Chapter Seven THE SOLSTICE TREE Alison #2
“I think that’s our tree,” said Alison. The thudding footsteps continued, growing closer by the minute.
Everyone put down whatever they were carrying and went out to see.
“Up there!” said Finnli. He pointed off the road up the mountain to where the trees were shaking, dropping the snow on their branches to the ground in an unmistakable path.
“Oh my Gods. It’s enormous,” said Gwenla once the tree finally came into view.
It spoke to the awe of everyone involved that they let the statement pass without comment.
“It has to be at least thirty feet,” said Alison.
“At least,” said Strelka. “Maybe forty.”
The spriggan itself was nearly as tall as the tree now. He carried the Solstice tree over his shoulder like it was nothing. The tree itself was an incredible fir with hundreds of delicately thin branches that would be just perfect for the ornaments and ‘lectric lights.
“This way!” said Gwenla as the spriggan made it to the forge. She marched out in front of him without fear, leading the spriggan into the market square where the vendors had just cleared their stalls for the week. The others trailed behind, with Weyland dragging the cart full of ornaments.
The spriggan lowered the giant fir into the tree stand. Strelka, Rinka, and Weyland tightened the bolts, while Alison and Gwenla filled buckets of water from the pump.
“Are these the ornaments?” asked the spriggan. He leaned over the cart, lifting a silver ball which looked small in his enormous wooden hands.
“Would you like to help us decorate?” asked Alison.
Gwenla nodded enthusiastically. “We’d appreciate it very much.”
“I would like to give the tree its jewelry. Where does this one go?”
“Anywhere!” said Finnli. “We’re going to cover it up so it shines when the lights are on.”
“The lights should go on first,” said Weyland, gesturing to the boxes that had been delivered earlier in the week.
“These lights do not shine,” said the spriggan.
Alison nodded. “Not yet. They will soon, once they finish connecting the ‘lectrics. Lightning will flow through these cords, and then the light will shine.”
“A tree glowing with lightning. How strange people are.”
The spriggan lifted the end of the cord of lights from the box that contained them. There were hundreds of light bulbs hanging from the cord of the size that Alison used in her lamps back in Arcas Dyrne.
“They’ll see this tree from Sudport,” said Rinka.
Following Gwenla’s shouted directions, the spriggan wrapped the lights around the tree. The tree was a bit bigger than the original plan, so they had to use a string of lights intended for the market square to reach the bottom.
“I think we’re going to need more ornaments,” said Strelka. “I’ll get started on them.”
“Alison, would you join us back at the forge? I had a question for you,” asked Weyland.
“Sure,” said Alison, happy to leave the others to the decorating. She enjoyed the outcome of decorating a Solstice tree far more than the process itself.
Weyland led Alison inside the shop and to a counter where he kept the finer goods. He pulled out a small velvet tray and handed it to Alison.
“Here are some of the options,” he said, continuing a conversation that had been cut short a few days earlier by Keir’s arrival. “There’s the typical gold, of course. Dwarven steel is strong.”
“Too strong,” said Alison, picking up a ring inlaid with a knotted design. “Keir says they’re difficult to cut off in an emergency.”
She’d been fishing for information to inform the wedding band Weyland had agreed to make for weeks.
“There are jeweled options too,” said Weyland, holding up a ring set with a large diamond. “You could match your sapphire.”
Alison couldn’t picture Keir wearing jewels. “He’s too practical for that.”
“Maybe a signet ring? The Ainsley family crest? I imagine he won’t receive one from his father.”
Signet rings were popular with some of the nobility, but Alison didn’t think Keir would want to flaunt his family name in such a way. “I don’t think so.”
She picked up the rings one by one until at last she spotted a silver band with a delicate filigree. “What about this? Could you make it a bit simpler? Remove the leaves, make it in gold?”
“Hmm,” said Weyland, examining the ring. “Simple design. Soft. Just enough detail to be interesting. Sounds like Keir.”
