Aryno and Mount Uil

The pristine white snow crunched beneath her boots as she walked. The sun was already making its descent to her west, casting beautiful colors across the early evening sky. When she reached her destination and stopped walking, the silence in the air became deafening. Mille began to feel her heart racing in her chest, and despite the brisk wind, she felt as though she was suffocating. A lump rose in her throat and she fought back tears until she couldn’t hold them inside any longer. The tears streamed down her bright red cheeks, and her entire body shook with sobs.

Her mother’s final resting place was still just a brown rectangle amongst the lush, green cemetery’s grass. The dirt had even sunk a little giving Millie a sickening feel. Patches of snow covered the fresh grave and the only marker to date was a small bronze plaque with her name: Ann Fairway. Millie took a deep breath and the cold air burned her lungs. She wiped her face with the soft, burgundy scarf while she gathered her emotions. She could do this. She knew she could. But the heaviness of grief threatened to pull her under, and she was quickly giving up. Her mother’s death broke something inside and the emptiness she felt was overwhelming.

Soft flakes of snow fell silently around her, littering her dark brown hair with specks of white.

“I don’t know how I will go on without you, Mama.” Millie’s quiet voice cut through the silence. She stood there for a moment, knowing she wouldn’t get a response, but still secretly hoping that somehow her mother would give her a sign that she was listening.

Millie sniffled and sighed, her breath a puff of smoke before her. She lowered herself to the ground and laid the bouquet of roses atop her mother’s grave. She closed her eyes and began to pray in a hushed whisper. The tears began again and she shivered beneath her thick, wool coat.

Her mother’s death had been sudden and unexpected. A sickness was spreading through her village and Ann Fairway was one of its first victims. She had fallen ill on a Friday and took her final breath on a Monday. Since Anne’s death, 10 more villagers had fallen ill and died. It had all happened so quickly. Millie’s father was beside himself, drowning his sorrows every evening in a bottle of whiskey. Millie’s younger sister, Lina, had been the glue to keep them all together, remaining stoic amongst their breakdowns. It made Millie feel like a failure, falling apart the way she did. She was usually the strong one.

She had taken a couple of weeks off from her job as a midwife's assistant, needing the time to pull herself together and to help her father. Her days had been spent in a cloud of grief. She was going through the motions, but her heart and head weren’t in it. Her thoughts constantly drifted back to her mother and the pain pierced her to her very soul. She would go through crying spells, randomly breaking down and falling into bed in a heap. She had never seen her father cry before this. He was strong and burly, with a thick beard and calloused hands; thick from working as a carpenter since his late teens. James Fairway was a hard-working man, a proud man, and it broke Millie’s heart to see his sorrow, to hear his cries.

While Millie and her family suffered in grief behind the thick walls of their large, rustic cabin, the rest of the village cowered in fear of being the next to fall ill. The village doctor was baffled. It was unlike anything he had seen in all of his years of practicing medicine. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone just yet, but he was afraid. Very afraid.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Millie said a final goodbye and began the journey home, looking forward to thawing out in front of the fire. Her loose curls fell down her back, blending in with her black coat. She pulled her scarf up, covering most of her face to try to protect it from the biting wind. It was a short walk to her home, just through the small forest that separated the village from their small church and cemetery. When she walked through the door, she could smell the stew that she had cooking over the fire. Its hearty aroma made her stomach growl a little, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten yet today. It was something she had been doing more often, forgetting to eat. She removed her snow-covered boots and set them beside the door and hung her coat and scarf to dry on its hook.

“Daddy, I’m home.” she called up the stairs. Their cabin was rather large, having been designed and built by James Wayfair, himself. It held three bedrooms, an indoor washroom, a large living room, separate dining room, and a cleverly designed kitchen complete with a hatch that opened up to a root cellar that could keep food cold year-round. It was much more extravagant than most of the homes in their village. Because of this, many villagers believed them to be wealthy and while they were comfortable, they weren’t rich by any means. Millie had begun working when she was sixteen, training to become a midwife by working as an assistant. It was hard work and made her fully understand why women were respected, revered, even feared.

There were those that wanted it to be “equal”; but only the boldest of men dare say that aloud. It was women who ran the town. Women that held everything together, made all of the major decisions, had all the power. Her mother had been highly respected within their village. She was small but she had such a strength about her. Millie wanted nothing more than to be like her mother; to be respected and praised. But she was loud where her mother had been quiet, she was tall where her mother was short, and she was short-tempered where her mother had been calm and patient. Her mother would say,

“Millie, you do all that hollering and cursing because deep down you’re afraid.”

