It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Winterwyst
Blown glass in every conceivable color was strung from building to building in Haperton as candlers prepared their wicking sticks for the nightly endeavors to follow. The day had only just begun on the 50th day of Winter in the simple town nestled against hills and sparring woodland. Redden could be seen above the rooftops where Ender sat tying a strand of blown globes to the gutter of the local bakery. Even in the cover of tufted clouds the far off city still gleamed in its golden hue.
"Get your head out of the clouds, Ender!" Elora called out from the road. A chuckle churned from her chest that fluttered gracefully from her lips in a fond melody. "Tie it up and get back down here! We have baking to do!"
She always had a way of lifting his spirits, that Elora Carter. Almost a year since they first met and her company never got old or withered or splintered. Winterwyst brought them together, and he couldn't imagine spending another holiday apart after all the fun they had. They had become best friends, and anytime he was let out he'd rush straight to Haperton and the bakery she worked with her grandmother.
Securing the strand of multicolored glass lanterns, Ender made his descent by the sturdy ladder he bought for Gran Gran in the Summer. Or rather, he bought it for himself to use around the bakery so that he didn't have to find clever ways to shimmy about its exterior for maintenance. Elora had tied a red ribbon to it that held a good-luck medallion, per customs. "Best to pay the toll," she had said to him. It was a simple gesture, and a common one at that, yet to him it showed she cared about his life. She
cared.
"I don't think the tree branch will reach the strand," he said as he approached Elora on the street. They looked up to admire his handiwork. Haperton was Home to simple folk with simple decorations nowhere near as extravagant as those seen in Redden this time of year. But it was quaint enough to satisfy the lot, and already it was beginning to look more like Winterwyst.
"You should stay the night for the First Lighting," she said as she hooked her arm in his. "You've never seen that here yet. There's a song we sing as the candlers go by to light the lanterns."
"How does it go?"
"You'll hear it tonight," she said with an airy laugh, shaking his arm slightly before tugging him towards the bakery door.
"I've got to go home before nightfall," he reminded as he followed her inside to the warmth of the storefront. Gran Gran was in the kitchen kneading dough, sprinkling it with flour that coated her bony fingers in powdery white and parts of her hairline where she attempted to brush away the gray wisps from her eyes. The bell above the door jingled in a pixie's chime to herald their entrance, prompting a smile from the old woman's lips.
"You get it done, did you?" Gran Gran asked from the kitchen.
"Ready for the candlers!" Elora sang, and skipped behind the counter.
"Fantastic!" she said, and began to sing a familiar tune.
"Come forth, oh Tinker Tailer, fly
Down from the clouds to bring us cheer
Giving us Good Winterwyst
Oh, what a time of year!
Lanterns strung of green and blue
Flickering candles light the way
Tinker Tailor, are you true?
Bring us great joy today!"
Elora had joined in with the merriment, Ender compelled to sing along with just as much gusto as they rushed into the kitchen. "Macaroon time," she said to him as she laid out all the ingredients. "Gran Gran, tell Ender he can't go home until after we serve the macaroons to the candlers!"
"You can't stay for the First Lighting?" her grandmother asked crestfallen. "You've never seen it here. I'm sure your father will understand."
A huff of a laugh escaped him, one to prevent the truth from escaping his lips. "I don't think he would approve," he said. "He's a very particular person when it comes to his orders."
Frowns were visible on both Gran Gran and his friend as they fell silent in their disappointment. It would have been rude to argue against the wishes of a parent no matter their own opinion. And so to break the silence and continue the mirth, Gran Gran hummed the tune of the
Tinker Tailor Wish. Elora regained the bounce to her step quickly as they set to work crafting their macaroons.
This was what Ender loved about them. The Carters never let anything bring them down, and was always respectful of others. It made him wish he had a family like this, even if it was just a welcoming grandmother like Elora's Gran Gran. The fact that she let him call her such a name of endearment was warming to the young man. This was the life he had always wanted and was never given. He didn't even celebrate Winterwyst until he met them. Sixteen years he never realized what he was missing. He had their presents picked out two seasons ago hidden away in his Secret Place, and the closer it came to Winterwyst the more he felt he would burst if he didn't give it to them.
