The Snow of Is'a Dale

Even under the gazebo Eirwen could hear their voices, echoing hauntingly off the high mountain walls surrounding their home. And, though they were dulled by the distance she was sure she could recite the argument by heart. Her father, pleading with her brother, then demanding; her brother railing at every turn. Then, beyond them all, her mother's distraught cries to quiet them. Her breath drifted out in a steamy cloud and she did what she could to unhear the anger.

The first snows of the long month had left a crystallized gleam over the gazebo. Now, the snow was melting and freezing again in glassy icicles. Eirwen traced the mother-of-pearl inlay on her violin then paused. Reverently she brushed her fingers over her master's mark in gold leaf, a weeping willow. In the years since she'd earned her place under him she's found consolation in his shadow that seemed impossible elsewhere.

She propped the violin under her chin and teased it's strings with her bow. The sound wailed achingly, sending a shiver through her. As she began to play she drifted beyond the frozen valleys of Is'a Dale. The Elven Isle yielded the vastness of its winter sorrow to her melody. It propelled her beyond her own lands, beyond the familiar slopes and crevices. She felt herself transported to the warm hills of Elderon, the dusty oases of the Cadasal deserts, and the fabled cities blossoming under the Erithian sea.

Faces whirled by her, alight with happiness and cheer, none of them elven. Her heart raced at the possibility of the world beyond. She swayed with thrill at the prospect of a crowded market and boisterous children. Sun warmed dirt enticed her more than the offer of Is'a Dale emeralds winking in the eternal moonlight of the long month.

All those things consumed her, lifted her beyond the voices of her family. So encompassing was it that she hadn't noticed they'd stopped. A foot crunched in the snow and startled Eirwen into silence. Franticly she slid the violin beneath her feet and under the bench. When her brother strode into view she searched his eyes in a panic, fearing exposure.

"Is something wrong Elias?" she asked in a steady voice, though her hands trembled.

"Your parents request your presence at dinner," Elias replied in a cool voice.

Today's argument had spawned from his decision to crop his hair. His straight black hair had nearly reached the small of his back. Their mother lovingly twined it into a thick black braid everyday since he was a child. Now is was spiky, short, and scattered in a dozen angles. It brought their mother to her knees. But, it was the way it fell over the points of Elias' ears that frustrated their father the most. It, like everything Elias seemed to do in the past few years appeared as a direct rebuff to their elven culture.

"Yes, of course I'll be there soon."

Eirwen prayed that her burning cheeks would look like the bite of the cold instead of alarm. She gripped her hands together hoping that the poor light would hide her rigid pose. Still, he stood there as if expecting something more. She smiled nervously and babbled about the beauty of the ice on the moonlight. When she invited him to watch with her he turned away and marched off.

When he was gone she slumped back against the railing. Her reverie was overcome with shame, the shame of having to hide her violin from him, and perhaps worse the shame of dreaming of a home beyond her home. This was all there was and she was determined to accept it. Because, she could not be sure she would ever escape their walled town.

A week had passed since her near miss and Elias had been spending as little time at home as possible. Their mother thought if his hair had a chance to grow their father might settle down. Eirwen liked it how it was, but she wouldn't risk her father's wrath. He loved her, and had even named her for their patron goddess, the Snow Wolf but she didn't have the freedom and near invulnerability that came with being first born. So, when her brother return with his hair just as short and just as ornery she stayed well out of his way. It was a wise decision.

The long month bathed all of Is'a Dale in darkness for weeks. Most families settled in for long days spent by the fire. The sparse business and visits that persisted happened by moonlight. Elias' apprenticeship could not continue until the long month passed, which meant Eirwen was forbidden from leaving to continue her own. Lest her absence be noticed by Elias.

Still, Eirwen longed to stroke the strings of her violin. She slept and dreamt of its music and all its opportunities when the light grew too poor to read. When Elias began with his favorite tirade she disappeared into her room, willing them to forget she was there. But, a few minutes later her teary eyed mother would knock on her door insisting she calm the situation. And, Eirwen, out of love, or obligation as the second born would do what she could.

"I'm not doing it anymore," Elias said, slamming his fist down on the table.

Their father squinted his eyes and pushed back in his chair.

"You are my first born. This is your path," he said, "and you will do it."

Elias thumped his fist on the table again.

"I don't care about your tradition. It could shrivel up and die for all I care!"

Their father sucked in a sharp breath like he'd been punched in the stomach.

