Hannah Parker - Autumns Tithe

Larken pressed the heels of her hands into the cool dough, her body slipping into the dance of bread making. The heavy scent of yeast rose to greet her as she worked. The dough pulled at her and she eased her touch, folding and turning again and again.

Today. Today. Today.

The Choosing Ceremony was finally here. Her hands moved of their own accord, adding a dash of flour, curling into the dough, shaping it. She let the repetition soothe her mind, though her heart still fluttered with anticipation.

One year ago, her dearest friend was chosen to live in the land of the fey. Larken had thought about Brigid every day since. What was it like living with a faery lord? What was it like living in a world filled with magic?

Youll be able to ask her for yourself, soon, Larken told herself. If she even wants to see you.

Hurry up, Larken! Papas voice boomed, startling her. Get those loaves in the oven and come help me with the cookies.

It was only in the kitchen that his voice turned so officious. Had her father been anything but a baker, he would have been absolutely terrifying. Yet despite his broad frame, his huge hands frosted the cookies before him with astonishing delicacy. Larken wondered why he even needed her help, as good as he was.

Larken wiped her hands on her stomach, glad she had put on an apron to protect her Ceremony dress. She had settled on a light blue gown with pink stitching, and while she usually strolled around the village with a coat of flour on, the faery lord didnt have to know that.

Beautiful, immortal, and filled with the grace of the Twin gods, the fey were viewed by humans as near deities themselves. They were shrouded in mystery and even possessed the ability to wield fragments of the gods magic. Their realm, as mysterious and magical as the fey were, was separated from the human lands by a deep chasm, with only four bridges connecting them.

The bridges only opened for seven days each yearat all other times they were closed off by a powerful magic. The Choosing Ceremony marked the first day that the bridges opened, when the four faery lords would cross their respective bridges and select one human girl each to return with them.

Larkens village, Ballamor, was only a short journey from one of these bridges, making it a perfect place to perform a Choosing Ceremony. The three other human towns closest to the bridges held Ceremonies of their own and were visited by their own faery lord.

Today was Larkens chance to be chosen.

Larken shoved the dough in the oven so hastily she almost burned her hands. She cursed, jerking them back.

Careful, Mama called, sweeping by with a raisin-studded porter cake. Forget the cookies, your papa can finish them. Help me take these down to the field. She gestured to one of the wicker baskets brimming with shortbread, scones, and miniature cakes. Wait! Get your cloakyoull need it. Mama pushed a strand of her hair back with a flustered sigh.

Mama was always ruffled on Ceremony day. With villagers from the farthest reaches of Ballamor and the surrounding cities pouring into town, there were hundreds of more mouths to feed.

Larken raced up the stairs that connected the bakery to her familys living quarters on the upper level. She grabbed the cloak sprawled across her bed.

Her boot slid on something beneath her. She glanced downa haphazard pile of unfinished maps stared up at her, the product of her insomnia the night before. Her lips pulled into a frown as her gaze picked up on every line that was out of place on her charts. Brigid would have helped her fix every mistake. But Brigid wasnt there.

Larken had been mapping out the woods surrounding Ballamor when she and Brigid had officially met for the first time.

Whatre you doing? Brigid had asked. Even at ten years old, Brigid had been beautiful. Her dark hair had made her huge blue eyes look even brighter. And even then, they had been opposites. Brigid, willow-thin to Larkens plump frame, Brigids dark tresses to Larkens mousy blonde.

They were opposites in other ways as well. Brigid had always been so sure of herself, outgoing and talkative, while Larken was quiet and diffident.

Making maps, Larken had replied, wary. The other children liked to tease her about it. While most of the children her age were playing Faery and Maiden, she was plotting how far away her familys bakery was from the mill where they got their flour.

Papa liked to boast that he was the one who had sparked Larkens love for cartography. He had always gotten lost during his travels to other towns for specialty ingredients. The year he took Larken on one of his trips, they got lost so many times she finally sketched out a chart of the area to use the following year. The hobby had stuck.

Brigid had peered over her shoulder, observing the grid onto which Larken had plotted their entire town. Larken had been toying with it for hours, unable to figure out what was wrong with it.

That tree there Brigid pointed to a tree toward the left of the map. It should be here. She moved her hand slightly to the right. Its in front of Das forgenot to the side. She frowned, noticing Larkens scribbled label. And forge is spelled with a g, not a j.

It is a g.

Brigids eyebrows knitted. Doesnt look like one.

Larken had giggled instead of taking offense. Brigid was more straightforward than any of the other village children she had metbut she wasnt unkind about it.

They had become fast friends after that. Larken made the maps, and Brigid provided her with helpful insight and artistic skill. She always sketched out the landmarks that dotted Larkens charts. And when the other village children teased her, Brigid always defended her, claiming that one day Larken would be a mapmaker for the Popes themselves.

Larken wondered if her friend would be so willing to defend her, now. Memories of their falling out still haunted her.

Larken pushed down her guilt and the bitter ache of missing her friend. Once the Chosen girls crossed the bridge, they never returned. Larken imagined her reunion with Brigid, seeing her friends shock and delight that Larken had been chosen. It had been a full year since theyd fought. Surely Brigid had forgiven her by now. But Larken wouldnt rest until she talked to her friend.