Four
Idrys woke first, lethargy and deep exhaustion pervading his limbs. He could scarce keep his eyes open long enough to register that the little cabin was sunlit. He felt his brother breathing next to him on the wide bed. Furs, damp with sweat from sleeping, matted against his skin, itching slightly.
The bed was soft and warm beneath him, his head pillowed on more furs, his brother’s soft dark hair brushing along his cheek with every breath. It was warm and comfortable and he could not resist the pull of sleep as it reclaimed him, though the nagging sense of apprehension followed him into his dreams.
Idrys dreamed of fire and the smell of burning leather and fur. Then smoke, thick enough to burn his eyes and sting his lungs. An owl, silent and pale, landed on the shifting stones beneath his bare feet. It turned its head halfway around and spoke to him in a chorus of voices.
Run.
Idrys awoke again, this time with adrenaline coursing through his blood. He sat straight up, the lethargy and comfort of earlier purged and only urgent fear remaining. Emyr was awake beside him, also sitting up and breathing hard. They looked each at the other.
“A dream,” Idrys whispered.
“I dreamt, too,” Emyr said. “I saw fire and much smoke.”
“And an owl.” Idrys nodded. They’d shared dreams before, though none quite so clear as this.
“She’s not like to let us go anytime soon, is she?” Emyr shuddered.
“Not likely. Though really, is it so bad? We’re living a dream of many young men, eh? All the food and, well, and other things that anyone could want. No chores, no one making us learn sums or sit through boring hearings on the grievances of this sheep farmer or that one.” Idrys gave his brother a weak smile.
“Perhaps, Idrys.” Emyr sat then for some minutes in silence, pulling the furs further up over himself although the little room was warm enough with the clear sunlight pouring in the window and the little smokeless coals glowing in the brazier.
After a time he turned his head to his brother and rested his cheek on his drawn-up knees. “But how much time passes out there? I remember in the stories the places under the domain of the Fair Folk mark the passage of time differently from our own. What if we stay here only a few weeks before she bores of us or consents to release us and time has passed so quickly in the world that it is more like years? I remember tales where the youth lived with his lover and when he emerged from their realm, centuries had passed and all he knew before was gone.”
Idrys turned to sit facing his brother with legs crossed. He thought a moment on what his brother said. If it were true, then he might never see his mother again or his father. He thought on his mother’s dark eyes and the soft swish of her skirts as she walked. She never raised her voice to her sons or to anyone else for that matter, always gentle though often stubborn, a green stalk that will bend but never break.
He thought too of his father, Brychan, a chief in more than just name. His father often raised his voice, quick to passionate anger, but also quick to kindness and understanding after, his moods flashes of flame in the dark, there and gone again. He might never see gentle Efa or sweet and sarcastic Caron, never win his bet that he could outrace Llew to the weeping tree and back.
Even as he recalled each face languor slipped back over him. Warmth, sudden and unnatural pervaded his body and seeped into his thoughts. Desire rose unbidden, clouding the memories, pulling away the faces he conjured in his mind.
“Idrys!” Emyr knelt over him, shaking him roughly by the shoulders.
Idrys shook his head to clear the cobwebs of need and want from his mind. He took a few deep breaths.
“We need to escape,” he said, shoving away the strange sadness that gripped him. He was unused to such gripping, deep emotions, being much like his father. Feelings came quickly as whims struck him and rarely stayed long.
“Where did you go just now? I swear I spoke your name three times before you heard me,” Emyr said, releasing his shoulders.
“I don’t know. I feel very strange, Em. I think that’s why we have to go.”
Idrys rose, climbing over his brother. He walked to the door and found it locked as tightly as before. This did not surprise him and sighing he moved to relieve himself and find his clothing.
“How? She’ll not let us out.” Emyr found his own tunic folded neatly on a shelf near the door.
“Mayhap if we lull her into thinking we no longer wish to leave she’ll let us bathe outside. I could use a bath, as could you.” Idrys gave an exaggerated sniff.
“It’s worth a try, eh?” Emyr grinned, feeling better now that they had a plan. “I wish I knew what she’d done with our knives and my bow.” He looked around, but no weapons presented themselves. “We might be able to cut that window pane, whatever it is, if we had something heavy or sharp.”
“We could try to smash it with the kettle, but she’s likely to be back soon if yesterday is any indication. I don’t think she likes to leave us alone for long. And if that’s some sort of stone, it will make a fearsome racket even if it cracks.” Idrys shrugged, feeling adverse to action for once, yet unsure of what it might mean exactly.
“It’s too hard to think when she’s around.” Emyr shifted uncomfortably as thinking about Seren brought on a wave of mingled desire and confusion.
Idrys moved to his brother and wrapped his arms around Emyr’s slim form. “Indeed. But think what a tale this will be once we’re home.”
“If any believe us.”
“I’ll make them believe. Besides, mother always knows when we lie. She’ll at least believe and if she believes, father will cleave to her. He always does.”
Emyr chuckled at this truth spoken and the twins laid a head each on the shoulder of the other as they waited for the Fairy to return.