"He doesn't mean it father," Eirwen said hurriedly, "It… it's just the night sickness."

Their father furrowed his brow and nodded. He wanted more than anything to believe her.

"No it isn't," Elias said, "That's crap and you know it."

"Elias!" Eirwen gritted her teeth, then turned to her father "Remember father? The last long month they had to tie the fletcher's apprentice down, because he kept wandering out into the snow?"

"Just a little night sickness," their father said and stood up.

"Yes dear, just the night sickness!" their mother chimed in, too cheerfully.

She hooked her arm in her husband's and led him out of the room.

Eirwen turned to the shuttered windows and imagined sunlight on the other side. She could feel Elias' glare at her back.

"You should prepare yourself sister," said Elias.

"For what?" asked Eirwen feigning happiness.

"To take the path of a healer."

"I can't!"

"Why not," he asked, "you don't have a chosen path yet, right?"

She wondered if he were testing her, to see if she would lie.

"I can't because that's the path of a first born. I am not a first born."

Eirwen turned to address Elias face on, but he was gone.

His ominous warning hung over her for several hours. The traditions were clear, as a second born, she was prohibited from learning the art and magick of healing. Not that she wished to. Is'a Dale held fast to its healers. They were respected, loved, and well off but they're never allowed to leave the isle. Elias was being honored by being chosen for it, but he hadn't seen it that way. Eirwen had been chosen for music, an opportunity that nearly promised a life beyond the isle. A fact she and her parents hid from Elias.

The remaining weeks were tense but uneventful and when the first rays of sun streaked across the sky Eirwen felt light. Elias returned to his apprenticeship, and Eirwen eagerly awaited her parent's approval to return to her own. When her brother left the house she took to the back path through the woods. She nearly leapt the entire way to her master's home. The path wound through the trees to a small lake. Her master's house appeared to float in the middle, though it was built quite firmly on a stretch of land that rose in the middle. Eirwen climbed into a waiting boat and cradled her violin in her arms as she was pulled to the island.

Eirwen could hear chunks of ice bounce off the side of the boat but stared forward. Each thump quickened her heart until she couldn't distinguish between the ice and the pulse throbbing in her ears. Her master stood regal on the small island, draped in a silk blue tunic. Though a frigid wind tossed his graying hair, he stood poised. She tried to do the same, focusing on his grey eyes until the boat slide into his tiny harbor.

"You're late," he said as he helped her out of the boat.

"I'm sorry."

"Have you been practicing?"

Eirwen nodded, then shrugged. She had been practicing, as best she could when Elias was away.

"Child, you're very skilled, but it will amount to nothing without work."

"Yes Master," mumbled Eirwen as she bowed her head.

"Now," he said, "You'll kneel here and play until I relieve you."

Eirwen started to protest but the sound died on her lips with a sharp glance from him. She knelt obediently on the frozen ground before his house and began to play. He however disappeared inside his home and closed the door. The snow soaked through her slippers in minutes and numbed her toes. After ten minutes she could no longer feel her feet up to the ankle. Her knees ached and her gown offered little protection against the chill. Even her cloak became a burden, weighing her down as it absorbed the moisture in the air.

Yet, as the notes drifted up from the violin the pain melted away and she felt warmth. It spilled onto her face and seemed to melt the ice under her knees. She swayed into the melody like a reed in the wind, limber and arching toward the sky. Her snowy skin reddened and glowed as she saw the fields of wildflowers unfold before her. Tears welled up inside her at the sight of each delicate note lacing itself into the pattern of long, green grass. When her heart was too full to stand it the tears broke free like summer waves on a rocky beach. She was there, in a distant land where the sun breathed true warmth into the world and not the chilled imitation she knew. It was the world of the books she'd read and the dreams she'd dreamt. It was home.

She struggled to linger there as the music softened. The gentle vision wavered then began to disintegrate before her eyes, leaving patches of white where there was green. The color drained from the leaves and the reeds shriveled into thick frozen roots. She gasped deep, trying to taste the faded sweetness and spice that could only survive in her dreams. And, before she could stop herself the song died with the somber tug of her bow.

Her Master stood in the open doorway, as still and stern as ever, though tears spilled down his cheeks.

Properly warmed and filled with fragrant tea, Eirwen managed to fend off the sorrow. Though, her Master said nothing, nor even looked at her, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was assessing her. His head was bowed over the violin which he tended, lovingly. Even after a sparse 300 years with it, it touched her knowing it had been crafted for her, and her alone. Her sacred object… and she did feel sacred and ethereal with it in her hands. She was transformed and vitalized. As she mused over it, her Master went through the movements of tuning it, though Eirwen always took the greatest care of it.

