The Serpent and the Rose

1 The hayrick exploded in a swirl of straw and dust and squawking chickens. The yard dogs yelped and fled with their tails between their legs; the bull bellowed in his pen. Gereint stood in the middle of the whirlwind, eye to eye with a shape as insubstantial as it was powerful. He had an impression of wings and fangs and eyesa hundred eyes, each different from the next, and all fixed on him. Studying him. Reducing him to absolute insignificance. God knew, he was used to that. "My apologies," he said as politely as he knew how. "I didn't mean to disturb you." The whirlwind plucked at his hair with unexpectedly gentle fingers, running them through it, then tugging on the tail of his shirt. It seemed more amused than not. When he bowed, it rippled in what might have been laughter. Then it scattered, dividing into a hundred tiny breezes. They danced through the barnyard and set the remains of the hayrick to spinning before, with a sigh, they fluttered to the ground. "Gereint." His mother's voice was quiet. That was much more disturbing than a full-throated bellow. He turned slowly, shedding bits of hay. "I was only trying to" "Don't say it," she said. But he had to. Not that she would ever understand, but he never stopped trying. "I was going to feed the cows, and I thought, you know, if the hay could move itself, how much more time I'd have to milk them. I didn't mean to" "You never do," said Enid. A great anger was rising in him. It was years old and miles deep, and he had been throttling it down for as long as he could remember. He dared not let it loose. It was bad enough that he had scattered a month's worth of hay all over creation. A very small part of it escaped him. Words, that was all they were. Nothing else. "If you would let me learn how to control this thingif you would just acknowledge that I have it" It was no use. Her face had shut down, just as it always did. "Now you have the yard to rake as well as the cows to milk and feed. Salvage what hay you can. It can go for bedding if it's too far gone for anything better." "Mother," he said. He knew it was futile, but if he did not say it, the top of his head was going to fly off. "Mother, for once in your life, please listen. It's happening more often, and it's getting worse. You can't just keep on ignoring it." "Rake," she said. "Feed. Milk." Then she was gone, back to hitching up the wagon. It was market day, and she had a stall to tend. The thing inside Gereint was so strong he could barely see. There was a buzzing in his ears and a drumming in his skull. He prayed he could keep it from bursting loose. It helped to focus on raking and feeding and milking. If Enid had been there, she would have pointed to that as proof that she was right. He could control the thing insidethe magic. She refused to say the word. He said it aloud with his cheek pressed to the brown cow's side. "Magic. Magic, magic, magic. I am so full of magic I don't know what to do. And she won'tevenadmit that I have it." The cow lowed in protest. He had milked her dry. He rubbed her forehead in apology, swung the full bucket onto the milk cart and went on to the next. After the cows were milked, there was plowing to do in the lower field. Gereint very deliberately thought of nothing but keeping the mule straight in the furrow and making that furrow as straight and deep as it should be. He noticed rather distantly that the early morning sun had faded and a chill wind had begun to blow. It was still spring, after all, and the weather could be treacherous. When the first drops of rain fell, they stung, as if the heart of each was sleet. HeBryan, Kathleen is the author of 'The Serpent and the Rose', published 2008 under ISBN 9780765351746 and ISBN 0765351749.