Under a Wild and Darkening Sky: Flying Horse Books, #3

By Linda Ulleseit

Ralf knows he must take over his father's bakery, but is it wrong to want some adventure before he does? New to High Meadow, he is befriended by the beautiful and dangerous Branwen, who has her own goal—to entice Ralf to help her steal a winged horse and return it to Tremeirchson.

Meanwhile, Ralf's sister, Alyna, dives into barn life. Becoming a groom to a winged foal is a lot of responsibility to the horse, to the barn, and to her father, who idolizes the wrong barn leader. Politics, greed, and revenge swirl around the teenaged siblings as they struggle to be true to their family and their future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linda Ulleseit
• Release date: May 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499260717

Linda Ulleseit

Linda Ulleseit, from Saratoga, California, has an MFA in writing from Lindenwood University and is a member of the Hawaii Writers Guild, Women Writing the West, and Paper Lantern Writers. She is also the award-winning author of two novels, Under the Almond Trees and The Aloha Spirit. She recently retired from teaching elementary school and now enjoys writing full time as well as cooking, leatherworking, reading, gardening, walking her dog, and playing with her new grandson.

Book preview

1

HIGH MEADOW

Alyna's arms ached, but that was nothing new. They ached every day from before sunup until long after she collapsed into her bed at night. The rhythm of kneading her father's dough in her mother's carved wooden bowl echoed through her entire body, and the pain in her arms stabbed a staccato harmony. 

Behind her, the massive oven was hard at work. The bricks of the fire chamber glowed from the temperature of the wood fire within. In the top chamber of the oven, the village's bread baked. It didn't matter which village, the heat and the aching arms were the same.

Alyna swept away an errant lock of hair that escaped its leather thong. It was much too hot to wear a proper head covering, but her fine brown hair wouldn't stay tied back. New village, new rules, new Alyna. She firmly refused to wear a hat in this shop. 

Her parents moved around the cramped space behind her. Papa labored near the oven, whistling the same nameless tune he'd whistled as she was growing up in Merioneth. Mum arranged the loaves of bread for sale. Right up front she put Papa's specialty, the berry pies that had won him this bakery. 

They'd long been out of their home in Merioneth. It wasn't like they'd left it to move directly here to this remote village in the Welsh mountains. Papa had dragged his family all over Gwynned these past two years, following small village fairs and selling bread wherever he could. High Meadow was his dream come true--a chance to live and work near the village's fabulous flying horses. His family didn't share that dream.

A shadow detached itself from the doorway that led to the upstairs solar where the family lived. It glided soundlessly along the wall, clothed head to foot in black as usual. He spoke to her in a low tone, not quite a whisper. Cover for me?

Oh, Ralf, now? No new Ralf here. Her brother was always sneaking away on some impulsive whim. It was as much a part of him as keeping in the shadows was for her. Knowing Ralf, he probably already had a handful of friends in this new village.

Please, Alyna. 

Go on. She waved him away.

Ralf slipped out the large double doors in back of the shop, the doors that always stayed open to allow the cooling mountain breezes in, and to ease her older brother's escape. With an exasperated growl, she attacked the bread dough in her mother's bowl.

High Meadow was supposed to be her chance to become something new, something she could be proud of. Somehow she would grow the confidence she so desperately longed for. Somewhere there must be room for a new Alyna to emerge. Hiding in the shop and covering for Ralf was the old Alyna. New Alyna would find her own adventures, and maybe she'd even find a real friend of her own. 

A tall man stepped up to the shop window that Mum had opened this morning for the first time, folding the shutters down into a ledge where Papa's wares could be sold. Their first customer was blond and oozed the confidence Alyna lacked. Old habits made her drop her eyes to the dough as she kept kneading.

Welcome to our humble shop, sir! Mum called as she hurried to the window, wiping flour off her hands with a cloth.

Where's the baker? The customer's voice snapped enough to be called rude. 

Mum laughed, as she did in every situation. Alyna pictured her mother's sparkling hazel eyes, which were clearly her best feature. Just last night she had asked Alyna to sew an extra length onto her apron strings so they could be tied around her expansive midsection.

