Winning entry for the Last Summer Contest by AbiBee

Morial brushed through the undergrowth at the head of the stream and stumbled down to the lake. Her heart pounded – whether from the exertion of walking up here so quickly or from nervousness she couldn't tell. The early morning air was cold, especially in this sacred place, but the light was already spilling down into the valley from the hilltops opposite.

*

She'd been woken a while before dawn by a pressing sense of unease – so pressing she'd had to slip out from under Aidhne, to dress silently in the dark and sit quietly in the garden to attune herself to the Spirits. Immediately, the urgent need to come to this place – not just anywhere, this place – had borne down on her. The Spirits were beyond uneasy, but she did not know why. (No, she suspected why, but was unwilling to recognise it.) She was being summoned.

She'd gently woken a reluctant Aidhne – they rarely slept apart these days, not that they actually slept much. Aidhne'd left after a lingering kiss, disappearing into the grey pre-dawn still fastening her dress. Morial had collected her cap and cloak, then set off upstream away from the village.

*

Removing her cap and letting her dark hair flow loose over her shoulders, she knelt slowly on the shingle to close her eyes, finding a moment of calm; she murmured greetings to the listening Spirits. They were always listening, and watching, but here – where their realm touched that of mortals most closely – their presence could be overwhelming to the unwary or uninitiated. It was dutiful to acknowledge them all, but she and they knew that she was there to talk to one only.

She dipped her left hand in the gently shifting water and passed it across her face with the customary ritual words of cleansing, then placed her right palm more carefully on the surface, holding it still. All spirit-listeners could communicate with all the Spirits, lift the veil between the worlds in communion with whichever Spirit was most appropriate in the moment. But each Listener had her own particular elemental affinity, and water was Morial's. It had marked her since birth and chosen her more clearly every year in the two-and-twenty summers since. Water had guided her apprenticeship in the craft, and it was to water that she felt closest. She was the Listener to Bentreah'ine, the Blue Lady, Water.

Bentreah'ine was expecting her, it was she had called her here. Truth be told, Morial knew Bentreah'ine had been calling for a while now, and that she had been ignoring the call. With an effort, she maintained her calm breathing. It did not do to approach the Spirits in agitation, or weakness.

Holding her hand level on the water's surface, she noticed the sunlight dapple hesitantly across the far shallows – little touches of dawn's fire on the cold lake. Water was treacherous, but it was its beauty under sunlight which always most attracted Morial. She felt ready to approach.

Instinctively, her first finger broke the surface in the ritual beckoning. Although the Spirits were always present, it was her place to invite them to cross over. Until they were invited by a mortal, they could only make their presence felt indirectly – it was for the likes of Morial to attend to them and be their messenger in her world, and she knew that it must be something pressing indeed for her to feel as if she was summoned so urgently to this sacred spot.

Her name echoed across the valley as she touched her finger to the water, answering the lake's calls for her. As soon as she did, a sentence appeared on the surface of the water (and she heard Bentreah'ine's voice in her head): I know what you did last summer.

Morial felt her heart jump. What in Creation was suddenly so important that was already nigh-on a twelvemonth past? "The year is fully turned since then, Lady. What in particular do you wish to know?"

That which troubles your conscience, Morial.

"Nothing troubles my conscience, Lady."

You lie.

I do lie, Morial thought, but almost certainly not for the reason you suppose.

Of the two things in her life over which Morial felt a troubled conscience, she was willing to discuss one with Bentreah'ine. The other still troubled her too much. She cleared her mind of all but innocent thoughts. "Have I neglected you?"

You are always careful in your attention. I have not known so capable a Listener for a long time.

"Then what offends you?"

Under Morial's hand the surface of the lake rippled as if stirred by a breeze – though there was none – and she heard a hissing in her head. You are proud, Morial. The water stirred again. Are you still a maid?

Morial swallowed and breathed slowly, to keep her conscience clear. She had been expecting this question – hence her reluctance to heed Bentreah'ine's call recently. "I am conscious of my duty. I have never known a man, that is the truth. And never will as long as I am called to listen."

I feel you speak truly. Yet I sense you have found another source of strength. You are wary.

You are Water, Morial thought, and only a fool is unwary around water. "I do not seek your friendship, Lady. Only your respect." She opened her eyes for a moment, and as the dawn's light grew in strength it glittered and danced almost like sparks spreading across the lake's surface. Morial felt a kick of delight at the sight, and knew this was as much a sign of the Spirits' respect as anything.

The water-mill, is it repaired?

Ah, Morial thought, this we can discuss. "It is. The apprentice boy is now the miller. He already knows the water well, and he knows the wheel, as he made it himself. He will be respectful."

The miller's death was a surprise.

