O.D. 9.5.2001 [1:29 p.m.]

(Another one of Jess's stories, also unfinished, also quite good.)

Once upon a time:

There was a tall ivory tower by the sea, lonesome among jagged knice-sharp crags and the intermidant wreath of sea-spray and mist. The tower was, some said, the heart of Ilonrie; yet others told that the tower was an outpost, a guardian, and it would sink back beneath the waves the day that the House of Ilonrie lost itself. Prophesies, there were aplenty, and, as always, they were puzzled over by scholars and then forgotten in dust.

Our story concerns itself with the youngest daughter of the Laird who ruled the surrounding lands. She, like all the dream-kind, living the kind of lives that spin in color, was fair. Her gaze was given its hue by the ocean washing upon distant shores, and they changed from color to color, first the gentle tidal wash of the shallow turquoise-green waters not yet discovered by man, then the purple sea-weed suffused blue-gray of the ocean Pacifica. Delicate, as though wrought from delicate bone-laced edges of the ocean itself, though stronger then she at first would appear, with lips as finely carved as perfection and a graceful way of carrying herself as though she were flying. The daughter of the Laird who ruled the lands (and waters) was sewn of moonlight and the sea with long rippling, wave-crashing, hair of sea-foam. The silken waterfall spill of ruptured starshine and foam was apt to shimmer and shine in ircandescent blues, so pale they were partially imagined, and rainbows ricketed around when the sunlight shone like water-droplets. Her temper was stormy, but her heart was good, and she wandered as far as she was let (then further).

Now, the Laird, her father, was a mighty lord. His eyes shone like amber-ringed coral or abalone or mother of pearl, and his beard was trim, the auburn of fire (beneath the ocean waves) twined in earth (in autumn at it's height). He was wise, and just, and fierce besides, and long did their family traffik with those who lived 'neath the waves. It was said that blood was mingled 'tween the Folk, and that those who ruled the tower were caught forever yearning after the sea on the shores of wild, lonely, Ilonrie.

Samhain, when the Seelie Courts power waned, and the oggles and boggles and nightmarish jinks grew ever bolder, and the redcap warriors feasted on the blood of travelers, and the sky was heavy and gray and the days were shorter and the nights were longer, was a time (of shadows and) great festivity. Always, the celebration was looked upon with a kind of thrilling fear that was pleasant in its nearness to the Mystery. Fear became lost in wild, wilder revelry, and they were not alone in this.

Odile, as the sea-foam girl with wild heart was called, sat astride a mighty steed. To call the stallion a horse would have been to severely insult its sense of dignity, for the steed was much smarter then any horse (and it had once been a mortal, long, long ago, who had sold his soul in a rather bad deal). Black as a star-studded night, with impatient tale, and hooves that sank into the ground and made noise like thunder. Her father, taller, in doublet black and gold, sat beside her on his own steed, more magnificent than even his daughters. She (for the Lairds steed was a Fallen Unicorn, whom had no horn, nor ever would remember having one for love or evil) was the white of the dancing foam and splashing starlight on the beating, bleating, thunderous waves ripping at the shore below them.

They were on a cliff. Not just a cliff. The cliff. Below them the sea raged and raged as though never it would stop, and beneath that rage was a call.

" Will we be beggars again?" she asked, leaning forward over (His name had been Larry, the poor fool...) her mounts neck, excited with the sensation of waiting in the lightning air. Always was it so, on Samhain.

" If you wish."

" Will we go to ... the mortals towns?"

" If you wish."

" Can we take one of them back with us?"

" If you wish."

" May I go hunting?"

" If you wish."

" May I leave this place, and go inland, away."

The trick still did not work.

" Away?" The Laird turned glimmering coral eyes upon his daughter, and they flashed with amber fire, and seemed to know too much; his tone was creepingly odd. " Why would you want to go inland? We have had this discussion before. The answer is still no."

Behind, on the darkened clifftop, where figures cavorted and danced and a cold winter-chilled wind swept across the ground, alive with danger, the tall bonfire grew brighter--a vivid violent orange--until it was like a small dark swallowed sun.

" I won't stay here," Odile said, lifting her chin, for she was willful.

" You have no choice."

" I will burn the tower, our castle, our city..."

He stared at her, anger mounting, face impassive. What she said was inconceivable, the gravest of horrors, of insults. " You would do this?"

"...if not in truth with my temper, father! I need to travel," a pause,"and I only ask your permission to be polite."

The Laird grunted, as if to say polite? when was my daughter ever polite? what did I do to deserve such a foolish headstrong girl.

She thought she had won, so she smiled radiantly. " Oh, thank you."

" I did not say yes, child, do not put words into my mouth. I am quite capable of that myself."

Her smile faded, into that place, beyond places, where the song of the seafoam crashing went when it's moment was done. She remained stonily silent, her face impassive, tempestuous.

" Content yourself with these things, I will have a new bow commissioned for your use, and only for your use, and it will be spectacular - beyond all other bows, beyond all other weapons, and it shall never miss a shot."

" Which I will then take when I steal away to live, and perhaps I would never come back," headstrong, too headstrong perhaps, the words - which she knew were what he feared would happen if she were allowed to wander - flew from her throat on wings of song before she even realized it.

" Daughter!!" his voice was the thunder of the sea, a booming tempest stirring, and those further up the cliff looked down upon the shining retinue. Those other nobles, though this night they pretended to be peasants, beggars, and traveling players; now but waiting for the word for the Ride, before the nights revelry was cut loose and permitted to be free; turned and glanced at the mighty Laird and his daughter, seated on their magnificent steeds, at the head of the path.

She would not be dissuaded, for she was her fathers daughter, though she longed to flinch in the face of his wrath. "A deal. One deal. If I win, I go, if I lose, I stay. I'll race you." She nodded, down the cliffs, to the water, past the waters, to the inlet at the other side of the world before there was nothing but horizon in every direction. "During the Autumn Ride through the wind and the waves, past our hallway, past our secret, to the very end and the other side--oh, please."