Arcadia Forging

There was a fire. They’d felt it before they saw it: a looming danger somewhere close, crawling towards them, trying to swallow them. Like a beast in a forest, a predator on the hunt. An all-consuming heat.

Feid startled awake, sitting up. A breath. One, two, three breaths. Quiet. Clear air. No roar, no heat, no flames licking their body, just the night, their bed, soft grey of dawn soon to take over the world. They looked around in the dark room, just to be sure, their heart still beating faster.

A nightmare, then. Okay, sure. That happened sometimes, nothing to fret about. They lied down again, closing their eyes. Still a few hours before work, might as well use them.

No more dreams came that night.

*

It was an uneventful day at work. All days were in the town: quiet, slow, filled with talking to customers at the gardening centre they worked at, some of them angry, some of them nice.

It was soft for the soul, this life, even if a bit numbing for the mind. Feid didn’t mind that. For the longest time, they were inclined to quiet, as if something was telling them to lay low. They’d thought that maybe it was anxiety or depression at first, but no, it was rather like a faint shadow on their life, nothing drastic. Steady hands and easy heartbeat. A memory of a previous life, someone had told them once.

“Maybe”, Feid had answered then, because not wanting to go to a big city hadn’t exactly been a problem. Someone had to stay and work here instead of studying or climbing the corporate ladders. The only ladder they climbed was the one in the shop, to reach the highest shelves, and they honestly preferred it this way.

“Are you alright, love?” Mrs Ryan stopped their train of thought. Feid smiled at her and ruffled their honey-coloured hair.

“Yes, thank you, I just… Didn’t sleep very well.” They shrugged. “Mondays, right?”

Mrs Ryan had reached the age where all days were Sundays a long time ago. Now she made a concerned face.

“Bad dreams?”, she asked. She was always so sweet, Feid thought and smiled reassuringly again. A glimmer of fiery red flashed in the corner of their eye and they turned their head to look after it as they reached out to Mrs Ryan to give her the bag.

Feid hissed in pain suddenly, wincing and turning back to the elderly woman in front of them. She reached out her free hand to touch their palm again, now even more concerned.

“It’s a rather nasty burn, isn’t it?” She looked at Feid sympathetically. “Some aloe vera should help. Was it something in the shop?”

Feid looked at their hand in surprise. It was a nasty burn. “Yeah. In the shop. Thank you for the tip, I’ll try it”, they answered absently, looking past her again, but the red-headed customer had long disappeared. Mrs Ryan left a moment later.

They bit the inside of their cheek, rubbing at the skin right on the border of the burn they apparently had.

They’d remember burning themself, wouldn’t they?

*

The fae didn’t have any kings anymore. They’d slaughtered all of their princelings and princesses to make sure. There’d been smoke and the smell of burning flesh, and blood, and the sound of blades unsheathing. Someone had shouted. Someone had wailed.

And then the world fell apart.

Feid gasped for air, jostling awake. No, it’s not true, they thought fiercely. It’s not because I am… They stopped, blinking into the dark. Afterimages slowly faded from their eyes.

How can I have afterimages of something that’s just in my head?, they thought, deciding maybe they were still half asleep.

A strange taste lingered on their tongue, metallic and earthy. No matter. Better to catch some more sleep before they scare more customers tomorrow.

*

There was that glimpse of red again the next day, as they were walking through the town after work. Feid turned, their steps quickening of their own will, as if they were being pulled somewhere. Some inexplicable ache flashed in their throat and disappeared.

A man. His hair was dark, just a glimmer of red in it, but Feid could’ve sworn it was him, standing at the end of the street. They couldn’t see his eyes.

“Hey!”

They had to talk, Feid realised. When they blinked, the man was gone.

*

The ache returned. It felt like missing someone they couldn’t remember, a phantom pain. As if they were religious once, and lost all faith.

Nonsense, Feid thought, walking through the shrubs just outside the town. It was getting dark now, the golden hour already past them. Being out here in the wild always soothed them. The nature was harsh but not unkind, peppered with flowers between tall grasses and thorns, creeping woody stems catching their legs sometimes.

They were never religious. Without that gift, they’d said once. Or that curse.

They hissed in pain again, sharp inhale of surprise. They looked down: they were clutching handfuls of hawthorn branches and one of the thorns had cut their hand. Blood pooled inside their palm, fresh and red, and alive.

“Feidlimid.” A voice, hoarse, quiet, urgent. Swelling with emotions. Feid raised their eyes towards the sound, cradling their hand.

It was the man again. His hair was dark and yet they knew it was blood red, too. Their eyes met. Feid reached out to him, a sudden lump in their throat again, hurried, there was no time. Blood fell from their hand and dripped on the ground between them, between the hawthorn branches.

Feid opened their mouth to speak, to call to the man. They had to, they’d burst otherwise, and they feared they wouldn’t reach him in time. They almost got the words out.

*

They opened their eyes in bed again.

