Maisie McLeod's Arc

Chapter 6 of 6

The morning Maisie lit her best Imbolc candle for the village elder, black smoke poured from the wick. The flame sputtered and died, leaving a greasy stain on the wax. She tried another candle, then another. Each one burned wrong, filling the room with bitter smoke. Maisie gathered the ruined candles and carried them outside. Her chest felt tight. The wax had melted unevenly, pooling around the wicks. Something had gone wrong with her measurements. She walked to the stone cistern at the village center, its surface dusted with fresh snow. The compartments held cold water that bit her fingers as she scrubbed. Black residue came off in chunks. Other villagers passed by but said nothing. They could see the mess. They knew what it meant. Near the cistern stood a carved stone statue of a highland cow, its thick fur detailed in swirling patterns. Icicles hung from its horns. The statue honored the animals that gave the tallow she mixed with her wax. Maisie had thought she understood the craft well enough. She had sold candles at the market. People had praised them. But those simple candles were different from Imbolc ceremonial ones. The elder needed candles that burned steady for hours, not ones that choked and died. She dumped the last handful of ruined wax into the drainage channel. A blackened tree stump stood nearby, its charred wood split with cracks full of frost. Someone had lost control of their fire here. The burned wood showed what happened when flames went wrong. Maisie wiped her cold hands on her skirt. She had failed today, but the wax could be melted again. She would read Granny's journal more carefully tonight. The measurements had to be exact. Imbolc was coming, and she still had time to get it right.