The baker is my husband, William. Mama gestured toward the oven, where Papa used the long-handled paddle, called a peel, to remove three loaves of dark bread. His straw-colored hair damp with sweat, Papa looked too skinny to do the work of a baker. 

The lovely scent of fresh rye bread wafted through the room, a smell that instinctively made mouths water. Alyna was impervious. Maybe the pain in her arms counteracted the smells.

And I am Gwen, Mama continued. Alyna could hear the smile in her voice. Mama always smiled.

I am Evan, the man announced. Leader of Second Barn. 

Alyna focused her eyes on the dough in front of her. Push, pull it back, push. If she didn't make eye contact, she wouldn't be expected to speak to this stranger, this first customer.

Papa wiped his hands on a cloth and carried a hot fresh loaf to the window. His step was lively, almost hopping. Welcome, Barn Leader! I am so pleased to have the honor of serving you as our first official customer.

Alyna winced at her father's tone. Important as a barn leader was, Papa didn't need to grovel. He was the baker, a very important person in his own right.

I only eat pandemayne so I can make sure no tree bark fell into the dough. Evan's voice sneered a challenge. 

It was true many bakers stretched out the dough for their cheaper breads by adding bark and even dirt, but Papa had never done so. Rage would boil inside him at the insult, but he would never show it. The customer was their livelihood, that's what he always said.

I have a baker's dozen of fine white pandemayne on the shelves, Papa said in an even tone. Can I send them up to Second Barn for you?

You must not have been in High Meadow long if you think I shop for my own bread, Evan scoffed.

Alyna fumed. What an odious man! The dough stopped sticking to the wooden bowl and rolled into a nice elastic ball. She carried it over to the counter where Mum would measure out the carefully regulated amount of dough for each loaf. On the way, she made the mistake of looking up at the barn leader. Cold blue eyes raked her head to foot, chilling her into trembling. A ragged scar marred his left cheek. 

No, she would not tremble. Clenching her hands to stop the shaking, she fastened her own brown eyes on him. Forcing a smile, which probably made it look like a grimace, she put down the bowl of dough and went to prepare another batch. Back in her place at the kneading table, she allowed herself a small smile for a very small victory. 

William meant no insult, Barn Leader, Mum said softly. Take this berry pie with you to the barn. A small gift to you and your riders.

Ah, you're the berry pie vendor from the Aerial Games. Evan's voice mellowed into a pleasant tone. You, sir, make the best berry pies in Gwynned, maybe in all of Wales.

Alyna's smile widened. Flattery would win her father over.

Papa's voice rang with pride. Many thanks, Barn Leader. Please inform your kitchen staff that our oven is at their disposal.

In Merioneth, many of the manor cooks had brought their own meals to Papa's shop to use the oven. It was a service a good baker provided to his village. It interfered with a normal routine, though, and Alyna hoped it would be a long time before High Meadow cooks started showing up with shepherd's pies and tarts and biscuits for them to cook.

The shop fell silent as Evan departed with his pie. Her mother heaved a deep sigh and laughed. Our first customer and no payment. Ah well, maybe he will like the pie and tell others.

I'm the baker, Gwen, Papa chastised her. Everyone will know I have set up shop. Davyd said when the old baker let his wandering feet take him on with the traveling fair that the people in this village would be quick to embrace a new one.

It does feel good to start again in a rooted place.

Alyna turned her head slightly and with a fond smile watched her father wipe the top of Mum's nose. 

Ah, William, tell me I didn't have flour on my nose when Evan was here! she wailed.

My darling, you always have flour on your nose. They laughed together as they went back to work.

Not much later, Mum turned to Alyna with an uncharacteristic frown. Where's Ralf? He's supposed to take over the oven so your father can have a decent meal.