"You're nearly ready to accept your role," he said, head still bowed over the violin.

Eirwen looked up, searching for a hint of tease, but found none.

"Truly?" she asked.

"I don't lie child, no time for it."

"No Master, only I meant--"

"I know what you meant, and I said it's nearly time. You've grown rather adept at it and I think you're nearly in sync with her."

Eirwen bowed her head and thanked him.

"You should notify you're family, you'll finally gain your majority when you're done."

She inhaled sharply and bit her bottom lip. Her Master raised her violin and bow to her, but as Eirwen tried to retrieve it, her Master held fast. Graveness was etched into the corners of his grey eyes and permanently furrowed brow.

"This has been three centuries in the making. You know what is at stake if something happens to your violin before you achieve majority. This is your final lesson, do not succumb to foolishness and lose your way."

"Yes Master," she replied softly as she took the violin and tucked it away under her cloak.

Drifting across the water her Master's warning and the news of her freedom warred in her thoughts. But, the light of adulthood and all it's possibility won. She could hardly notice the rocking of the boat as she reached land. Though she passed by endless crops of trees laden with snow, though the ground was washed in white, she moved swiftly though the forest seeing only green. Had she wings, she would have taken flight, gliding through the winding wood until her pale feathers dropped her at the mountain walls and the house nestled within it.

Before she sought out her parents she hide her violin in her room. Then she thoroughly searched the halls and common rooms for Elias. When she was sure she was safe she presented herself to her parents, hands clasped behind her back, head bowed and waited. They'd been speaking about the recent absence of the town's council leaders. Eirwen waited silently to be recognized, as was expected of her. When, after several minutes the discussion ended her mother nodded in her direction.

"Da, Mam, my Master believes I'm ready to claim my majority," Eirwen said, beaming.

Her parents glanced at one another then beckoned Eirwen closer. She knelt at her parents feet and sat back on her heels. Gently her mother brushed back the unspun black hair around the crown of Eirwen's face, an unusually tender gesture.

"Mam? Mother?"

"Thoughtless child," said her father sternly, "You cannot accept your majority before your brother. It is unseemly."

Eirwen furrowed her brow, trying hard not to yell out.

"It's not that we aren't happy," said her mother, "Just, that tradition demands your brother be first. After that we'll all celebrate your mastery."

Eirwen nodded though she barely heard a word.

"Not a word of this to your brother," said her mother, still smoothing over her hair, though there were no stray strands to right. "You mustn't upset him."

"Yes mother," said Eirwen, waiting only to be dismissed.

Her mother patted the top of her head then set her on her way. Leaving the room, Eirwen felt her heart drop to her stomach. Her feet were leaden and her head ached. How could I be so careless, she thought, of course she couldn't accept her majority before an elder. And yet, even as she chastised herself she began to cry.

Weeks drifted in and out of Eirwen's peripheral vision. She searched through her books for something to soothe the deeply seeded sorrow. She accepted various chores and errands to spend as much time busying herself as she could. She'd visit the gazebo behind her home to play whenever Elias was away for training, or amusing himself in ways his parents preferred to ignore. Recent illness breed restlessness in the community that seemed to rival her own. Soon, she thought, very soon. The mantra helped pass the hours that she'd normally spend with her master. At night she'd slip her hands under her bed and tenderly run her fingers up and down the strings until the temptation overwhelmed her. Then she'd go to the window and gaze out into the grey and
white world. Soon.

As though in response to her silent pleas, Elias seemed to warm up to the future. His demeanor was increasingly civil, and in some cases pleasant. His parents were overjoyed, lavishing him in increased attention, as though it were possible to spoil him further. Even his attitude with Eirwen seemed softer. She accepted ravenously. He treated her to walks through the wood, and accompanied her on errands. Though, as his mood improved, the health of their community deteriorated.

Nervousness curled in the streets like a layer of soot, kicked up with the foot traffic. Merely breathing in a shops awakened fear. Soon they'd be calling on Elias and any others they could to temper the suffering. A fact that seemed to amuse Elias.

"They'll need priests soon. Very soon," he said one evening without provocation.

His family looked at him questioningly.

"Which means I will have to accept my majority soon," he said to the silence.

