"Berries in the Snow" by David Michael

            Dusk in the Arsendale Forest washed silvery and cool through the snow-laden branches, which held back the high fire of the falling sun.  Early moonglow drifted unhindered through the needles, gently bathing the cheeks of four travelers.

            “You do realize we’re rather dependent on you not losing your way, Dameon.”  The Lone Knight stepped carefully around an area he had just noticed was directly under a rather heavy-laden branch.  The steel sheen of his mail was darkened greatly in the thick shadows of evening evergreen, but the silver pommel of the sword at his side glinted unusually bright.

            “I never lose my way,” replied Dameon Starwind.  “I never lose anything.”

            There was a sudden loud snap as an iced log caved in beneath his booted feet, but the rogue leapt nimbly forward and landed gracefully on a nearby stone.  His black cape swung breezily about his legs as he whirled on his heels and bowed deeply, sweeping his wide-brimmed hat from his head, one hand on his slender sword’s pommel.  “See, not a thing to worry about.”

            Ceril laughed, her dark eyes dancing.  “Not even your balance.  Most impressive, Master Starwind!”

            “Why thank you, Lady Wanderer.”  Though no one could see it, he chose to wink the eye that hid behind a black eye patch.

            Emerin Windrider stopped to gaze up at the towering pines and firs, her storm-gray cape billowing lightly in the soft winter wind.  “We’re lucky to — ”

            “Oh!  Holly berries!”  Ceril’s staff clattered to the ground as she shuffled under some thick icy-teared branches to get at a squat holly bush, bedecked with berries the color of red wine. 

            The Lone Knight cleared his throat and gazed sympathetically at the Windrider.  “You were saying?”

            “Well…oh drat, I forgot.”

            “Pity,” said Dameon, making sure his hat sat properly cocked at a roguish angle on his head.  “I tend to like the things you say.”

            “It was something about the stars, that I know.”

            Starwind sighed sorrowfully.  “Of course it would be.”

            “Sorry, darling!” Ceril smiled, looking apologetically at Emerin.  She gingerly closed her bag of holly and stood up.  “It’s just I’ve been looking for some of these to go around the collar of my cloak.  ‘Tis muchly fun to dress for Christmas.”

            Emerin glanced down at her own attire: a slate blue high-collared vest, grey breeches, and high grey boots.  “I don’t think red and green would go so nice with my wardrobe.  It’s wintry enough as it is, though.”

            “It’s perfect,” nodded the Lone Knight.

            Another chilled breeze drifted through the icy air from the direction they were headed.  Dameon leapt to a larger stone and peered through the thick layers of evergreen trunks, crouching.  He sniffed the air, and his brow creased.

            Ceril put a hand on her hip and looked squarely at the black-clad swordsman.  “But you, sir, could stand a dash of color at least somewhere.”

            “What?  Heresy!” exclaimed the Lone Knight.

            “Nonsense!” declared Emerin.  “He has plenty of dash.”

            “Why can’t you all accept that we’re all dressed perfectly?” cried the Knight.

            “Of course we all are,” said Ceril, adjusting her brown cloak more comfortably about her shoulders.  “But I think even a rogue can stand to have a Christmas look.  And a knight as well.”

            “Sh!”  Dameon motioned for their silence.  He stood up straight on the stone, waiting in absolute stillness as the off-and-on wind caused the hem of his cape to whisper with his boot tops.  “Can you smell something, in the air?  Something…sharp.  I can’t quite place it.  City scents are more my game.”

            Stillness washed in as the four travelers each tasted the crisp dark air.  Their breath puffed out in white wisps that rolled vigorously before dissipating.  The Christmas sky was a dark crystal mere of infinite sparkling fish, and pearl ribbons of moonlight unfurled their glory down through the mighty sentinels of oak, holly, pine, fir, and rowan tree.  Night had settled on the Arsendale with the giddiness of a long-awaited secret.

            “Mmm…smells good,” Emerin sighed.  She closed her eyes and smiled.

            Ceril sniffed the air delicately once, twice, thrice.  Her eyes brightened.  “It’s minty…yes, minty.  And…there are some awfully sweet spices too…”

            The Lone Knight raised an eyebrow.  “Someone preparing a Christmas tea party in the middle of the wild Arsendale Forest?”

            Dameon grinned.  “Wouldn’t you?”

            “I think Ceril’s been planning one, actually,” said Emerin.  “She wanted it to be a surprise, but I could smell the tea spices from her pack as I tried to sleep last night.”

            The brown-cloaked Wanderer had started to stroll slowly in the direction of the scent.  “…there’s a touch of apple cider, I think, and…something dark, and warm, like…like warm tree sap.  Oh that’s weird, but I don’t know how else to describe it!  I start thinking of fuzzy lambs and friendly fires, and then my mind jumps to something joyously majestic, and – the smell gets stronger this way, friends – and, images of these clear, cool voices on the wind sweep through my mind.  Beautiful, angelic voices, so happy and clear…gosh, it’s making me giddy with joy.  Only it’s not my joy, it’s someone else’s…like someone’s inviting me to a beautiful, reverent…oh, I don’t even know.  To a thought, I guess.  It’s like the sudden rolling back of a darkness that had once seemed too heavy to bear.”

