Maisie McLeod's Arc

Chapter 1 of 6

Maisie McLeod pressed her palms against the worn wooden table and stared at the half-formed candles in front of her. She needed to make the perfect Imbolc candles this year. Her granny would finally see that she'd learned the craft properly. The wax felt cool under her fingertips as she rolled it between her hands. But she'd run out of beeswax again. The candles on the table were lumpy and dull. She grabbed her coat and headed for the door. Outside, the winter air bit at her cheeks. She walked to the meadow where the old hives stood. Her wax strainer with its fine mesh waited in her bag. She held it up to the light and checked the wooden frame. The bees had left behind plenty of comb in the empty boxes. Back home, she melted the fresh wax over her hearth. The golden liquid pooled in her pot. She needed to test how these candles would burn in the cold night air. Maisie carried three newly dipped tapers outside to the stone ring fire pit behind her cottage. She lit each one and watched the flames flicker against the wind. The center candle held steady. The others wavered and dripped. Tomorrow she would walk to Granny's blackhouse with the good ones. The stone dwelling sat across the valley, its thatched roof dark against the gray sky. Maisie wrapped the best candles in cloth and set them on the shelf. Her hands shook a little. This year, Granny would smile and nod. This year, the candles would be perfect.