Alison laughed—she knew Weyland meant the ring, but it wasn’t a terrible description of Keir himself.
“Now I could use your opinion on something,” said Weyland as he brought out another tray.
This tray held rings sized for smaller hands. “For me? But I just want a simple gold band to match my engagement ring.” She had already told Weyland this.
“No, for Lady Sibba,” said Weyland.
Alison couldn’t believe it. “Do you mean—”
“Shh,” said Weyland. “I’m not sure yet. I don’t know if it’s something she’d even want.”
“But you want to marry her!” Alison whispered, struggling to contain her excitement. “Weyland, congratulations!”
“I originally thought Solstice could be the moment. But Sibba hates the cold so much, I don’t know. I want it to be special. If I go through with it.”
“What did you get her for Solstice?”
Weyland rubbed his red beard anxiously. “Nothing as of yet.”
Alison rolled her eyes at him. “It’s next week. If you aren’t going to give her the ring, you better think of something.” Honestly, men were hopeless.
Well, some of them. Alison suspected the cupboard in Keir’s house that he tended to stand in front of whenever she visited might be hiding something. She had stuffed her own cupboard full of gifts (including a couple made by Weyland himself) several weeks prior.
Weyland, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as much of a forward thinker. He was a good man though, really, and he meant well. Alison would just have to help him a bit in the romance department.
“She does wear a lot of jewelry,” said Alison. “If not a ring, what about a necklace?”
“I was thinking—never mind, it’s a silly idea.”
“What? Come on. I won’t tell anyone. What is it?”
Weyland came out from behind the counter and led Alison to a desk in the back. In a drawer, he pulled out a brochure. See the Rock: An Unforgettable Island Holiday. “I got it in Sudport on the way back. There’s a ship that leaves from there.”
“It’s perfect! She’s been talking about going for ages. You could meet her family. That would be a lovely place to propose,” said Alison, pointing to an illustration of a sheltered cove surrounded by palm trees. “And even if you didn’t, think of the art you could make while you were there.”
“I wanted to talk to you about that too,” said Weyland, putting the brochure away for now. “I’ve decided to sell Strelka the forge. There’s enough coin coming in from the generators to keep me going without it.”
Alison gave Weyland a quick hug—or as much of a hug as she could manage considering her tiny arms could barely wrap around him. “That’s wonderful. What will you do with all the free time? Please tell me you’re planning to draw more.”
“I am,” said Weyland. “I wanted to see if you wanted to work on the book again. To finish adapting the pamphlet we made, or maybe to start on another project. I like to paint the scenes on their own, but I like it better with words.”
Alison had debated this privately for some time. The coin from the solar generators gave her the freedom to pursue her poetry if she wished to, which is all she’d wanted since she gave up her number-crunching career.
But there was part of her that was afraid.
“What if people don’t like it? Or what if they do like it, but I don’t like it?
What if selling my poetry turns it into a chore I hate?
” The poetry writing had begun as a ploy to make more coin, but it had become a part of how she saw the world. It had become a part of her magic.
What if putting it down on paper for others to see ruined it?
“The way I see it, you have something to say, and people ought to hear it. The world is a better place when people share the beauty they see in it.” Weyland patted Alison on the shoulder. “They’re good poems. It would be a shame to keep them to yourself.”
“Thank you,” said Alison. “I’ll think about it.”
That night, when she returned home, she retrieved the manuscript she and Weyland had taken apart to fit into the pamphlet.
There had been some kind of order to it, but now the pages were stuffed together, some of them torn, others upside down.
She read a few lines of one of the poems:
In the meadow,
The clouds walk on fluffy legs,
While overhead,
A swan swims through clear blue skies.
Maybe there was something to what Weyland had said. She couldn’t help but see the flaws in what she had written, but she could see the beauty in it too.
Maybe beauty was meant to be shared.
She slowly began to reorder the pages and to insert new ones, scribbling down new ideas as she went.