The old Alyna would have mumbled something noncommittal, her shoulders hunched so her brown hair hid her face. The old Alyna would never have admitted to seeing Ralf slip out the back, and the old Alyna certainly wouldn't have stood up straight and looked right at Mum when she answered. She took a deep breath and stiffened her spine. Ralf left just before the barn leader arrived. He didn't say where he was going. Alyna couldn't manage to do more than glance at her mother, but change took time. She'd made a good start. 

Mum made a frustrated noise somewhere between a sigh and a snort. You've worked hard all morning, Alyna. Why don't you take the rest of the day off? It's not like we're busy yet. And just like that the laughter was back in her eyes.

Alyna smiled. I'd like that, Mum. Thank you. But her mother had already turned back to Papa, talking in a voice too low for Alyna to make out words. She wiped her hands on a clean cloth and headed for the same door where Ralf had disappeared, untying her apron as she went. 

One step into the alley the temperature dropped significantly. The outside air, cooled by the mountain mist, refreshed her after the close heat of the shop. The alley stretched between the back doors of two rows of shops. The bakery faced Main Street, but the other shops fronted on the street beyond. Walking carefully to avoid where the shopkeepers emptied slop buckets, Alyna breathed through her mouth to avoid the odious urine smell of the tannery across the way.

Just as she made her way around the building Main Street, a dark shadow glided overhead. Alyna looked up at the winged horse. The great creatures made her nervous as a chicken with a fox nearby. Every year her family had traveled from Merioneth to High Meadow for the Aerial Games, so for fourteen years she'd hidden her lack of excitement about them. Well, that was not entirely true. For the first couple of years she'd been a babe in her mother's arms and didn't know any better. Twelve years, then. She'd never been close enough to a real winged horse to truly be afraid of them, but she was definitely wary. Today, though, she was a new Alyna.

Squaring her shoulders, she crossed the street to the tavern, the main gathering place for the village. A wagon drawn by non-winged horses clattered by, and a few people strolled the edges of the hard-packed dirt street. Alyna remembered her father beaming with pride when Davyd, who owned the tavern, offered him such a choice location in the center of the village.

Inside, the tavern echoed with conversation and laughter. Alyna scanned the room. Someday she would know every one of these people and which kind of bread they preferred. She'd know who had a sweet tooth for Papa's berry pies and who had a servant to pick up their orders. Today the only face she recognized was Davyd's. The tavern keeper had founded the town when he was only twenty. Now he was almost thirty, still the power behind the town, and benefactor of a wandering baker. He smiled and waved from behind the bar, where he stood in front of a wall of great oaken casks. 

The other wall contained a massive stone fireplace with a roaring fire, but the most visually jaw-dropping feature of the tavern was before her. Until she entered Davyd's tavern for the first time, she'd never seen an entire wall of windows. Lead framed each one, and rigid metal rods anchored them vertically. It was a testament to the wealth of Lady Margery, the town's patroness. Alyna walked toward the door set in the middle of the glass wall, her lips pressed together in determination.

Once more outside, Alyna hesitated. More strangers sat at about a dozen tables scattered across the yard. Alyna walked right to the railing that drew every High Meadow visitor. She'd never been here alone and of her own volition. Clutching the rough wood of the barricade to still the trembling in her hands, Alyna looked out over the meadow.

High Meadow sat on a plateau at the end of a long, narrow valley. The tavern sat on the lip of the drop. From here, people could watch the flying horses above and below them. Papa loved coming here and had spent many hours pointing out to her the barn colors and certain horses with his favorite riders. Alyna remembered only the relief that the horses were in the air and not standing next to her. The tavern sat high enough above the valley floor, though, that winged horses had been known to fly by close enough for people at the railing to feel the wind from their wings. 

On either side of the valley, sheer red cliffs rose into the sky. Beyond them, the great mountain Yr Wydda loomed. Many of the Welsh myths she'd learned as a child grew from remote misty valleys in these mountains. No doubt there were some in Merioneth who believed High Meadow's flying horses were mythology. 

On her right, Alyna could see the four barns that housed High Meadow's flying horses. She muttered the litany her father had taught her. First Barn led by Tristan, Second Barn led by Evan, Third Barn led by Nia, Fourth Barn led by Thomas. 

