The Falcon and the Faerie

Author's Notes

Again, my heartfelt thanks to: Evie, Theresa, and Jan.

My Celtic definitions are shoddy and piecemeal, but they get the point across. In Godgyfu's "part of the world"...Northumbria...the language of the common people was Celtic, NOT Gaelic.

Technically, the educated (the nobility) spoke Latin, but by reverting to Celtic, Godgyfu is rebelling against society...as she is so apt to do...and addressing her earthy, ancestral roots. Oh, and her father, though he speaks Celtic with only a smattering of Latin, requires all his children to speak Latin. You'll discover why... but that's just a heads-up.

Celtic Terms

"Mātīr Tela-mon, Godgyfu gāris tū! Lawo, dī-reig-n, aidu luko, wo-ret-e Godgyfu weid abh sentu! Patano kom alaudā, worako kom wrigantī, φeisko kom laku!" means "Mother Earth, Godgyfu calls you! Water, wind, fire bright, help Godgyfu know the way! Wing of bird, curve of worm, fish of lake!"

"Bikko" means "small."

"Wynds" are, as far as I know, "minor streets."

Latin Terms

"Pater" means "father."

"Diligo" means "love." (I didn't want to use "amor.")

The Falcon and the Faerie

"Godgyfu! Child, come hither at once! Girl, where are you?" A harsh voice rang out through the county, but did not reach the ears of the one it sought.

*

In the Tweedish-Peregrine Wood just outside the township of Edinburgh, a young pixie-maiden crouched in the peaty earth, her tiny delicate hands busily shaping the black loamy clay, moistened into moldable material by the nearby, trickling Tweed River. Soft, brightly-colored autumn leaves cascaded down onto the crystal clear water while tangling artistically in the young girl's dark, tousled, elflocks. She truly did look like a faerie-child. And perhaps she was... A changeling, perchance, left by the faerie inhabitants of the cool, dark Northumbrian forest.

But though the voice calling the child was booming throughout all of outer Edinburgh, causing housewives to click their tongues and pull shut their windows in annoyance and perhaps a little fright, the "dryad" did not hear the call.

Little nine-year-old Godgyfu was building a tiny representation of Edinburgh on the banks of the Tweed, and though many children throughout the ages, around the world, had tried to do just that, they had inevitably met with little success. Yet, Godgyfu effortlessly managed to create a breathtaking village eroded neither by time nor the trickling water of the Tweed. One might, perhaps, call it magic, if such a thing existed ... or if anyone had ever managed to find Godgyfu's marvelous architectural attempt. But dryads, you know, are very secretive, and keep their works hidden behind the veil of the forest, trusting in nature to protect what they most esteem.

Thus, Godgyfu hid her efforts from the dismissive yet curious eyes of her family, and no one bothered the young girl when she ran into the forest because, technically, she wasn't supposed to be there in the first place, and her affectionate though hard-pressed nurse did not believe her darling charge capable of willful deceit. But, of course, this seldom-spoken rule did not bother Godgyfu, for she had never possessed a shrinking countenance. Indeed, her independence proved a beneficial trait in later life during her ambitious climb to power. However, at this time, little Godgyfu was content to play on the banks of the Tweed, shaping tiny people out of the dark clay and placing them into comfortable "families" of four.

"You are Lord Greyart," she stated emphatically, smashing a stick into the tallest figure's hand, "and that is your rod with which you beat your poor little brood when they are bad." Picking up another handful of clay, Godgyfu formed a feminine figure and christened it "Lady Greyart," before continuing on with "Edgar and Ælfrey." Pleased, Godgyfu hopped to her feet, and, carrying the tiny figures carefully in her hands, scampered to a large flat rock lying in a rare patch of sun created by lack of foliage. The little girl placed the family of four on the rock and clapped her hands happily, while an expression of utmost joy danced across her little wild face.

The piercing cry of a bird of prey sounded from above, and Godgyfu, shading her dark eyes, glanced quickly upward, squinting her eyes to protect them from the bright patch of sunlight. Her brief discomfort, however, was rewarded, for, there, sitting haughtily on a branch, his proud streamlined head held high, was a male peregrine falcon. Godgyfu couldn't believe her stroke of luck; truly she was blessed for this was the very bird for which her forest had been named! Falling to her knees, Godgyfu raised her arms to the dignified bird and chanted as she'd been told to do when faced with Northumbria's prized child.

