Winter Song by Jae Miles

Jamie left the noises of the party behind as he stepped out of the hall into the chill of the night. He took a deep breath to clear his head, then rubbed his face vigorously with his hands before looking about. More snow had fallen, its gentle sweep softening the shapes in the car park, making fantasy art of the playgound and forming sparkling swathes in the moonlight that struck through the clearing clouds. Far away, down toward the town, the amber of the streetlights struck contrast to the moonlit building tops. As the clouds cleared and the wind dropped, the quiet took on a life of its own, enfolding all but the party going on behind. Jamie looked back and smiled. Stephanie wouldn't miss him. It was her big night, and big brother would only make her feel that she should behave herself. Jamie walked out of the car park and turned towards the town. A nightclub, perhaps, or maybe a movie. He'd still be back in time for the send off.

As he strode carefully on, the quiet became more intense, and he marvelled at the absence of people. Not a car, not a siren. An unusual Saturday night. Jamie walked on, entranced by the silence and the glow of the snow in the moonlight.

As he walked past a snow laden bush, he dislodged a tumble of powdery snow that fell into a patch of moonlight that spilled through a gap in the hedge. It lay there, an untidy pile of minature jewels, glinting like a King's ransom in the silver light. Jamie crouched, reaching a finger to stir the pile. He remembered what his father had said about snow, many years before; "It's grand stuff, lad, and the Fey love it, they do. For the winter months, they wear it as jewellery, and use it as goodwill coin". A much younger Jamie had asked, "But when will I see the Fey, father?" his father had smiled, and put a hand on Jamie's shoulder. "When you stop trying, Jamie lad."

"But if I don't look, I won't see 'em."

"I didn't say don't look, I said stop trying. Relax and they'll appear if you're worthy."
"Worthy? How do I get that?"

"Just be good, lad, be good. And not just do as you're told good either. Good is an all the time thing, not just when you're being watched. The Fey are powers, laddie. If you're lucky, you'll see some of the little folk, the Thanna Sidhe. But you'll have to be something special to see the Sidhe themselves."

"I'm going to see the Sidhe, one day."

"That's as good a dream as I can think of, Jamie. Remember it." And Jamie had. Even after father had died and mother had dragged the family back to the city, Jamie had been the good one, always sacrificing his wishes to the needs of his family. After all these years, the dream of the Shee was something that made him smile, even though 'doing the good' had become second nature to him.

Reaching the outskirts of the town, Jamie paused and leant on a lamp post, looking about. A really beautiful night, he decided. As he looked back the way he had come, he saw a figure in a pale dress walking down the road toward him. For a moment, he thought it was Stephanie, come to tell him off with a wicked smile before hooking her arm through his and leading him back to the reception. But the figure's pale gown was of plainer cut, and as she approached, her gait betrayed her age. A little late for walking, Jamie mused, before recalling with a grin that it was exactly what he was doing. As she came nearer, it occurred to Jamie that her gown was also a little thin for a freezingly clear night. Without a thought, he shed his jacket, stuffed his wallet into his trouser pocket and stepped forward to offer the protection of it's warmth.

The woman stepped into the light of the moon, or the moon shone it's light on her, Jamie was never sure which. He stopped, struck by a feeling of dread and correctness.

She stood, regally almost, her grey hair turned silver by the moonlight, hanging loose to her waist. She was slim, and in the lines of her face could be seen the stunning beauty she once must have been. She regarded Jamie with eyes of icy blue, lit with an implacable will. But she smiled, and Jamie was smitten. This lady would have had men fighting over her, in her youth.

"I'll not be needing your jacket, young man, but I am minded to be accompanied this night. The wheel turns and a meeting is ordained. Walk with me, Mabon of my consorts."

Jamie fell into step with the entrancing old lady, who still moved with a prescient grace, made only a little more deliberate with age. "It's a cold night to be out, Madam. Could I ask where you're going? I could call you a cab on my mobile. Don't worry about the cost. A Christmas present from a stranger, shall we say?"
She stopped, and her face lit with a smile. "You offer a gift to me? Do you know what you do?"

"Hmm, yeah. I'm going to call a cab for an old lady out walking, so that she can get to her destination before she freezes. Or am I mistaken?" Jamie's gentle sarcasm was accompanied by a disarming smile. It vanished as a cloak of silver thread appeared about the woman's shoulders. "I am the Winter Queen, and my mantle is cold, dark and still, Son of Man. But deep underneath, the fires of life still warm me. Under the cold, life still stirs." Her voice was quiet, but with a ring of power that took Jamie to his knees. "Oh shit," was all he could utter. The woman cocked her head to one side, and the smile returned. "Come with me, oh man who would give shelter to the oldest lady." With that, she turned and carried on walking down the street. Jamie struggled to his feet, and ran a little to catch up with her. "I can't help feeling that I've stumbled out of my depth," he ventured. She looked askance at him, the enigmatic smile still playing around her lips. "Way out. If I didn't hold you up, you'd drown." "Thank you?"