He twined a crystal vial around his neck that Eirwen hasn't seen before. But, by the bright looks on her parent's faces she assumed it was his sacred object. Soon, she thought.

It was another month before the illness took the first elf, a child of fifty-two. Now, sadness dulled her anticipation. Yet, Eirwen was lifted each night she traced her fingers over her violin. Each curve brought new hope to the grey world.

"Eirwen?" called her brother from the shadows outside the gazebo.

"Hmm?"

"Come inside. It's too cold to be out now," said Elias sweetly.

"It's always cold," she replied, though she rose.

Moving toward the stairs, it seemed Elias ducked back, keeping himself shrouded in the shadow. Before she could question him, he spoke up.

"I made the fire in your room," he said, and gestured toward the house.

"Oh! Thank you!"

She moved swiftly towards the house, stepping out of her shoes as soon as she entered. Elias was steps behind her, following her to her room.

"Bundle up close, I doubt our parents want you ill."

Eirwen pulled a throw off her bed and wrapped it around herself then settled into a seat by the fire. She was grateful for the calming warmth, as her brother's gentleness was almost unbearable. Her eyes followed the flickering flames which seemed to spark more than usual. The blackened wood crackled and curled in the fire. For a second it took on a familiar shape. Then the second stretched into minutes. Her smile faded and she stood, shakily. Numb feet carried her to the fireplace. She stuck her hands into the fire and tried to pull her out her violin but the pain seared her flesh. A frantic, ragged wail tore from her throat.

In a distant place her parents were dragging her from the fire and holding her against the bed as she flailed. In a nightmare she was being restrained and the fire snuffed. In another life she saw her brother's high pretentious brow raised in her direction.

"Surely you didn't think I'd let the family spare show me up."

A cloth was pushed over her face and unconsciousness took her.

The night brought dark dreams. Her fantasy world was blanched and barren even in its visual warmth. The flowers were faded and the sunlit grass was chilled. There were no cheery birds or playful wildlife enjoying the delights of the land. Even the sun stood full and high, but a pale yellow that barely registered against the grey sky.

She woke to find her Master at her bedside. Her wrists were free and her damaged fingers bound in cloth. She flexed them painfully as her Master informed her of the recent occurrences. Her brother had absconded shortly after the incident and had not been located. The consensus was that he'd fallen to his death attempting to climb the cliffs encasing most of Is'a Dale. And to compound the matter, there were two more deaths to the growing plague.

Eirwen accepted the news solemnly though he had not addressed what frightened her most.

"Master?"

"Don't," he said softly, "Please don't child. There is nothing I can do."

She bit her lip and turned away. She felt the bed shift as he rose.

"I truly am sorry, Eirwen."

The door closed and left her to mourn.

When she emerged from her room she drifted through the house like a wraith. She ate enough to silence her parents but her lithe form grew gaunt. She didn't protest when her things were moved to her brother's room. It was only customary she be treated as an only child. Yet, she found the room stifling despite being substantially larger. After only a night she returned to her own room, now barren save her bed.

There were no errands for her to run, or chores to tend to. Not that her parents would meet her gaze long enough to assign them. They did not attempt to soothe her, but Eirwen suspected it was lacking ability rather than want. Regardless, they left her to her uncertainty. If they knew what was to come, they made no move to warn her.

They came soon enough, the priests of Is'a Dale, before the bandages had been removed from her hands. After a short meeting with her parents they descended upon her, poking and inspecting her down to her fingertips.

"You're healthy enough, if not a little thin," grumbled one priest.

"I-I can't" Eirwen cried.

"Nonsense," said her father, squaring himself in the doorway, "It's a wonderful opportunity. It isn't often one is offered a second chance."

"I don't want a second chance," she screeched, yanking her arm out of a priest's grasp.

"Eirwen you don't have any other option," said her father.

She wanted to kick and scream, because your darling son destroyed them! But she couldn't bring herself to such cruelty.

"I haven't been trained," she said through a waterfall of tears.

All but one priest filled out of the room past her father. He was slight with serious blue eyes.

"That's true," said the priest in a lyrical voice, "But we have ways around that. Don't think of this as a punishment child, after your trial tomorrow you'll have your majority and you'll be helping your community. It's a good thing."

He didn't stay long enough to hear her objections. Nor did he attempt to sooth her fears. He did however leave a parting gift, several guards posted to ensure she did not escape into the night. Lest she shun the gift he'd offered.