"Peregrine falcon, sw...Hm... sw...swift! That's right, swift and deadly, touch your child with your power. Peregrine falcon, proud and h-haughty, touch your child with your fortune? No, that's not right... favor! That's it," she exclaimed at the end of her soliloquy, raising her gaze to the beautiful bird seated above her.

Eyeing her condescendingly, the black-eyed falcon snapped his blue beak, and, letting out another sharp cry, spread his pointed wings, thrust his head back and shrieked loudly. Godgyfu laughed happily, jumping up from the forest floor, her arms still extended above her head.

"Aii...!" she screamed, in unison with the bird as he continued his symphony of screeches. The kingly falcon seemed startled at first, but remained perched on his throne and shrieked again.

Laughing madly at the bird's cheek, Godgyfu began to dance, faster and faster, 'til nothing could be seen of her slight body but a blur of flying leather strips and tangled, dark hair. Her pale, lightly-freckled body was smudged with the dirt of the forest floor, and twigs caught in her curls gave her an eerie, but beautiful, elf-like appearance. Spinning in circles, Godgyfu lifted her head and yelled with frenzied abandon, reverting to the Celtic tongue taught her by the local "witch."

"Mātīr Tela-mon, Godgyfu gāris tū! Lawo, dī-reig-n, aidu luko, wo-ret-e Godgyfu weid abh sentu! Patano kom alaudā, worako kom wrigantī, φeisko kom laku!"

Aye, 'twas all nonsense, but Godgyfu loved the taste of the Celtic language on her tongue...'twas so earthy, so rich and wholesome...and kissed each word away, tossing them carelessly into the green, gold, and scarlet atmosphere of the forest.

Gasping, Godgyfu finally flung herself to the ground, her head spinning, her eyes tripping dizzily in and out of focus. The peregrine falcon had stayed, his gaze interested, to watch Godgyfu's mad dance, but when she paused to catch her breath, he gave her a derisive, yellow-ringed stare and, with one last cry, extended his wings and swooshed off the branch, disappearing from sight like a veritable phantom.

As she reclined on the colorful leaves scattered topsy-turvy over the forest floor, Godgyfu breathed deeply through her nose, exhaling through her mouth, as the "witch" had told her to do, and, in doing so, quieted her swiftly-beating heart. Closing her eyes for a moment, the young girl listened to the rush of wind through the trees, the tinkling of the Tweed River as it skipped over rocks and pebbles, and the various clicks and squeaks of the inhabitants of Tweedish-Peregrine Wood. Rolling over on her side, Godgyfu poked a grubby finger into the earth and wiggled it around, an expression of supreme concentration playing over her young face. Finally, with a shouted, "Ha!" of triumph, Godgyfu pulled a long worm from the soil and deposited the poor blind creature in the palm of her hand, where it writhed self-consciously. Raising the worm to her dark brown eyes, Godgyfu stared at the creature, noting with avid absorption the tiny little rings that encircled the worm's long body. Moments later, with a dismissive squeak, Godgyfu tossed the tiny animal off into a clump of bushes and leapt to her feet from whence she trotted quickly back to the rock where she'd left the Greyart family.

Scooping up the baked clay figures, Godgyfu skipped to the riverbank and deposited the Greyart family on a rotting tree stump covered in toadstools. She then began lumping balls of clay into people-sized portions in preparation for her next family. As she worked, she chattered away to the family-in-progress, forming each with the same precision and care she had shown the Greyart family.

"You are Lord Bordeaux; you hail from Normandy, that you do. Your dear wife has died, but you have a beautiful daughter named ... named 'Godgyfu'!" As she shouted this last, Godgyfu smiled indulgently at the figure in her hands before gently placing the self-named figure into a tiny hammock woven from stems of hay.

Sitting back on her heels, Godgyfu surveyed her work satisfactorily. This was her favorite pastime...besides perusing the Latin scrolls kept in her strict pater's study...and she loved the challenge of architecture, a challenge she found distinctly lacking in the life she was required to live...that of a gentlewoman. To put it quite bluntly, Godgyfu had no interest in the supervision of embroidery, cookery, laundry or any of the menial domestic chores that occupied the life of a noblewoman. 'Twas, of course, rather fun to order the servants about, but the majority of them didn't even listen to Godgyfu, which took the fun out of the matter completely.