“No, ma’am, I am not.” Millie would say, defiantly.

Her mother would just smile and shake her head. Her father would threaten to get the switch. But Millie was just like him. She looked like him, acted like him, even spoke like him sometimes, much to her mother’s dismay. Lina was more like their mother, something that tore at Millie’s heart now that she was gone.

Millie stirred the stew just as James walked into the room, a glass of an amber colored liquid in one hand and a handkerchief in the other. He wiped his nose and shoved it into his back pocket.

“Daddy, is Lina home? Supper will be ready soon.” Millie said, smiling warmly at him.

“No, no. She walked down to the General Store to get me a few things.”

“A few things? Like what, Daddy? I was just at the store yesterday.” she furrowed her brow, looking at him standing in the doorway. He looked pale. He was sweating some despite the chill in the cabin. They would need to light all three fireplaces tonight to keep the cold out. It was the disadvantage of owning a larger home.

“I’m just not feeling the best right now, Mill. I’m sure it’s nothing.” he said, wiping his nose once again.

Millie jumped up quickly, her long, silk skirt rustling as she hurried to him. He leaned away from her a bit, resisting her concerned actions. She pulled his arm towards her and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. He was burning up. A flash of fear shot across her face before Millie straightened up and became expressionless. She allowed her medical training to kick in and she helped her father up the stairs and to his room.

She opened one side of the heavy, double-doors that led into James’ room. It still smelled of her mother’s creams, the ones she would lather on her hands and face every evening before bed. One of her dresses still hung from the closet door, waiting for a day that would never come. It made Millie pause for a moment before helping her father into the large bed. Their mattresses had all been made by Ann using burlap stuffed with cotton instead of straw. Lina said they “felt like sleeping on a cloud”. She covered her father up and rushed into the adjoining washroom. It was just a water basin and pitcher of water beside a clawfoot tub. They still had to use an outhouse for all other business. But James had seen indoor plumbing in some newer homes in larger villages and had told his family that he was determined to add indoor plumbing to their custom home. Millie thought it was frivolous. She didn’t think she wanted to do her business inside the house. That sounded disgusting and embarrassing. She got a clean, white cloth, poured water into the bowl and dipped it into the cold water.

“Are you thirsty, Daddy? You need to drink some water. Whiskey can’t cure this, Daddy.” Millie blotted his forehead, pushing back his dark hair and feeling a twinge of anguish at the similarities between her mother and now her father. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, too.

James grunted and closed his eyes, mumbling something either from the fever or the liquor, Millie couldn’t tell which. She went downstairs and was pouring him a fresh glass of water when her sister walked in the door bringing in the cold behind her.

“Where’s Daddy?” Lina asked, putting her large bag down on the table and pulling a few dark, glass bottles from it. Each were labeled, their names written in a lovely script.

“He’s got a fever, Lina. A high one.” Millie said, walking over to look at the elixirs and medicines her sister had brought home.

“I know Millie. It began shortly after you left this morning. I rushed to the General Store and then the Pharmacy as soon as I knew.” she paused, her face still red from the winter wind. “Is he gonna die, Mill?

“No!” she exclaimed, much louder than she had intended. “No. He’s gonna be fine, Lina. I’ll make sure of it.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Millie took the bottles and the water up to her father’s room on a large, brass tray; careful not to spill it. She just managed to get him to take a spoonful of each of the bottles before he thrashed around, rolling away from her and closing his eyes again. She studied him for a moment, watching his body shiver from fever beneath the thick quilt. She would save him. She had to.

Millie pulled her coat back on and hurried back out into the snow, telling her sister that she wouldn’t be long. She had to walk to the other side of the village to find who she was looking for, Madame Willa. She was the midwife that Millie worked for, she was also their village mystic. She could see things, the kind of things that could haunt the average person. Sometimes she could see the future. Other times, she could see inside your very soul. The village depended on her to bring new life into the world, but they feared her for what she knew. She had predicted that an illness would ravage their small community. She had warned them. Now Millie needed her to tell her how to stop this.

The door to Madame Willa’s was painted a beautiful shade of blue, like the ocean. She said it was to confuse any lost spirits into thinking it was the ocean so they wouldn’t try to enter. Millie wasn’t sure why a spirit would be afraid of the ocean, but she knew not to question Madame Willa. She had just lifted her hand to knock when the door flew open and a lovely, older woman stood in the doorway.

“Come in, girl. Come in.” she said, ushering Millie in from the cold.