They came again before the sun rose. They came for her, shrouded in white robes on ivory steeds. They dressed her in shades of snow and draped her in her own sorrow. Her hair was brushed out roughly and anointed with oil and a crystal vial tied to her neck and fused together with fire. They lifted her to a horse of her own, though they bound her hands to the harness. They rode for hours along the great walls surrounding the isle. They continued climbing the steep heights leading up to the mountain peeks long after the sun reached it's highest point.

As the evening started to bleed into the sky they reached their destination, the remains of an ancient temple. What has not already gone to ruin was being worn away by years of wind and freezing rain. There, they pulled Eirwen down and spoke over her.

Eirweness er saghst.
Eirweness er draust.


Snow Goddess take her.
Snow Goddess keep her.

The head priest pulled her head back and poured a droplet of water from his own vial into both of her eyes. She blinked away the water and looked around. The priests were already moving away and back to the horses.

"Wait, does that mean it didn't work?" she asked, reaching out to them.

"It worked," said one of them, though they were harder to make out in the growing twilight.

"But, what am I supposed do?" she asked walking towards her horse.

"Make it back," said the same priest as he pulled her horse out of reach.

She tottered then stumbled over a fallen trunk she's failed to see. When she looked up the priests were further away, though it was harder for her to judge their distance in the failing light. She looked up at the sky, confused by the fullness of the moon. Yet, the light seemed to be distant and diffused. She blinked and rubbed her eyes but nothing worked.

"Wait!" she yelled after the priests then ran forward.

She tripped again but this time she fell. She couldn't see what had brought her down. She couldn't see anything at all.

"Wait!" she cried out, "Please don't leave me!"

Trembling, she crawled across the icy ground, feeling her way back by the hoof prints. Maybe, she allowed herself to hope, she'd be able to get home. Patting the ground and moving a few inches at a time, she took care not to deviate even when something blocked her path. Not even when she had to crawl through the foul gifts the horses had left. When the snow drifted down in silken layers she began to panic. Her gown, mucky from her lumbering pace clung to her legs and slowed her further.

Already the snow had begun to fill in the hoof prints. She scrambled for her next marker but found only slush and darkness. She crawled a while longer, unsure then slumped onto the ground. Rolling onto her back she gazed up at nothingness as the snowflakes fell into her open eyes. If she were to die, she would do it thinking of what she loved. Her mind grasped at notes, trying to recreate the sensation of wood in her fingers. Her heart lurched as the first hints of music trickled into her thoughts. Recollection gave way to tears and a kind of peace.

Snow began to cover her as she played a longer piece in her thoughts than she'd even managed with her fingers. The music cycled through, gaining complexity as it grew, evolved. The darkness seemed inviting now, and her body began to give into the pull of the music. It lifted her, weightless into the world. She was born into a fiery existence that survived only in her dreams where she had no body, only a soul fused with the music.

She closed her eyes and fell into the warm arms embracing her, rocking her. She was sure she heard the heartbeat of the Isle twine itself into the song. She heard every leaf, tree, rock. Every snowflake fell in harmony with the notes and she breathed in tune with them. When she opened her eyes there was whiteness everywhere, embracing her. White hair fell over her chest. White lashes fluttered in an ethereal breeze. White lips kissed her brow and white limbs hugged her to the bosom of an elven woman.

Eirwen couldn't speak, though she tried. She could only watch as the whirlwind of snow surrounding them melted away. The pale creature set Eirwen down at the edge of the town. She looked out over the silent streets then back toward the woman. She stood stoically offering up Eirwen's violin. Hesitantly, Eirwen accepted it. It made her heart ache to hold it. Though it felt like hers this one had the image of a white wolf etched into it where her Master's emblem had been.

Eirwen turned toward the town and began to play the music from her dreams. As she played, the snow danced to the music's will. It swelled and ebbed, and swirled in harmony. Though time passed and the night's sky began to lighten she never tired. Her hands never ached. Her song never stopped. The music wafted through all of Is'a Dale until it had roused them all. They filled into the village streets to hear her and wept with a sorrow they couldn't understand.

Three days she held them enthralled. Three days until the music finally died, taking the sickness with it.

She turned away from them then, finding her savior gone. Then slowly, deliberately marched to the only exit of her walled world, through the towering mountain pass. The villageers followed and watched as she stepped out onto the savage sea. Bow in hand she began to play once more, this time to the water. As she played she walked onto a path of ice forming beneath her feet.

She left the isle that day, and took the snow with her.