Brigits Flame October Week 3
The Ringers of Hallowmas Night (or The Ryngars of Holowmas Nyte)
Here's m' entry. Doesn't make sense, but it's done.
It was a Tuesday when Elanor ran out of bread. This was no strange occurrence; she had run out of bread on many Tuesdays past, but for some reason this particular Tuesday seemed more inconvenient than others. She grumbled aloud to herself as she pulled on her woolen skirts, her woolen blouse, and her woolen stockings. The ringers of Hallowmas night were already at work, tolling a message of sacred spirits foretold to visit during the small hours. Elanor wrapped her woolen shawl around her shoulders and left her cottage, ducking her head against the wind. She did not like Hallowmas.
She studied the ground as she walked, kicking up pebbles and bits of dried grass. It was this study, perhaps, that caused her to nearly bump into a tall gentleman, clad in iron from his nose to his kneecaps. Elanor stammered an apology, eyeing the man’s shiny spear with a mixture of lust and revulsion. There was another man behind the first, and another behind him, and still another after that. A tessellation of them, that’s what it was, a tessellation all surrounded a bleak cottage. The man did not answer when Elanor asked him why he was there, and so she hurried off, intent on fetching her bread.
It was a Monday when Elizabeth noticed the hole in her boot. She’d have mended it herself but for the fact that it was Hallowmas, and she wanted an excuse to visit the town. She pulled on her woolen dress and her woolen coat and skipped down the countryside. She went past the iron men on purpose, because she liked to look at them standing still as a lady's music box or a child’s toy. None of the men answered when she asked them what they wanted. None of them answered when she asked why they were there. The ringers pealed the bells, and Elizabeth hurried into town.
It was a Saturday when Elaine received the invitation to the party, and she was very grateful for a bit of class. She laced her corset with delicate fingers and wiggled into her silk gown. The ringers struck the bells. What an odd night for a party, Hallowmas. But she didn’t choose the date, she simply received the invitation. She passed the soldiers on purpose, for they made her feel safe somehow. “Are ye merry?” she called, but none graced her with reply. She thought that they looked stiffer than ever.
It was a Wednesday when Joan awoke in hysteria. A silent hysteria, which is admittedly not the normal kind. She felt a great surge of equine desire, and so she hastily buttoned her cotton skirt and cotton shirt, deciding to forego her wool coat. She needed no saddle, only warm flanks beneath her and a biting wind combing her auburn hair, which streamed whorishly behind her. Dawn had barely cracked, and yet the ringers were hard at work, heralding the sanctity of the night. Each clang of the bell seemed to spur her on, until she was surprised that she had come so far as to overtake the metal army. She did not stay long, for they stank, and she had no desire to speak with them at all. Long white hair spilled from under their helmets, and there were a few piles of teeth that had rotted from their mouths and fallen to the ground at their feet.
It was a Friday when Kay packed her bag. Her father had unjustly admonished her the night before, and she wanted nothing more than to scratch the sorry bastard from her memory. She pulled on her denim jeans, her polyblend sweater, and stuffed some socks and a toothbrush into her backpack. She ran down the pebble path, slowing only when she reached the army. There were no ringers anymore, and she regarded the metal men in silence. Their iron garb was badly corroded, and they looked to be nothing more than a dusty army of rust. She sensed no strength about them. “Did you get what you came for, then?” she shouted, but there was, of course, no answer. She balled her fists and ran to the nearest, pushing against his chest. He creaked, he squeaked, and toppled down. He hit the soldier next to him, and so on until the entire encampment dominoed to the ground. Kay wiped her hand on her jeans, for when she touched the man she had felt something slimy. She crossed her arms, drawing her sweater tight around her. A light flared to life inside the cottage, and from somewhere in the distance a bell tolled as the army lay, turning to dust at her feet.