“Daddy is sick, Madame Willa. He’s sick like Mama. What can I do?” she blurted out before the door behind her was even closed. Madame Willa brushed the snow from her shoulders and helped her out of her coat, wrapping her in a quilt and sitting her beside the fire.

“Tea?” she asked, already walking to the small teapot hanging over the fire in the hearth.

“Madame Willa, did you hear me? Daddy is sick.” she said, exasperated.

“I heard you, girl. But we need to get you warm before you catch your death. Won’t be no good to anyone if you ain’t around.” she replied, pouring the hot, rich tea into a teacup and handing it to Millie. “Honey?” she asked, scooping a spoonful of thick, golden honey from a glass jar and stirring it into Millie’s glass.

“Thank you.” she whispered, blowing on the hot beverage and slowly bringing it to her lips.

Millie was quite beautiful, elegant looking for their small, farming village. Her mother had joked that Millie had been meant to be a Queen, only God had gotten the wrong house. Even without rouge and lipstick, she still had a lovely pink color to her cheeks and her lips were always the prettiest shade of red. Madame Willa had obviously been quite beautiful, herself, when she was younger. She was still quite pretty, her sun-tanned skin making her milky-white hair look even brighter as it fell down her back in a long, intricate braid. Her eyes were a pale gray, making her look frightening and beautiful at the same time.

“I’m afraid there isn’t much we can do, Millie. Mankind’s medicines are no match for the darkness that has begun to descend upon this place.” Madame Willa’s voice was low, barely a whisper. She didn’t look at Millie as she spoke. No, she stared intently at the fire instead, watching the flames flicker and dance. Goosebumps rose up on Millie’s arms and she pulled the blanket tighter around herself.

“What darkness? What is this?” she asked.

“This is the universe’s way of keeping us in line. I tried to warn everyone. Get them prepared. But they disregarded my words, as they’ve been doing so often in the days of late.” Madame Willa was talking about Ms. Polly Arthurs, the village head. She had taken over the running of the town after Cara Matthews had stepped down, choosing to retire in her old age.

Polly Arthurs was a stubborn, mean woman. She was trying to keep face during this trying time as her first challenge as a Leader was proving to be impossible. Madame Willa had not been pleased when she took Cara’s place, but there were many that had expected Madame Willa to take on that role and she had refused. Now Polly was working on turning the villagers against each other; creating division and animosity during a time when they needed love and community the very most.

“Is there nothing we can do to stop this? Is there no elixir we can use to help Daddy?” Millie cried.

Madame Willa got quiet for a few minutes, the only sound was the crackle of the fire and the wind against the cabin windows. Millie sipped the tea, praying it would somehow warm the chill she felt down to her bones.

“There might be a way.” she crooned. Millie looked at her in anticipation, waiting in silence. “There is a special tree that grows deep in the forest atop Mount Uil. The journey there is long and dangerous, girl. There is an elixir I found in one of my great-great grandmother’s books. An old recipe, long forgotten. The fruit that grows from that tree is vital for the elixir. But I’m not even sure that fruit exists any longer. I don’t know if the journey would even be worth it.” she said, turning to Millie and grabbing her hand.

“It’s wintertime, Madame Willa. Fruit doesn’t grow on trees in the wintertime.” Millie stated.

“If the tree is there, the fruit will be.” Madame Willa responded, not a whisper of doubt in her voice.

“I can go. I can get it.” Millie said, squeezing Madame Willa’s hand slightly in assurance.

“If anyone can get it, I know that you can. You have the heart of a warrior inside you, Millie. You have a gift. I know.”

“What gift?” she asked, furrowing her brows.

“You’ll see. When the time is right, you will see.”

Millie sighed, frustrated with the cryptic talk, wanting straight, direct answers. She stayed quiet, though. She had worked with Madame Willa long enough to know that she was not one to elaborate if she didn’t want to. They sipped their teas and talked for a little while longer; discussing a plan for Millie to retrieve the fruit. Millie would need to leave when the sun rose the following day. There was no telling how long her father had before he got worse. Madame Willa pulled a large, dusty leather-bound book from a shelf and began writing down the ingredients for an elixir called the Uil Bloem Elixir. It looked difficult and there were words Millie had never heard before. Old words. Words from before.

Millie looked out the foggy, paned glass window. It was already late afternoon. She needed to get to work getting everything ready for her journey to Mount Uil. There was much to do. She thanked Madame Willa, choosing to ignore the concerned look on the old woman’s face.