In a few hours, their special macaroons were set upon a traditional platter painted by Mr. Dorlyl down the road. His skillful hand painted a jovial depiction of the Tinker Tailor; an old fellow with a curling mustache and a long beard tied with a bell. He was holding up his latest creation, a tiny toy airship, with a pleased grin brimming from what little could be seen of his lower lip under the bushy white whiskers. Clouds were wreathed about him with stars like glitter. It was Ender's favorite plate in the bakery. It was the same plate Elora held when they first met and she offered him a cookie.
Elora perhaps knew this, or perhaps she enjoyed it just as much as he. When she pulled it from the cupboard her eyes lit up, and the two arranged their multicolored macaroons first around the Tinker Tailor and then over him in a mound. The colors were reminiscent of the lanterns, their idea, of course, and looked the part well. "Taste test," Elora said as she plucked a blue macaroon from the plate. Ender chose a red one, and the two bit into their treat together and smiled at their success.
"Come with me. I have something for you," she said, and set the plate down to rush out of the kitchen. The remainder of his macaroon was stuffed into his mouth greedily, puffing out his cheeks as he chewed. By the time he had reached the stairwell she was already half way up. Her feet pounded against the creaky wooden stairs, his less so but still just as eager.
"Gift exchange isn't until Winterwyst," he called up to remind her. She laughed at that and rushed into her room to clamor for whatever she had stashed away for him. When he rounded the doorframe, she held within her hand a traditional window lantern children put on their windowsill to show the Tinker Tailor there was a hopeful soul inside the home. They had become more and more extravagant over the years ranging from odd shapes to metal framework. The one Elora held out to Ender was octagonal with each face carrying a metal plate depicting scenes of Winterwyst.
And he felt like he was going to burst into tears. He'd never owned a window lantern before. It was traditionally a gift given by parents in a child's infancy. His father had never been festive enough to care to nurture the imagination of a child. His hands reached out for the lantern, fingers grasping it carefully, yet securely as if to question its very existence in his hands.
"I was hoping you would stay for the First Lighting," she said to him. "I would have given it to you then. That's when you light your lanterns and place them in the window. You had told me you didn't have a window in your room, so I figured you could put it in mine."
"I love it," Ender said through the lump in his throat, and Elora closed the gap between them to bring him into a squeezing hug. "Will you light it for me?"
Her hold around him tightened endearingly before release, her brows pushed together in the disappointment she couldn't shake. A reluctant nod jostled her short cropped hair that held a natural wave that gave her a haphazard look. "I hope I never meet your father," she muttered. "I'd bless the sour from his soul."
"I hope you never
have to meet him," Ender said thoughtfully. The notion set him on edge causing his mind to wander until lost within the solemn prospect. It reminded him how he came to know Elora in the first place. It reminded him of the true reason why he was at the Carter residence. This was supposed to be a job, not a play date.
"Where did you go?" Elora asked. He hadn't noticed she had pulled back to the edge of her bed, arms wrapped around her as the cold of her room settled. Her voice brought him back from his haunting, and he smiled.
"Just dreading going home," he answered. "I'll be back when I can. Hopefully before Winterwyst. I've got a present for you and Gran Gran."
"I've got one for you, too!" she said excitedly. "Even if you can't make it to our celebration, we can still open presents whenever you can. Winterwyst isn't just a day, after all. It's just a time. Anytime."
He brought the lantern,
his lantern, up to observe it now that his tears were at bay. While he looked intent in the metalwork, his attention was more in her smile he caught in his peripheral. No one had ever really been as jovial and happy as she in his life. Everyone in his family was self absorbed and cared little for Estwynd traditions. They said it was pointless.
It all made it more difficult to leave, for he knew as soon as he said it that smile would fade. Fate was worse with his father, and if he had any hopes of seeing her again at all the rest of Winter, he would have to fade her smile for the night. She knew what he was about to say just by the look on his face, her own expression mirroring his as she nodded in silent recognition. They perhaps knew each other a little too well, and she stepped forward for another quick hug.
"Merry Winterwyst, Ender," she whispered. "See you when I see you."
"See you when I see you," he repeated, and reluctantly pulled away from the embrace, handing over his lantern for safe keeping. Her fingers gently held the heft of the blue glass lantern encased in metal like she was holding the weight of his heart and all its unspoken burdens.
Outside the bakery and down the street leading to the grand city of Redden, smaller versions of colored blown glass lanterns hung from strands from one building to the other. Candlers stood at a post with their wicking sticks resting over their shoulders in tall curling poles. It was beginning to look a lot like Winterwyst, and he didn't want to leave.