Not to us, Morial thought. Not to me and Aidhne, the Listener to Treah'thel, the Red Lord of Fire. She pushed away from her mind all thoughts of Aidhne – her kisses, her touching – but the effort meant she did not think carefully about her reply. "It is no loss. He was not right." Morial caught her thoughts. "He was...he was not respectful."

The lake did not reply, and Morial filled the silence. "You must have sensed his greed, Lady. He was building dams and sluices, in order to take more from the water than was reasonable. His schemes were misplaced, unbalancing the stream. The fishers were suffering. The rest of us too, when the wells were not full enough. I was beginning to wonder why I could not keep the wells full, what more I had to do to please you. But I eventually saw the problem, and the problem was the miller. He was not right." Morial continued to press her point, appealing to the fickle solidarity of the Spirits, hoping it was stronger than their fear of what they saw as imbalances in the natural order amongst mortals: "It was harming the stream's banks, upstream: did not the Green Lady tell you this?"

She did. But what had it to do with Treah'thel's girl?

"She..." Morial made an effort to breathe slowly again, and made her mind tread carefully around the thought of Aidhne. Especially the thought of Aidhne in her fury, one particular night at Morial's cottage. "She is sister to the miller's widow."

Aidhne and her younger sister had appeared one Summer evening a year before, as Morial was pottering in the herb garden behind her cottage.

**

The girl, looking fuller in body than Morial remembered, was tearful and shaken, not to mention bruised. Aidhne was almost literally spitting fire. Morial thought her childhood friend, and sister in the craft, had never been more alluring. Aidhne thrived on a passionate intensity – glowed with it, in fact, like her element – but on this occasion she was both as serious and as angry as Morial could ever remember.

"Water, Morial, please. And something soothing." Aidhne guided her sister to a low seat in the corner of the garden, and knelt in front of her, suddenly calm and reassuring as she stroked the girl's hair. Morial had spotted a black eye and split lip already and now saw bruises not only on the girl's face and neck, but her arms too. She hoped her belly was unharmed. Plucking a good handful of leaves and flowers from her herbs here and there, she hurried to infuse them in the small pot on her fire. While the pot warmed, she took a small flask from the back of her cupboard, and a drinking cup, and went back out to the garden.

She made the girl drink a shot of the powerful spirit-water, which, although it burned her throat, at least stopped her tears. Morial then gave her the herb tea, and washed the girl's cut lip and cheek. All the while, she could feel her friend glowering behind her, leaning in so close that Morial struggled to resist the warmth of Aidhne's body.

"That spirit-forsaken son of a stray cur has gone too far this time," muttered Aidhne, putting a hot hand on Morial's neck and caressing it absent-mindedly. Morial's body flushed with pleasure, but she collected herself.

With a deep breath, she squeezed the injured girl's hand. "When did your husband begin with this violence? How long have you been keeping it to yourself?"

The girl said it had started a few months earlier, after she was obviously unable to satisfy him as before. Morial slipped a hand to the girl's midriff, feeling the swelling, and listened through her fingers. "You are both safe yet, although not if this continues much longer. Do you wish to keep it, my sweet?"

The girl sighed. "Not if it is like its father. I could not cope with two of the beasts."

Morial nodded thoughtfully and stroked the girl's bump, silently calling on the Spirits' protection. She gently brushed Aidhne's hand from her hair, gesturing her away. "You'd prefer to save this yet-innocent one, if we must choose?" The girl nodded. Morial stood up. "Drink more of the tea. It would be wise to stay away from home tonight. May I talk with your sister?"

The girl met Morial's eye guardedly. "You are sisters, of another kind."

"But Aidhne is your mortal family."

"A double reason to trust you, then, mistress."

Morial smiled reassuringly, then joined Aidhne further down the garden. They agreed to try to keep the girl safe, and resolved to meet together with the other two Listeners in the following days. (It was unusual to call a full audience outside the special times, but the two young women needed the guidance and authority of their peers.) Aidhne's sister would stay with Morial that night to recover some strength, before going home to their father's house for a time. Their father was the blacksmith, and not a man anyone – let alone the miller – would dare to confront.

After Aidhne left, Morial fed the girl some soup and bread before making her comfortable in the bed. She reassured herself that the unborn child was as sound as she could tell, and reflected sadly that Aidhne's sister was barely more than a child herself. Then, while the girl slept, she sat up with the fire and a deep cup of spirit-water, thinking of the balance of things and of how people could choose to live in peace or conflict; of how the Spirits were so markedly different, but together ensured the balance of the world; of how she and Aidhne were so different, so opposed in their own spirits, but so close and dear to one another.

She realised that if (as they both grew in the craft) either she or Aidhne ever became more powerful first, the other would be overwhelmed to the point of destruction; but that she needed her friend as much as Aidhne needed her...

What chaos would be visited on normal mortals, if two of the Listeners should be taken away through their own foolishness?

Yet Aidhne was so bright and powerful, so all-consuming, that she was difficult to resist. After all the years, Morial now doubted she had the strength to hold out against her friend any longer.