Though there was only so much that could be achieved with stones, grass, and leaves... Godgyfu had managed to create a masterpiece on the banks of the Tweed scaled according to the proportions of real Edinburgh.

At one end of "Bikko Edinburgh"...as Godgyfu affectionately called her creation...stood a representation of Edinburgh Castle, its small yet imposing, squared battlements set high on a mound of dirt mimicking the mountain that supported the real Castle in Edinburgh. Bikko Edinburgh Castle, however, stood waist-high and was as long as Godgyfu's body.

From the age of seven, Godgyfu had been building the Castle, and each year it had grown larger and more elaborate. Constructed of gray stones plastered together with a sticky mixture of clay and loam, the Castle housed content families of insects in its many rooms and courtyards and played host to occasional broods of dormice who congregated deep within the castle in the darkest rooms they could find. The furnishings of the rooms in Bikko Edinburgh were canopied beds made of leaves, thrones made of rocks and sticks, and tables constructed of sheets of bark. The décor was not elegant, but it had a certain, rustic beauty that only a faerie could have created. Moving to the exterior of the Castle, breathtaking gardens designed to imitate Celtic symbols were laid out with painstaking detail. These gardens were filled, at first, with colorful stones that Godgyfu had collected, and then with succulent plants, living rocks, and mushrooms, plants encouraged by the decomposing feces of the insects that'd lived there or dropped in the guise of seeds by passing birds.

These gardens continued for a foot around the main palace within the castle walls (constructed of pine cones and rocks) and then ran up to the edge of a flat, hard-packed portico, the Castle's Esplanade. From the Esplanade curved the Royal Mile, twisting and winding its merry way down the dirt mountain and intersecting with the wynds of Bikko Edinburgh. The wynds, in their turn, passed by miniature huts made of grass and populated by tiny families made of sticks and leaves who each had a clan symbol engraved into a stone and placed in their "yards."

However, as if this beautiful construction wasn't enough, Godgyfu had also dug the mysterious Nor Loch at the northern end of the castle and cut rivulets into the riverbank, lining the indentions with pebbles and creating canals to feed the lake, in which lived the occasional fish, but, more often than not, a score of water beetles who nibbled the murky water plants growing at the edges of the lake.

"Bikko Edinburgh" was Godgyfu's attempt to recreate the bustling beauty of the city she had loved from the moment she first set adventuresome foot in it. Though she'd been raised a country maiden, Godgyfu loved the marvels of the city, though she'd never content herself with living solely in the city. The tangles of the wild country appealed too much to this little faerie for her to ever leave them completely, but never had she been as entertained as she was when she'd visited Edinburgh. Indeed, Godgyfu had determined...independently, as was her custom regardless of permission...that she was going to live in a grand townhouse, but have a country manor to escape to whenever she deemed it necessary. Children have such high expectations, and Godgyfu was no exception.

At last, the figures of the Greyart and Bordeaux families had been completed, baked, and were ready to place in their respective homes...two sections of the castle. Aye, the two richest families in Bikko Edinburgh were the (unmade) royal families' guests and deserved the best. Pinching Lord Greyart between her fingers, Godgyfu leaned precariously over the wall of the Castle, and, tongue sticking out of her mouth, proceeded to lean him against a wall, his walking stick supporting his stiff body. As she pulled away, however, leaving the Lord in his place, Godgyfu heard the tramp of leather boots, crunching the sticks of her forest outside the clearing; she guessed the person was about fifty meters away, and, by the disgruntled thud of the heavy boot on dry, brush-covered fields, she guessed it was a man ... a very disgruntled man. Gasping, Godgyfu jumped to her feet and pelted away from her village, dashing from the clearing, her callused feet flying over twigs and leaves, and...smack! She ran straight into her pater who was, in a word, displeased.

"Godgyfu!" he boomed, his beetle-black eyes...so like his daughter's, and, yet, so different...sparking dangerously. "Where have you been, girl? I called for you many times; child, how many times must I tell you? Are you so thick that you do not understand? Stupid girl!" he hissed derisively, his beard quivering in abhorrence.

