Epilogue
The shade of the large live oak reached across the whole of the grounds on the west side of the house in the late evening. Spanish moss draped long and still in the heavy southern air. Even the slight breeze from the nearby beach failed to stir the branches as humidity clung to everything, its own heavy draping. Below three children sat on a blanket in the grass, sweat beading on their small noses as they stared enraptured by the woman in a large wicker chair weaving stories.
"The villagers hurled rocks at her as she crouched on the roof. She felt her skin change, her fingers lengthen to grip the thatch more firmly, trying to pull herself away from the barrage. Her mother's voice called out her name, her human name. But no aid came, nothing to stop the bruising rocks pelting her."
Margaret and Hamish both stared at Kenna, wide eyed, clutching Rohna's arms as she sat between them, ostensibly comforting her siblings but taking solace from their closeness as well. The light of the evening sun made its last stand as deep golden rays peaked out from behind the large tree at their backs, halos of red hair fiery bright around their upturned faces.
"She managed to look back, long enough to see her father holding her mother, comforting and controlling. His eyes met Saskai's and she knew there would be no rescue. There was only one last recourse. She called out to the moors, screamed in her pixie voice to the powers of the Fae. The fairy queen would not help her but the wild magic that saturated the air there had loved her music and maybe it would deem her worthy of saving.
"At the last moment, when all seemed lost, her grip slipping and the angry mob waiting below to swallow her up or rip her apart, she felt the cool embrace of magic as though she'd plunged into a deep river pool. The bombardment ended and the thatched roof was gone from beneath her hands. Saskai opened her eyes and saw the moors stretched out around her, the sounds of the village far away."
Hamish relaxed slightly but Kenna could see Margaret's grip still firmly latched to her sister's arm.
"Beside her was a silver flute, shiny as though freshly made. She sat up and brought the end to her lips, playing a sweet song of gratitude as the wispy fog embraced her. She stood, dancing with the magic deeper into the moors leaving only the echoes of her song behind her."
Kenna ended the tale, taking in the eager faces of her nieces and nephew.
"That's all?" Rohna objected loudly before guarding her expression again. It would not do to have the others know she cared for children's stories. Kenna gave her a knowing smile.
"What happened to the baby?" Margaret asked, her red curls swaying as she bounced in her seat. "And what about Androu and Maugis? And the village? What about the cow's babies and all the children who called her freaky-odd?"
"That can't be the end!" Hamish exclaimed, his small round face growing red under his frown. "Tell us more!"
"Oh lovelies," Kenna cooed. "Don't be upset, all stories have an end. Sometimes they make us happy and sometimes sad but we must end them."
"But what about everyone else?" Rohna said, shucking her apathy when she sensed the younger two would not entice her aunt to answer.
Kenna gave them a soft smile. "This is Saskai's story."
"So what happened to her? She couldn't go back to the fairy kingdom and the villagers wanted her dead. The only one who cared was the moor magic so where does she go now? What's she supposed to do?" Rohna pressed the point, shaking Margaret's grip from her arm as she stood.
"Those are fine questions, Rohna," Kenna murmured.
Hamish dissolved, throwing himself down and missing the blanket to land on the green lawn. His piercing scream called the nanny who was hiding indoors from the heat.
"Oh Hamish stop! You will ruin your clothes!" The nanny gathered up the screaming child. "That's enough of all this, indoors for bed. It's quite late enough." Kenna noted the woman's diligent work to avoid any eye contact with her as she ushered her protesting charges into the house.
Kenna sat back in the lawn chair, letting the humid air blanket her as the sounds of the protesting children were quieted by the door slamming closed behind them. The shade could block the sun but it did nothing for the moisture that permeated every breath. And still she felt that familiar chill deep in her bones, where neither the sun nor the warmth could touch it. She closed her eyes, letting her head rest against the high woven wicker back. She hummed softly to the crickets, her only companions in the Carolina evening. Above, the sky turned from blue to pink as the sun set.
She might have dozed in the lazy crawl of twilight before something cool touched her arm and she gasped, jumping in her chair from the sensation. Fiona grinned down at her, face full of sisterly mischief.
"Brought you something cool to drink, love."
"Thank you ever so kindly," Kenna replied, taking the cup from her sister and straightening in her seat to bring it to her lips.
Fiona took the seat next to her. Insect sounds filled the space between them while they drank.
"That's a new version of the moor child's story," Fiona said conversationally. "If I remember correctly the imp wasn't meant to engender our sympathies quite so resolutely."
"Stories are not set in stone," Kenna began, reciting a lecture they had both heard many times from their mother. "One must always take into account the audience, the environment--"
"The teller."