“No”, they said out loud, refusing the reality. In the room, the air smelled like distant smoke and fields burning. When had they come home? How? They wanted to cry out into the night. “No!”

Was it a nightmare again? It was overwhelming, yes, Feid thought. But not a nightmare.

They curled their hands into fists and their breath hitched from a sudden pang of pain. They looked at their hands in the shadows of the early morning. There was dirt under their nails. A bead of blood formed on the inside of their palm, caught the first ray of sun and disappeared. The skin was intact.

*

Mrs Ryan was in the shop again the next morning. “Just some twine”, she said, smiling at them, her face kind. Feid brought it over the counter. “Are you feeling better, love?”

They nodded, although it wasn’t exactly true. They felt… different. Tingling. Powerful. Angry, somehow, and urgent, like they were just about to do something and forgot. Something had been taken from them and they wanted it back. They had to get it back, and set the world right again.

Maybe I have a fever, they thought, but said nothing, trying not to worry the elderly lady in front of them. She was always nice but they were sure she gossiped about them with others, the quiet stranger who came to live in their town with no relatives, no past. They told a story of trying to uncover some long lost family history here, a poor orphan seeking comfort, and it soothed most people. It soothed Feid, too.

They only knew their first name, their last name made up by the institutions just to give them something. But they were a good citizen, hard worker, quiet lad. No parties, no girls or boys, no heavy drinking in the pubs. The others could spare them their occasional strangeness.

They paid the price.

Feid used their break to go outside for a smoke. They’d quit, sure, but they needed something today. There was a faint hope they’d see that man again, that familiar stranger.

He was there, near the entrance. Impossibly, he was there, tall and dark, and urgent like a fire.

“We have the same dreams”, Feid blurted out at him as he walked over to them. “Don’t we?”

He was close. Feid could feel his warmth, that dizzying smell of fields and smoke. “We do”, he said, his voice hoarse. “Please wake up.” Feid opened their mouth to ask him what it was that they forgot, that they had to remember, that they lost. They reached out a hand and almost touched him.

They caught a pack of smokes instead. There was no one there, just Feid in the still summer heat.

He was a part of what Feid lost, they realised. He and the love for him. They had to get through the dreams to reach him.

They stumbled as they walked back to the shop.

*

They’d go straight home after work, they decided. Lie down, sweat it out.

Before they could leave through the little square, something stopped them in their tracks. Mrs Ryan was there, near the centre, making bouquets at a little impromptu stall. She waved to Feid. So that’s what she needed the twine for, they thought. Weird choice of plants, though. They looked at big handfuls of St. John’s wort, long stems with golden flowers sprinkled all over. They breathed in and the sweet smell hit them, and Feid suddenly felt terribly dizzy and sick.

A fever, then. Their hands trembled. They had to go home.

*

It was getting worse. Cold sweat broke out on their back and they stumbled inside their flat, trembling. Dizzy, they felt so dizzy, the walls closing in on them. It was hard to breathe, their lungs burning like they’d been running for way too long.

Their knees gave up under them and they fell on the bed, right into sleep or a feverish trance, they wouldn’t be able to tell.

Someone somewhere knocked. “Áedán”, Feid muttered, relief flooding them, as darkness finally took their vision. It was him.

*

It was hot and cold at once, cold sweat on their back, as they fell down into Áedán’s arms.

“I’m here”, he muttered into their hair, pulling Feid closer. It was him, the man with the dark hair that flashed red, and Feid missed him so much, they were apart for so long. Their cheeks were wet with tears, but they felt no shame. Áedán’s strong arms kept them steady and close. “I’m here, your grace. I’m here.”

They were hidden in a cave under an enormous tree. In the underworld, Feid realised. The realm between. They knew it; it seemed obvious now. There was a sweet smell of rot and wet earth and distant smoke. The world around them was breathing slowly, deeply, everlasting. The fae world was somewhere beyond. The human world… Feid didn’t know anymore. It was impossible to tell.

“Áedán, my little flame”, they whispered, as they calmed and pulled away a bit to look at him. His pale face was serious and handsome in the dead light coming from the mushrooms around them. His features softened at Feid.

Áedán put his hand on his chest and nodded. “Your grace.” Feid shook their head and he smiled. “Feidlimid, my ever-good.”

Feid reached out and pressed their hand to Áedán’s breast, right next to his fingers. His chest was still. He wasn’t breathing.

They understood suddenly, everything at once.

*

The fae had shattered the courts. Murdered all their rulers. All their heirs.

All but one, Feid thought as they awoke, opening their eyes suddenly at the dark ceiling. All but the one who ran away to the netherworld, not a prince and not a princess, hidden by the one they called the flame. Hidden by the one Feid loved and had thought to be a priest of the god of the dead. He wasn’t.

They hadn’t died, though they were supposed to. They had the favour of Áedán, the flame, and he was Aed, death himself. How could they not have realised before?

They fell into impossible slumber but it was time now, they thought, getting up in the morning. It was almost harvest time, the summer sun high in the sky, bright and ready to burst.