In the distance, four specks swooped across the valley. They dodged the mist that caressed the cliffs and stretched wispy fingers toward the winged creatures. They weren't practicing any routine that Alyna could detect, probably just flying to keep wing muscles from stiffening. As the four drew closer, she could make out the horses' coloring. Papa would know who they were and be able to name their riders. Alyna watched, admiring their grace, as the horses turned in a long, lazy arc and headed for the barns. They disappeared behind Second Barn, and the sky was empty.

Not bad for her first morning as New Alyna. She'd met the eyes of a barn leader and chosen to watch horses fly. Smiling to herself in congratulations, she turned away from the railing. 

Her smile faded when she saw Ralf at a table near the building. Her brother's black hair fell across his eyes as it always did, but Alyna could tell from the way he leaned forward that he was in tense discussion with someone. She moved toward the tavern door, putting herself out of Ralf's view but in a good spot to see his companion. It was a girl, younger than Ralf, maybe a year younger than Alyna's own fourteen. Alyna didn't recognize her. She was obviously speaking with great passion, her hands waving around her head. An impressive cloud of long curly black hair encircled that head and fell past her shoulders.

The strange girl's hands stilled and she leaned forward, probably to listen to Ralf's response. Vitality glowed from her face. 

Overcome with curiosity, Alyna took a seat at a small empty table. Suddenly the tavern door crashed open, startling her. 

Evan stormed from the building right across the patio toward Ralf. The customers' faces mirrored Alyna's surprise, but no one spoke to the barn leader. He was clearly on a mission, his face red with anger. The scar stood out clearly, white against the red.

Ralf's companion saw him first. She sat up straight, chin in the air, magnificent hair shining like a raven's wing. Ralf turned, and Alyna shrank against the building. She shouldn't have bothered. Evan commanded their attention.

How dare you come so brazenly into my village and spread your foul ideas! Evan's words carried clearly to everyone nearby. Some rose and quietly left, probably to avoid the barn leader's wrath.

Raven Hair answered Evan in a tone that was almost snippy. I thought it was Davyd's village. Don't you mainly keep to the barns? 

Even the new Alyna would never speak to a barn leader that way. 

You do not belong here, you insolent child! Evan raged. And you! His wrath landed on Ralf. New to High Meadow? Ready to have her lies and wild ideas corrupt your entire life? Or are you just passing through?

Alyna gasped, but before Ralf could answer, Raven Hair did. We're talking and having a hot drink, just like all these other people. 

Her sweeping gesture included everyone still in the yard. Alyna again shrank toward the building, but none of the trio looked her way. 

The door opened again, and Davyd came out. Moving swiftly, he approached Evan. Alyna knew they were brothers, but they didn't really resemble each other. Evan's tall blond build contrasted with Davyd, who was shorter and stockier, his hair brown and curly on his head as well as in his beard. More importantly, they didn't act like brothers. Even when she was completely frustrated with Ralf she loved and respected him. Only fury showed on Davyd's face.

You need to leave, Evan, he told his brother in a firm tone.

Why, Davyd, don't you want to know when your tavern is hosting conspiracy?

Ralf is the baker's son. He's too new to the village to be any part of a conspiracy. You're embarrassing yourself and causing a scene. Leave. Davyd put a hand on Evan's arm, making it clear he'd drag his brother out if needed.

Evan leaned close to Raven Hair, face to face, and snarled, Stay away from High Meadow, cythraul. Then he stormed out much as he entered, slamming the tavern door behind him. 

Alyna heard him slam the street door, too, as she watched her brother with the girl Evan clearly hated. She didn't need to know what cythraul meant to understand that much. 

Davyd put a gentle hand on Ralf's shoulder. I'm sorry he bothered you. Turning to Ralf's companion, Davyd spoke more sharply. You do raise suspicions when you descend on new residents so soon after their arrival. Know you are being watched, and not just by Evan.