“I can do this, Madame Willa. I have to. For Daddy.” she embraced the woman quickly before heading back out into the snow. The minute she walked into their cabin; Lina rushed to meet her. She had pulled her long, blonde curls into a bun and wore a white apron over her emerald green dress.

“Where have you been, Millie? Daddy’s been asking for you.” she asked.

“I went to see Madame Willa. There might be a way to help Daddy. To stop this illness.” her eyes twinkled with excitement even though her insides were knotted up in nerves.

She was terrified. She had never journeyed into those woods. No one really had. The mountain area was dangerous. If the animals didn’t scare you, the Jager’s would. They were mountain men, not fond of outsiders, choosing to live as far away from civilization as possible. They were brutal, fearless men. Just the thought of encountering one made Millie’s blood run cold.

“How, Millie? What did she say?” Lina asked, grabbing her sister’s hands in hers.

“Mount Uil.”

“No! You can’t! Millie…..”

“I have to. It’s the only way. You’ve seen how quickly Mama died. There’s no time. I have to do this.” she said, softly.

“But…”

“I’ll be fine. Promise.” Millie smiled, breaking away and going to check on her father. She found him sleeping in his bed, his fever the same and a feed bucket beside his bed. He had obviously begun vomiting and the stench of it filled the air now.

She emptied the bucket outside, using the water pump to clean out the smell. She hurried back inside and began packing up her things for the morning. It was late into the night before she finally laid her head down to get a few hours of sleep before sunrise.

She checked on her father one last time before leaving that morning. The sun was bright in the sky and it felt as though it had warmed up a bit since the day before. Millie was thankful for that. She was bundled from head to toe in layers, but being out in the cold for days would take a toll on her and could prove deadly if it gets too cold and she can’t find shelter. She nodded at the few people that were already up and working as she walked through the village. It was late morning before she had even reached the edge of the forest that would take her to the mountain.

She took a deep breath, hesitating to leave the warmth and the comfort of the sun to enter the cold, dark forest. It was so dense before her that the sun couldn’t even penetrate the thick canopy of trees. The smell of pine wafted all around her. She walked quickly, determined to make as much progress as she could before it began to get dark. She would need to find shelter before then. A cave, a large rock she could sleep beneath; anything to give her some way to stay warm and stay hidden. She tried to be as silent as she could, but the snow and the underbrush made it impossible.

She stopped at a creek to refill her canteen and to take a rest, maybe eat the sandwich she had packed. Just as she began to take a bite out of her food a voice called out to her,

“Who are you, human woman?” a high-pitched voice rang out from all around her.

Millie jumped, nearly dropping her sandwich. She stood, looking all around her for the source of the voice.

“Are you deaf, child? WHO are you?” it called again.

“Who is that? Where are you? Show yourself!” Millie spun around, her eyes darting back and forth.

Suddenly a large, brown owl flew down and perched on a log a few feet in front of her. It tilted its head and Millie gasped at the animal’s boldness. She had never seen an owl this close before.

“I’m Aryno. Who are you?” the voice came from the owl, staring at Millie as though he were a person himself. Millie gasped, this time letting the sandwich fall from her hands and onto the rock.

“Oh no. I must be feverish.” Millie said aloud to herself.

“I don’t think so. Why would you say that?” Aryno, the owl said.

Millie looked at it in awe and disbelief.

“How is this possible? Animals don’t talk.” she said.

“Well, I’m not sure what animals you are referring to, but I most certainly talk.”

“Millie. I’m Millie.”

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“I need to find the fruit that grows on the tree atop Mount Uil. My father is sick and most of my village has fallen ill and it’s the only thing that might save him.” she explained, feeling silly talking to a bird.

“No one touches that fruit that isn’t worthy.” he stated, ruffling his feathers to shake the snow from them.

“What do you mean “worthy”? You know the fruit I am talking about. Where is it? How do I know if I am worthy?” she asked, picking her sandwich up and brushing it off. The bread had gotten damp from the snow. She tore a piece off and put it in her mouth. Tore another piece and offered it to the owl. He took it, devouring it in one bite.

“You won’t know if you’re worthy until you get there. But most never get there. It’s been many years since I have seen an outsider come for the fruit. Lifetimes really.”

“Lifetimes? I need this fruit. Will you help me?” she asked, handing another piece to her new, feathered friend.

She thought she saw him smile, if owls can smile. He tilted his head a few times, looking at Millie for a while before speaking again. For a moment, Millie thought that she had imagined the owl talking in the first place.

“I’ll help you” he began. “For a price.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *