The Forgotten Beasts of Eld

by Patricia A. Mckillip

  “What is his name? His age?”

  “He is twelve years old—thirteen, come spring. As for his name—it could be anything.” He heard shouting suddenly through the trees and turned. Tam and Nyl ran down the mountainside toward them, laughing, awkward in the deep snow. Tam’s light voice came clear across the stillness.

  “Nyl! Nyl, wait! I saw riders—”

  The King’s eyes moved back to Sybel. “Who are they?”

  “Mountain children. They have lived here always“ She spoke absently, seeing Ter pick up speed, fly ahead of Tam in a swift, dark line toward her. He landed abruptly on the King’s shoulder, and she caught his blue eyes and said,

  No.

  The King stood quietly beneath the heavy talons, his mouth twitching a little. “Is he yours?”

  “Yes. He is good protection for a lonely woman.” She gave Ter a single word: Off, and he moved after a moment to the wall behind her. The King drew a soundless breath.

  “I have never seen one of that size. I wonder that you do not fear him.”

  “Surely you understand power.”

  “I do. But...” His voice softened; a little, frayed smile came into his eyes like moving water behind a film of ice. “I am always a little afraid of those I have even that much power over.”

  Nyl and Tam, slowed to a silent walk, reached them, their eyes slipping warily over the faces of the King’s guards.

  “Sybel,” Tam said, and Drede turned. “Maelga wants you.” He reached out instinctively to soothe the King’s horse, a question in his wide eyes, and Sybel said gently,

  “This man is from Mondor; he has come in search of someone he lost.”

  Nyl came to stand beside Tam, his breath pulsing white in and out of the air. The King said to them, “Do you know of a boy your own age living on the mountain who was not born here?” Nyl shook his head, and the King’s eyes flicked to Tam. “Do you? There will be a reward.”

  Tam swallowed. His hand moved slowly up and down the horse’s velvet neck. “No,” he said at last. His voice caught, and he said again, “No“ The King’s iron brows knit a little.

  “What are your names?”

  “I am Nyl,” said Nyl. “This is my brother Tam“

  “Your brother? You do not look alike.” He touched a strand of Nyl’s black hair, fallen across his bony, freckled face, loosed from his cap.

  “We never did,” said Tam. And then he was still as the King’s hand touched his head, pulled back the hood of his cloak to reveal his ivory hair.

  Ter Falcon gave a cry behind them. The King lifted Tam’s face with one hand and Tam’s mouth shook. Then it pulled into a smile that blazed across his eyes. The King closed his eyes. He loosed Tam and turned to Sybel.

  “I must speak to their mother. Has she told you anything of her sons? Anything strange?”

  “No,” Sybel said. “Nothing. They are simple children.

  The King’s eyes held hers for a long moment. “What do you know of this truly, I wonder, you who know me. I think perhaps I shall come to see you again.” He turned, put a hand on Tam’s shoulder. “Take my horse. Lead me to your home.”

  “Our mother is not home,” Nyl said suddenly. “She went to help Marte, who is having a baby. Shall I get her?”

  “Yes. Go,” said Drede, and he ran ahead of them swiftly through the trees. Tam turned the horse, murmuring to it. He gave Sybel one flash of his white face as they left. She turned and went back through the garden into the still house, to the domed room where she sat, her hands quiet in her lap, her eyes unseeing.

  Tam came back after a long while. He went to her silently, crept close to her under the fall of her long hair as though he were a small child again. For a long time he was silent. Then he said softly,

  “Nyl ran ahead, and told his mother what lie we told the King. So—he left unsure of me. Sybel—”

  She felt him trembling. “What, Tam?”

  “He—we talked a little. He—” His head dropped suddenly onto her knees. Her hand moved gently over his hair as he cried, his hands crumpling her skirt. He quieted finally, and she lifted his face between her hands.

  “My Tam, it is not such a terrible thing for a boy to want his father.”

  “But I love you, too! I do not want to leave you, but—I wanted—I wanted—to say I was his son and watch his eyes—to see if he was pleased with me. We talked of Ter—he said it was a marvelous thing that I was not afraid to hunt with him.” He stared up at her, heavy-eyed, desperate. “I do not know what to do. I want to stay and I want to go. Sybel— If I go—would you come?”

  “But Tam, what would I do with the animals?”

  “You must come! Bring the animals— Sybel, he would want you to come— Coren wanted you— You could do things for him—”

  “Against the Lords of Sirle?” she said a little sharply and he was silent. “That is what he would use me for.”

  “I do not care what he would use you for,” Tam whispered. “I want you to come.”

  She shook her head, her eyes dark. “No, my Tam. I will do anything for you but that. You have your life to make and I have mine. I am sorry, but you must choose between us. I will always be here in this mountain when you have need of me— No, do not cry, my Tam—” She smiled, her own eyes wet, and wiped the tears from his face with her fingers. “You were so small and soft once,” she whispered, “and you fit so surely in my arms... I did not know then that you would grow up to hurt me so.”

  “Sybel, come with me—please come—”

  “My Tam—” she said helplessly, and he rose suddenly, ran from her through the house, and out into the yard where she heard his cry to Ter through the softly falling snow.

  She rose slowly, went unseeing to the fire and held her hands to it. The Cat Moriah watched her silently, emerald eyes unblinking. Then she put on her cloak and went out, down the path to Maelga’s house.

  She sat down wordlessly on the sheepskin beside the fire, resting her face against the stones, staring at the flames beneath Maelga’s cauldron. Maelga moved softly through her house, doing odd work, while the gray cat wove in and out of her path. After awhile Maelga knelt beside Sybel and put her arms around her, and Sybel’s face dropped hidden against her shoulder.

  “My child, what is it?” Maelga whispered. “What lies so frozen in your eyes that you cannot even weep?” Her hand stroked the pale, gleaming hair again and again, until Sybel whispered, her voice dry and soft and distant,

  “Tam is leaving me. Do you have a spell for that?”

  “Oh, White One, in all the world there is no spell for that.”

  Tam spoke little to her the following days. She saw him rarely as he came to eat and sleep, then left, silent, dark-eyed, with Ter on his fist or Nyl at his side to roam the winter world. She worked little, sitting for long hours with half-finished tapestry on her lap or pacing restlessly before the fire. The animals were silent around her, moving with soft secret steps and still watching through the house and the yard. Finally one gray morning she went to the domed room and stared out at the white, cold world, at the endless, soundless flakes of snow. And there she sent a call down to the city of Mondor to trouble the heart of the Eldwold King.

  He came that day alone through the winter. She met him at her gates, with Gules Lyon and the Boar Cyrin watching behind her. The King looked at her, silently, faintly puzzled, and she said,

  “I called you.”

  His face smoothed, incredulous. “You called me?”

  “I called you and you came. So my father and my grandfather called the ancient beasts of Eldwold to them.”

  His head shook once from side to side. “It is not possible,” he breathed, and she smiled, her face bloodless in the chill.

  “I called you before, so that Tam could see you and choose.” His gray eyes narrowed as at a word he had heard but half-forgotten, and she continued slowly, “Twelve years ago—thirteen in spring—Coren of Sirle brought a child to my gates and begged me, for the sake of a kin
swoman I had never seen, to care for her child. So I loved that child, and cared for him, and watched him grow, and now... at his wish, I have called you to return him to the world of men.”

  The King’s eyes closed. He sat still, the snow catching on his face, on his shoulders, and she saw the breath move out of him in a long, slow, white mist. He dismounted.

  “Where is he?” he whispered.

  “Out, with Ter Falcon. I will call him back soon, after we have talked a little.” She opened the gates. “Come to my hearth. You are cold. And I am cold, too, a little.”

  He followed her in. She put another chair beside the fire for him. He untied his cloak and dropped it wet on the stones and held his hands to the blaze. They trembled, and he dropped them and sat.

  “Tam,” he said softly.

  “Tamlorn. Are you pleased with him? He wanted you to be.”

  He smiled wonderingly, the worn mask of his face loosening. “How can he doubt that? He is so tall, so strong and free-voiced, with his mother’s hair and her eyes...”

  “No, I think they are your eyes,” she said judiciously and his smile deepened, caught in his eyes like sunlight in a pool. He reached across the distance between them and took her hand between his own long, scarred hands.

  “How can you give him to me?”

  She drew a breath. “How can I not, when he wants you?” she whispered. “I do not want to give him to anyone—anyone, because I think he will be troubled by powerful men, by things he does not understand. You will make a king of him, and he will learn much of hatred, lies and things that lie nameless in the deep pools of men’s hearts. But he looked at you, and I saw his smile. He is your son. He is nothing to me. I have loved him for twelve years, and you for—twelve minutes, but I cannot hold him here. I can hold a great Falcon and an ancient powerful Lyon, but I cannot hold one sweet-eyed boy against his own wantings.”

  His gray brows knit a little as he listened. “You are so strange, Sybel. You ask nothing from me and yet you surely must know how desperate I was for him.”

  “There is nothing you have that could have bought Tam from me,” she said swiftly.

  “Perhaps. Powerful men have been looking for him to sell him to me. They are not so kind to an old, scarred lion. Ask me—anything. Anything.”

  “Only love him,” she whispered. His fingers tightened.

  “I am sorry,” he said, and she shook her head.

  “No. Be happy. It is a good thing to have a child to love. He is a very loving boy and he likes powerful things, which is why, I think, he was drawn to you. You are a little like Ter.”

  “Ter?”

  “The Falcon.”

  “Oh.” He smiled, the hardness melting from his eyes, his mouth. He lifted one hand toward her, then dropped it, and memories filmed his eyes. “Rianna had such white skin... Rianna. I have not spoken her name for twelve years. Silent out of anger... then silent out of grief. She was a sweet, warm wind in my heart, a resting place, a place of peace where I could forget so many things... And then I saw her give a look to Norrel one day, a look like the touch of a mouth. And so, I lost my still moment of peace. Here, sitting in your quiet house, I have found a little of it again.”

  “I am glad,” she said gently. “And I am so glad that—” She checked, a little color in her face.

  “Glad of what?”

  “That—Coren Sirle was wrong. He said you were a bitter man with no love left in you. But I think you will love Tam.”

  The smile went from his eyes. “Coren,” he said tonelessly. “He came here. For Tam?”

  “Yes.”

  “You did not give Tam back to him. Yet I have heard of his clever tongue and his sweet smile.”

  The flush deepened around her eyes. She said tartly, “Do you think I have so little love for Tam that I would give him to the first sweet-voiced man who came wanting him? I would not have given him to you if I thought he could not love you.”

  “You would have let me die heirless?”

  “What concern of mine are your affairs? Or Coren’s? What kind of peace would there be in me or in my house if I took interest in the wars and feuds that you weave in the courts below? I do not understand such things. I understand only what lies within my walls.”

  His eyes were still, a little hard on her face, as though he were seeing her for the first time. “And yet you are so powerful... You drew me without my will out of my house—you could do anything you chose with me and I could not fight you. Did Coren of Sirle seek you as well as Tamlorn?”

  “Of course.” she said steadily. “He asked me the price of my powers.”

  “And.”

  “And I told him. I want Tam’s happiness. I want a white bird with soft, trailing wings. He could not give me either. So he left me.”

  Drede eased back in his chair. Sybel watched him silently awhile. The melted snow streaked the gray mane of his hair to the sides of his dark, lined face; fire coiled in a blue stone on one strong, taut hand. He sensed her watching finally, turned suddenly to meet her eyes.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Of Gules Lyon. And the Falcon. And a little of the Dragon...”

  He smiled. “So you also are drawn to powerful things.”

  She looked away from him, startled, and felt her face slowly warm with blood. He leaned forward, and she felt in his nearness a disturbing, unfamiliar power. His fingers touched her face lightly, turned it back to him.

  “Come with us. Come back to Mondor with Tamlorn and me.”