Davyd turned away and headed toward the door into his tavern. On the way, he greeted customers and picked up empty glassware. Spotting Alyna, he hesitated for a moment and frowned. She dropped her eyes to the table, and he went inside without speaking to her.

Alyna let out the breath she'd been holding for longer than she realized. What kind of trouble was Ralf getting himself into now?

2

RALF

Seventeen-year-old Ralf watched Branwen, but her eyes were on Davyd, disappearing into the tavern. With that glossy black hair and fierce green eyes, she could have been a magnificent Celtic warrior, or maybe a goddess. The imposing vista of cliffs and clouds presented a perfect backdrop, even though the lingering mist gave off a stealthy air like a bandit in the night. 

Ralf smiled when Branwen's gaze returned to him. Is this village always so hostile? he asked.

She leaned forward, eyes still flashing. Evan and Davyd show what High Meadow has become. Evan is air, full of dreams. Davyd is practical earth. If they could truly run the village together, like they planned, all would be well.

Let me guess. They can't. Her passion amused him. He couldn't help but compare her to Alyna, since they were about the same age. Branwen had more fire, but when Alyna believed in something, she persevered without giving up. Branwen obviously preferred to be the center of attention and shout it from the cliff top. In addition, an air of danger wrapped this girl like a winter cloak. 

Na, they can't. Did you see the scar on Evan's cheek? Ralf nodded. Davyd did that. His own brother. Not that he didn't have cause, but it shattered their partnership.

I understand that. Ralf sat back in his chair, wondering what possible cause a man could have to slice up his brother's cheek. It was ancient history, though, so he didn't ask.

His best friend Alan, still in Merioneth, would enjoy meeting Branwen. Alan had the same flair for the dramatic. His friend was the tailor's son, not part of Ralf's world on Baker Street. Even then Ralf liked to sneak away from the shop to relieve the boredom of doing the same thing all day. He watched the lords and ladies as they went about their business. They always seemed to be laughing. One day a scrawny boy with an untidy mop of hair had followed a particularly finely dressed lord. The boy mimicked the lord's gestures and posture. Ralf had laughed aloud, catching the boy's attention. From that day on, he'd followed Alan and never been bored.  

 Branwen's eyes flicked toward the tavern door. The other customers had returned to eating their meals or watching the sky, although occasionally one of them glanced in their direction. We should go. She stood up, her russet skirts swirling around her legs, hair sweeping across her back. 

Ralf stood, too, his lean height towering over the petite girl. She was too short for a warrior, he decided. How tall were goddesses in Celtic lore?

He headed toward the door, and Branwen followed. Refusing to look toward Davyd as he crossed through the tavern, Ralf reached the street without incident, holding the door open for the girl behind him. Ralf's eyes involuntary glanced across the street to his father's bakery. No one was at the customer window, and from here he couldn't see inside. He'd never actually looked out that window. If his mother stood just out of sight, could she see him? Running a guilty hand through his straight dark hair, Ralf turned so his back was toward the bakery. Not that he'd escape detection that way. His all-black tunic and trousers weren't as common in High Meadow as they'd been among his friends in Merioneth.

Something wrong? Branwen asked. 

Ralf grimaced. No, not at all. He had left when his father expected his help, so he could rely on parental anger. If they saw him now or later, it made no difference. He'd disappointed them yet again, and they would let him know.

Branwen took his arm and pulled him down the street. I don't like being out in the open. She kept her head down but looked up at him through long lashes and a halo of soft, dark curls. She definitely did not look thirteen.

He affected a jaunty smile. So are you going to let me in on this conspiracy we're supposed to be planning? And what does sith-ral mean? 

Branwen's nose wrinkled in distaste. Cythraul. Welsh for devil.

And just like that Ralf's heart lightened. He threw his head back and hooted his laughter to the sky. Devil? Aren't you kind of small for a devil? 

She might not be his age, and she was a girl, but Branwen had more spunk than anyone he'd met so far in High Meadow. With her as his friend, life would have something more interesting than bone-crushing, mind-numbing labor. Baking bread was boring. Ralf knew he could do something important with