**

The storm was unusual. We questioned its purpose.

Morial hesitated to reply. She had felt that last Summer's extraordinary audience of the Listeners had been the most powerful she'd ever felt. "We are grateful still, Lady. Some minor disruption can be helpful, if it highlights the importance of balance."

The lake rippled under Morial's hand. The sunlight was now brighter and warmer. You are cunning, Morial.

**

A week after tending to Aidhne's sister, the two friends approached the sacred clearing above the lake. Morial took Aidhne's hand for the last stretch through the wood, knowing she was less used to the climb up the stream – fire was usually to hand in the village. They entered the clearing and knelt before the great sacred ash tree. (Sacred because it drew water like nothing else, linked the earth to the air more proudly than any other, and burnt best as timber.) The Air and Earth Listeners were already there: older women, more experienced – Air thin with age but still strong, Earth comfortable in her matronly solidity. "Welcome, sisters," said Earth, offering a cup of spirit-water and embracing both girls. "Let us discuss our business, before we pay homage to the Spirits, eh?"

"We all know of the miller's failings," said Air in the chilly voice that made a mortal want to draw their cloak about them tighter. "He is a danger to the balance. The question is what to do about it."

*

On their way back down to the village, Aidhne caught Morial's hand. "Will it work, sister?"

"Why not?" Morial allowed Aidhne's heat to flow through their linked fingers and suffuse her body.

Aidhne sighed. "Sometimes I think it is dangerous for us to be sisters in the craft, Morial. We are so opposed, elementally. But I feel so bound to you." She held Morial's hand tighter and moved closer. "We could overwhelm each other."

Morial moved her free hand to her friend's waist and pulled her as close as possible, finally giving in to the pull she had felt so long. Into her hair, she said, "Aidhne, I have long since been resigned to that."

Aidhne pressed herself into Morial's body, nudging their faces closer. "Ah. That means you have thought about it too."

Their first kiss was hesitant, lest the Spirits disapproved.

And if thereafter Aidhne sometimes spent the night at Morial's cottage, they remained cautious at first.

*

Some in the village said the storm had caused the earth to weaken and burst the banks upstream. Some said the miller drowned in the storm-swollen waters. Some said that the wind that day had predicted a storm, and it was dangerous to go out to the damaged water-wheel, which had been set alight when a badly-fitted, and badly maintained, fitting had caused a small fire. None doubted that the miller was a drunkard and a fool, and all agreed such a sudden and unexpected storm had been unusual for the time of year.

**

Murder disturbs the balance of nature, Morial.

"He is not missed. The baby has a loving mother, aunt and grandfather. The mill is repaired and in better hands. The stream recovers, the wells are fed properly. Balance is restored."

You are cunning. I wonder what else you might hide from me.

Morial kept her thoughts focused, although she felt Aidhne's touch on her skin as the sunlight crept up over her dress and neck and face. "Nothing, Lady. Be well." She withdrew her hand from the water, dismissing the Spirit.

**

At Midsummer, a few weeks after her summons to the lake, Morial was on the fringe of the village celebrations, when Aidhne slipped up behind her and took her hand. "Morial." Amongst the folds of their dresses, they linked fingers. Aidhne pressed close, kissing Morial's cheek softly. "All seems well. No-one requires us tonight. And it is a year since we first lay together..."

"We have been careless. Bentreah'ine is suspicious of me."

"Treah'thel has questioned me too. We should discuss this. Have you any of that apple wine left?"

Morial sighed, but squeezed her lover's hand. "Of course. Come."

*

After much of the flask of wine, Aidhne stumbled to her feet and brought her purse back to the bed, where the girls had been lying together to talk. From it, she withdrew two delicately-worked bracelets, slipping one on. She held the other out. "I had father make these. Over a pure ash fire."

Morial sat up. It had been difficult to lie alongside her friend and not touch her like before, but Aidhne's eyes now flickered with determination. "What is this?"

Aidhne slipped the second bracelet around Morial's wrist. It was solid but not heavy. "Notice the design."

Morial examined it in the low light of her fire. A stylised flame curved about an ash tree, edged with waves of air and water. She felt a weight lift from her soul, and suddenly could not imagine ever resisting Aidhne. "The four elements bound in one," she whispered.

"In iron." Aidhne climbed back onto the bed beside her friend and kissed her neck softly. "The Spirits cannot control iron."

Morial nodded, and let Aidhne's kisses fan the flames of desire licking her insides. Iron: born from earth, melted in fire, cooled in air and fixed by water – shaped and given meaning by a mortal man with almost otherwordly dominion over nature. "The Spirits cannot reach through iron." She pulled Aidhne closer, curling her body around her friend.

"TheSpirits have no knowledge of what we do, when we wear these." Aidhne kissedMorial deeply, and began unfastening her dress.