            Beneath the rogue’s wide black brim, a sly smile spread under his sparkling good eye as he gazed in the direction Ceril was watching.  Only white shafts of moonlight now illuminated the trees.  None of the four travelers had ever been in the Arsendale before, but Dameon Starwind had heard tales of its lore.  He pulled a wing-shaped leaf from a branch above his head and examined it in the moonlight: ‘twas a teal color richer than the finest velvets of Trufanic royalty, and the jagged edges were rimmed in glimmering silver.

            “Fairies,” he said.  His friends turned to look at him, surprise glinting from their faces in the shadows.  He laughed from the stone where he was still perched and held out the teal leaf for Emerin to take and examine.  “With no aid whatsoever from my forestry skills, at last we have reached the heartwoods of the Arsendale Forest.  They are still vast, but I am told that somewhere here the elves have their strongholds, and the fairy folk their dances.”

            “Perhaps we’re being invited in?” mused the Lone Knight.  He pointed a gloved hand towards a spot between the trees far past Ceril, where it seemed a shimmering gold light was peeking through, fleeting, flirting, like a child anxious to show you the way to a secret hideout but still trying to get there first.

            Together they all passed deeper into the heartland of silver and teal-leaved trees, following the shapeless gold light which moved purposefully, but always remained just behind the trees, shining between them.  Dameon strode out ahead, his black boots crunching lightly in the snow.  A large wooded hill arose, but the light seemed to lead them around it.  Gradually it became fainter, paler, and then it faded into the moonlight.

            “Did you lose it?” called the Lone Knight to the rogue, a few yards ahead of them.

            Dameon turned slowly around, meeting his friend’s eyes with his own, burning out from beneath the wide brim of his black hat.

            “Oh, heh…sorry.”

            A reluctant smile appeared below the eye patch.  “It seems there’s some sort of clearing up ahead.  I’m sure we’d do very well to — ”

            “Look!”  Ceril pointed to the trees off to her right.

            Emerin gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth.  “How beautiful!”

            A sparkling ribbon of purple flitted through the white moonrays, or so it seemed, dancing and skating through the branches while millions of tiny stars fell from the fast-beating wings of the fairy, who in her arms carried a long blue feather.  She seemed to take no notice of them, but fluttered right through their midst, her tiny face glowing with anxiety, as if she was late for something.  The most pungent and sweet scent of fresh berries followed her, causing Emerin to sigh and hold Ceril’s shoulder as the Wanderer bit her lip excitedly.  The fairy whizzed up past Dameon’s shoulder, where she suddenly stopped and turned in the air, as if only then realizing the black-clad rogue was standing a breath away.  She pursed her lips, looked him up and down a bit, as he smiled bemusedly back.  Then, with a puff of raspberry scent and a wild, minxish grin, she flew up and stuck the blue feather in the band of his hat, and dashed off doing cartwheels through the trees until she disappeared behind the hill where the supposed clearing was.

            Ignoring the laughter of his friends, Starwind hurried after her, stopping at the edge of the clearing.  “Ah.  Here we go.”  He peered through the trees, and his voice dropped into reverence.  “So this is what Old Man Marli meant by ‘a glitzy gamboling of giggling fluttery fools.’”

            The Lone Knight stopped in his tracks.  “Hold on, are you saying you consulted Marli for this trip?  Our lives are dependent on instructions he gave?”

            “Oh, Marli!” laughed Ceril as they all joined the rogue.  “He’s such a dear old man, I love him!”

            “Dear, yes, but stable?”

            “Most certainly not.”  Dameon turned around, tipping his newly-feathered hat.  “That’s why I trusted him.”

            “Well that’s just brilliant.”  The Lone Knight rubbed his forehead and glanced heavenward.

            “I’ll say,” whispered Emerin.  She was peering with Dameon from the trees.

            A clear frozen lake stretched out before them, wide and smooth like a mirror, and over the ice a swirling host of fairies danced, skated, and cartwheeled through the air, drawing behind them bright dusty sprinkles of every imaginable color.  Each fairy left a streak of its particular hue in the air which was reflected below, so it was as if a painter had soaked parts of a needled evergreen branch in every color of his palette and gleefully bounced it across the ice.  In the center of the lake was an island of snow and rock, from which rose as stately an authority as ever a tree was, and its glory seemed to be the greater because it pointed straight to heaven.  Its strong, richly brown branches bore the great silver-tipped teal leaves, which groaned under the weight of mounds of pure white snow.  Garlands of silver and gold hung about it, and the fairies bustled industriously about with decorations of the most inventive and delightful kind.  Some were wood, others were of gemstone and precious metals, and some…some glowed with unearthly glory.  At the highest point of the Tree, a veritable peak, hovered a simple star, burning with an inward light and bathing the entire lake with a gentle, musical pulse.

            The four friends stepped out from the trees and stood for awhile on the snow bank, gazing at the celebration before them.  A kaleidoscope of colors reflected off their smiles.

            “Well done, old boy,” whispered the Lone Knight.

            “You do us proud, Windbrother,” whispered Emerin.

            “So,” said Ceril softly to the rogue, “I take it this is your Merry Christmas to us?”

            “Well,” said Dameon, “I’ve never been much with words.”