With that, they walked on in silence. Jamie struggling to get a grip on the situation, the lady with an unstated intent. She stopped, looking down an alleyway. With a swift nod, she strode down it until she came to a moonlit doorway. In it lay a huddled form, a figure dressed in rags under a pile of dirty newspapers. She knelt by the sleeping but still shivering form. With a wave of her left hand, frost shrouded the body, while with her right, she gently plucked the azure flame that appeared at his brow. With a gentle smile, she whispered to the flame before tossing it high, to be lost amongst the myriad stars. Jamie stood, fear rising. Had he seen that? This old woman in a cloak of woven silver had just iced a tramp. Literally. He took a step back, but stopped as she turned to face him. Her face wrinkled in consternation, then cleared as she stepped swiftly forward. Too quick to stop, she touched her right hand to Jamie's brow. Jamie flinched, but her left hand held his chin in a grip that brooked no avoidance.

"A gift for a gift, that is the way of it. Look with my eyes, Son of Man..." And Jamie looked, and tears started down his face as the breath caught in his chest.
All the buildings had become ghostly shapes, dull grey against a sky of the darkest blue, filled with stars that sparkled with all the colours of the spectrum. And in the shadowy blocks little flames danced, flickered, flared and burnt low. Between the buildings flitted svelte forms on gossamer wings, decked garments and jewellery of snow crystals. They hunted new patterns, and danced with delight when a new pattern was found. Jamie heard his father's voice, as if from his side again. "Thanna Sidhe, my boy. Oh, blessed be, Jamie." Jamie looked, but his father wasn't there. He looked back at the lady, a thousand questions forming in his eyes. She raised a finger and placed it on his lips. "No questions, Mabon. This is a gift given freely, and questions do not go with gifts." With that, she leant back against a fire escape and regarded Jamie through lowered brows. Then she looked up, where a sudden flare of fire lit the high skies. She smiled again. "Dragons. Always showing off to the moon. Worse than wolves." Jamie stood, dumbfounded. She turned back to him. "My kindred and I are reckoned divine, but even we have our myths. It is told, on the rare occasions we meet, that every soul flame has a candle, and all those candles burn in a great cavern of night." She looked up at the stars. "Every soul has it's star, and every star it's soul." She smiled briefly, before looking back again. "Most of the candles are blue. Some are white. Few are black. No one tends the candles now, but long ago, there was one. He was Consordat then, before he lost his son, his name and his power to intervene. Before he became the lonely god. It is said that he would often stand in that great cave, tending the candles, his calm restored by the lives he touched. But on the last time he visited that great fane, he found another there. A being from beyond crouched within, pouring wax from the black candles onto all of the white, so that every hero would be flawed. Consordat took his full mantle upon him and challenged the being. It laughed, and they both departed, forever opposed. But as the light from their mantles faded, another lit the walls, and another being from beyond walked the winding paths. This being poured white wax upon all the blue candles, so that all souls have the potential to be heroes. Ptyrth is that beings name, and her mantle is balance. She watches the spiral dance still, her wings in the coming of night, her breath the shiver in the wind. And Mak Naur rages, unable to defeat her master stroke. That was the first gift. The spiral turns, cradle to grave, spirit to form and back, and back. The gift is your free will, to find the hero within. It is a gift my kin cannot define or defend. Treasure her gift, candlebearer, it will bring your kind to us, one day."

Jamie stood in a cold alley, his jacket moving gently in the breeze that had sprung up. In a doorway nearby a body succumbed to rigor. The woman was gone, and he was cold. Jamie turned and hurried back to the reception. As he approached the hall, he stopped and looked up at the nearly full moon, then down at the glistening snow around. He whispered to the night. "Oh father, you were right. And now I'll be as alone as you always seemed, at times."

He turned toward the hall again, shoulders huddling against the cold. Then he stopped, cold forgotten. He felt little hands lift a frozen tear from his cheek, and saw his exhaled breath swirl as unseen dancers whipped by. A gentle voice, like the woman's, but softer, younger, whispered "You have seen. You know. Never alone, Mabon of Winter, never again."