It was time to go for a drink.

*

Feid sat down at the terrace in the cafe. They knew the owner there; a stern man with a bright daughter who’d come over during vacations to help out. She’d tried to pick them up once, warm and eager. They refused her gently then.

“Ah”, she said now, with a soft smile, seeing Áedán sit down next to Feid. “I get it. Enjoy, babes!”

She left two glasses of tereré in front of them and disappeared inside the cafe. Feid looked after her, their head tipped slightly to the side. Neither of them had ordered yet. Stranger things would happen in this town, of stranger powers.

“I forgot.” Feid’s voice was raspy and pained. Áedán’s eyes met theirs. “The rebellion. You…”

“This”, Áedán cut in, reaching out for his cup. “This is a type of holly.”

Feid blinked, confused. They felt still asleep. “What?”

“Drink.” He slid the other cup to them but didn’t take away his hand. “It’s a type of holly plant. Yerba mate. It’ll help you get stronger.” Feid touched his palm unsure, raising the cup. Áedán’s skin was warm, warm and good, and they knew his touch would be cleansing. Like a fire. “I forgot, too. Fell asleep to save us. But I remembered… the sense of you. I found you.”

They blinked. Cold, muddy brew helped them see. “I thought you died.” Their voice almost didn’t crack, saying it. “I thought we… Everything died.”

Áedán shook his head, his features sharp and beautiful in the heat.

“No. The realms just… fell apart. It’s harder to cross. But it’ll be possible on Lughnasadh.”

Feid’s grip on the cup tightened, their face hardening at the thought. They remembered suddenly. Their kingdom, taken from them violently. Their family. Their past. “They won’t take my future”, they said quietly. “I have to go back.”

Their rage was reflected in the flames in Áedán’s eyes for a brief moment. “Yes.”

Grief, that overwhelming kind of love, gripped Feid’s stomach tight. And then desire, when Áedán’s knee brushed theirs. Like they’d been so thirsty and were just now raising a glass of holy water to their lips. “Will you come with me?”

They wouldn’t be able to say if they meant the inevitable battle or their apartment right now. Maybe both. Áedán’s features softened for a second, before the sun caught in their hair, making it look ablaze. “Yes.”

*

“Is this a dream now, Áedán? Are we awake?” Feid’s voice was urgent, strained as they touched him in the dark.

“Maybe it’s both”, he answered, returning the touch. “Feidlimid. Your grace”, he added, stopping them, Feid’s hands still on his body. Burning. “You have to make a decision. There has to be a ruler.”

He sat up and gestured to a crown of holly lying at the feet of the bed. Feid’s heart beat faster. “I… I don’t know.” They turned their eyes to him. “Can you… can we…” They weren’t sure what they meant. There was a half-formed idea in their head but it refused to be caught. It was so hot in there, too hot to think, and so dizzy again.

Maybe it was still a dream, they thought, getting lost in Áedán.

*

They stumbled in the hawthorn fields outside the town again, their steps lit only by the torch in Áedán’s hand.

Lughnasadh. The time of harvest. A feast and a funeral.

How fitting.

Feid had brought the twine from the shop with them to use before… Before they’d cross. They passed the townspeople at the summer festivities. Would they miss it? Afterwards?

“Here.” Áedán stopped a few paces ahead. Feid joined him, felt for his free hand in the dark and gripped it tight. There was smoke coming from the ground, a tiny ribbon swirling up in the hot August night.

Áedán turned towards them, so they were both standing over the smoking stain on the ground. It’s where I cut my hand, Feid realised. So it was real, even though they dreamt it. Áedán raised the torch higher, so they could see better, and Feid moved both their hands over the smoke, fastening them with the twine. It would have to do for now. Flames cast sparks in their eyes and Feid reached out with the holly crown in their other hand.

“I want you to get it with me”, they said, their tone serious, watching Áedán’s unmoving face. “Fight with me, yes. But then rule with me.” Áedán raised his eyes from the crown in Feid’s hand, ready to be put over their hands, here on Lughnasadh, and met their gaze.

A feast and a funeral, a rightful ruler and a god of death.

*

Feid jostled awake. No, they thought, panic rising in their throat. No, it had to be true. They put the holly crown over their hands, theirs and the hand of the god, and he promised to be theirs. It had to…

A distant flame crackled somewhere and the air smelled clearer. Feid realised they felt different. Themself again, like they’d truly woken up. Their heart beat faster as they sat up. So was it…?

“Áedán?”, they asked, their heart in their throat.

He was there. A blade blinked as the light from the fire danced on it when Áedán moved towards them. For a second, Feid felt scared. Maybe it was all a plot to catch them and finish the rebellion’s atrocity. Maybe…

Áedán smiled at them. Feid reached out to him, ready. Ready and truly awake, they thought as Áedán kissed their fingers. Aed, the god of the underworld.

Aed, the flame.

“Feidlimid, my ever-good. It is time for us to get it all back.”

The flame in which they forged the blades for the usurpers.