At this, Godgyfu's eyes filled with tears, which she promptly blinked back, anger at her own weakness consuming her. Though she hadn't the best relationship with her pater, his constant disgust and loathing frightened and hurt Godgyfu.

There is something very wrong with me, she'd decided long ago, to make him hate me so much. What did I do wrong?

*

In a way, Godgyfu was right, because Uchtred the Bold did indeed blame his tiny daughter for the death of his beloved, second wife, the lovely Lady Agatha. The Lady Agatha was six years her husband's junior and was stunning, aye, but delicate and of a sickly countenance. Uchtred had married Lady Agatha when she was fifteen, and the instant he'd gazed into her deep blue eyes, he'd lost his heart to the tiny, dark-haired girl. Theirs was a true and affectionate love spent many days in the meadows of Edinburgh, lounging and loving, for Uchtred hadn't the responsibility then that he had now in this year of 1006.

Therefore, when Agatha, her brilliant blue eyes wide and joyous had announced to her husband that she was pregnant, a sudden burden had settled upon the young Celt's heart. He knew that his wife was weak; Uchtred had seen too many animal runts die to doubt what would happen to his wife if she gave birth. Many nights he'd spent, urgently pressing his wife to go to the local "witch," though he knew it was against his principles and that of his father, the townspeople, everyone he knew. Yet he would do anything to save his wife.

*

"Agatha, you must know what shall inevitably happen to you if you refuse to heed my warnin's, no, my honest entreaties. Visit yon witch across the way; no one shall ever know. I don't want to, no, I can't lose you." Uchtred knelt on one knee, his hands placed on his wife's hips, head bowed, tears glittering in his black eyes.

"My diligo, my husband, your concern touches my heart," Lady Agatha said, laughing easily as she took a fine-boned hand and placed it under her husband's bowed chin, raising his tear-stained face to gaze at her. "You worry too much; I shall be fine. I shall be as I ever was, but I will have my child to comfort me when you are away."

"I'll never leave you!"

"You cannot help but do so."

As Uchtred began to protest, Agatha held up a slender, white hand, silencing him. "I don't mean that you will desert me..."

"Never!"

"...but you might have journeys of commerce that you must make, or battles that you must fight," at this, the Lady Agatha shivered and her voice broke slightly, but she continued to speak, "and I should dearly love to have a child to remember our ardor by. That is all."

Uchtred gazed with adoration at his tiny wife standing valiantly before him, her skin glowing with the first early blushes of pregnancy and knew that she was determined...she would have this child, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. Perhaps she was not strong in her physical body, but her will was iron and he would bend to it.

"Now, my diligo, I'm in the mood for the fiery passion that created our child. Please?"

And Uchtred looked into Lady Agatha's fathomless eyes and saw a fire burning in them. And Uchtred rose from his knee and wrapped his arms about his slight wife, pulling off her evening chemise. And Uchtred carried his wife to the giant oak bed, in which they had consummated their marriage several months before, and loved his wife 'til the morning light peaked through the eyes of the manor, immortalizing the mutual purity of love in its beautiful, natural form.

*

Though Uchtred had given in to the wishes of his beautiful bride, he continued to rest uneasily, and at the end of nine months, haunted the manor, striding from room to room as Lady Agatha's cries rang through the hollow passageways of the manor, echoing malevolently off the walls. Only when the cries of the mother had ceased and the screaming baby had been taken away to be cleaned by the midwife, only then did Uchtred approach the birthing room and enter. And he had seen, to his horror, the shrouded figure of his beloved, surrounded by blood-soaked linen. And he had fallen to the floor, the tears running down his face and catching in the dark hair of his beard. And he had been taken into the arms of his own mother, who held her boy and crooned sweet nothings into his ear as he sobbed his heartbreak into her lap. And on that day, the luxurious beard that Lady Agatha had loved to run her hands through, her laughter pealing out into the room, that sumptuous black beard had turned grey in Uchtred's agonizing loss.

From that day forward, Uchtred the Bold never smiled, and he never laughed, he never remarried, and he hated his youngest child with a passion for she had deprived him of the love of his life, the fragile and lovely Lady Agatha.