  “To work for you against Sirle?”

  “To work with me, for Tamlorn. Bring your animals, so there will be whatever you love at Mondor. We will make a king of Tamlorn. Come. And, if you like, I will make of you a queen.”

  The blood beat, hot in her face. “It is more than Coren offered me,” she murmured, and suddenly she rose, turned away from him and felt around her the cool, white walls. “No.”

  “’Why?”

  “I do not know. But, no. I could not—I could not work against Sirle.”

  “So.”

  She looked down at him quickly. “It has nothing to do with Coren. I do not want to choose which one of you I must love or hate. Here, I am free to do neither. I want no part of your bitterness. You do not have to be afraid of me. I would never work with the enemies of Tam’s father. You are safe from me. And so is Sirle, because I will not take your hatred as my own.”

  He was silent, his brows drawn, and she could not see his eyes. “You are too powerful,” he murmured, “and too beautiful... You are an uncomfortable thought. But I believe you. You would not work against Tam.” He rose, too, restlessly, then turned at the sound of the door opening. Tam stood shaking the snow off his cloak. He closed the door and came toward the fire and saw them.

  He stopped. The blood flared into his face. Drede held out his hand.

  “Come.”

  He was still a moment, his eyes flicking back and forth, uncertainly between their faces. Then Drede smiled and Tam smiled back slowly, swallowing. He came to them, stood between them, holding his hands to the blaze. Drede said softly, “Look at me,” and he turned to meet the King’s eyes.

  “Give me your name.”

  “Tamlorn.”

  “And your mother’s name.”

  “Rianna.”

  “And your father’s.”

  His mouth twitched, steadied. “Drede.”

  He rode back that afternoon with the King. Sybel watched them leave from her gates. The snow had stopped falling; the world was soundless but for their quiet voices. Tam stood before her wordlessly a long moment, while the King waited, mounted behind him, and she looked smiling, her eyes wet, into his eyes. She touched his face, smoothed a lock of hair away from his eyes. Then she said,

  “Tam, I have a gift for you.”

  She spoke Ter’s name and the great Falcon came to settle on Tam’s shoulder. He started.

  “No—Sybel, he will miss you“

  “No. He is a king
’s bird. And if you ever are in danger he will protect you, and when I call his name, he will tell me from far away that you are well and happy.” She lifted her eyes to Ter’s blue eyes, and for a moment he said nothing to her. Then words came.

  I did not think there would be a place for me again in the world of men.

  There is one place, she said. Guard him well and wisely.

  I will, greatest of Heald’s children. And if ever you need me, call, and I will come freely.

  She smiled. Farewell, my great Lord of Air.

  Tam hugged her so tightly that the mist of their breaths in the chill air stilled. Then he mounted behind Drede, the Falcon on his arm. Drede bent low, took Sybel’s hand.

  “There will always be a place for you with us if you choose it. And if you do not, there is one place in my heart where your name will be, in silence.” He held her hand a moment against his mouth. Then he turned the dark horse onto the mountain path, and Sybel watched until Tam’s face, turned always toward her, was lost among the trees.

  She turned, shivering a little, and went back into the garden. The snow began to fall, light, silent, endless. Gules Lyon appeared silently beside her; she trailed her hand absently through his mane. She went into the quiet, darkening house and sat down before the fire. Moriah came to rest at her feet. She sat there while the fire crept into embers and pulsed within them secretly, and while they burned themselves to blackness, and the night fell, cold, around her, and the snow fell across her threshold, blotted the last footprints of Tam, and the crescents of the prints of the King’s horse. That night, the next day, and the next night she sat there, hands motionless on the arms of her chair, her eyes unwavering, as if she could still see the dancing green flame, and the white hall was cold and silent about her.

  She stirred finally, blinking. She saw her animals about her, even the fiery mass of Gyld, curled silent on be stones, and the beautiful, secret-eyed Swan watching her from the doorway of the domed room. She turned and found Cyrin’s red eyes behind her. She smiled a little, her mouth stiff in the cold.