of Dyvnaint stretched before them on one side. On the other, the hills of Sumorsaet reached out towards a sun-kissed sea.

We were going to restore Annwn together, Andraste said sadly.

On the fields below, imps and piskies frolicked. In the distance, a giant paddled in the shallows, fishing for sea-spirits. These are creatures of the devil, he said softly, so that only Andraste could hear him. I will brook no danger to my subjects.

Please, my lord, Andraste said.

But he turned away from her, holding the sword aloft. He roared a roar the like of which she had never heard human make. In that moment, she knew for certain that the true love of her immortal existence had deceived her. As her heart shattered, she vowed she would one day, many years from now, make it right.