[Meetings 01] - Kindred Spirits

by Mark Anthony

  The twilight sky was clear, but on the western horizon, just above the tops of the trees, he thought he saw the first iron-gray wisps of clouds gathering. But if it was a storm brewing there, far to the west, over the jagged peaks of the Kharolis Mountains, it would be a long while before it reached Qualinesti.

  He wandered along the stone pathways through the great courtyard nestled between the palace's wings. The crocus and jonquils had already faded, and now the lilies were beginning to bloom, their pale, slender flowers swaying with the breeze, seeming to nod like faces as Tanis passed by.

  He made his way past the gate that marked the entrance to a twisting topiary maze and rounded a corner, coming into a small grotto. Suddenly he stopped.

  He heard a gasp, and a fair head turned as his moccasins crunched on the gravel. It was Laurana. She stood, a lily clutched in one of her small hands. When he drew near he could see, by the puffiness of her smooth face in Solinari's reflected light, that she had been weeping.

  But she had her emotions under control now, and in her self-possession, Tanis could see that Laurana truly was the daughter of the Speaker of the Sun. Even in sorrow and anger, she had grace.

  "Hello," she said, her light voice low. He surveyed her quietly for a short time. Off in the distance, as if in a dream, he could hear the roar of the water in the ravines that protected Qualinost. Nearby, the leaves rustled in the evening breeze.

  If anything, her exotic elven features were more arresting in the half-light. "I am sorry about today," Laurana said, twisting the lily. "I spoke without thinking, and now you're in trouble. But I cannot marry Lord Tyresian. He's . . ." She trailed off. "I'll just have to explain that to my father."

  "It's all right," Tanis said, for want of anything else to say to ease her troubles, but this seemed enough, for she smiled at him then and took his hand.

  "Laurana, I—" Tanis began, but his words faltered. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong, that the Speaker would never go back on his word, that it was best for her to stop playing these silly games with him. Their vows to marry had been children's promises, and they weren't children anymore. At any rate, if the Speaker of the Sun ordered her to marry Tyresian to uphold the honor of the house, she was going to have to wed the elven lord, unless she were willing to destroy her father politically.

  Laurana continued relentlessly, "My father has to listen to me." And Tanis realized that at this moment, despite her exterior calm, she was very close to panic.

  He should give her the ring back, he thought. But somehow, in the state she was in, he knew that would break her heart, and so all he said was, "I'm sure you're right. The Speaker has to listen."

  He winced at the lie, but there was nothing else he could say. It seemed to ease Laurana's torment at any rate, for her coral lips curved and she began to talk of other matters as they walked through the garden. The paths were silvery in the growing moonlight, and even though little detail could be seen in the gardens, the two could inhale the heady scent of roses.

  They reached the end of the path closest to the palace. Laurana hesitated. "We should go in separately," she said.

  Tanis agreed. It wasn't a time to be spotted sneaking into the palace together.

  "I'll see you soon, love," she whispered to him, and, standing on tiptoe, kissed his cheek. She slipped away then, through the garden, leaving Tanis, slightly dazed, to continue alone.

  "It didn't take you long, did it?" a voice said sharply, and Tanis spun around. He sucked in a sharp breath of air. Porthios stood near one of the pear trees, so straight as to appear one himself. "She's been betrothed for mere hours, and already you're sneaking around in the dark with her."

  The young elf lord watched him warily as Tanis stared in shock. How much had Porthios seen?

  "It's not what you think," Tanis began hurriedly, but Porthios only scowled at him.

  "It never is, is it, Tanis?" he said. He moved, as if to turn away, but then he stopped, regarding the half-elf intently. "Why are you doing this, Tanis? Just once, couldn't you try to behave like a true elf? Must you always be different?"

  When Tanis failed to answer, Porthios stalked away through the twilight.

  * * * * *

  Miral knew the upheaval of the day would give him nightmares. He struggled to stave off the demons of his dreams. Sitting at the desk in his dim room, surrounded by spellcasting materials, he forced his weak eyes to gaze into the flame of a candle until the tears streamed.

  Yet in the end, his efforts proved futile. He finally had to wrench his pained gaze from the candle fire and close his eyes, and in the moment it took his lids to touch, sleep claimed him. His head fell forward on his crossed arms.

  He was in the cavern again. As always in his dreams, he was a child again. Light, with the power of ten thousand torches, drilled into his young eyes and he cried until he was hoarse. The light pulsed, pounding into him until he shook in its grip. He feared the light.

  Yet he feared the dark as well. For at the fringes of the light waited the evil creatures of every child's dreams—dragons and ogres and trolls, all hungry and mean and willing to wait forever to get at him. The child Miral gazed from light to dark and tried to choose, but he was little and afraid.

  Then warmth suffused him like a pleasant bath. He heard a simple childhood tune, played on a lute. The scent of his mama's perfume—crushed rose petals—filled his nostrils, and he knew she'd be there soon to save him from the light, give him dinner, and put him to bed with a story. That's what mamas were for, after all. He waited eagerly.

  But she didn't come, and he grew impatient, then afraid that this meant she never would come.

  He heard the sound of footsteps. And he knew instinctively that, not only were the steps not from his mama, but that they were made by someone his mama would want him to stay away from.

  He began to cry and clenched his tiny hands into fists.

  The hands of the sleeping mage also clenched and relaxed, clenched and relaxed, in growing fear.

  Chapter 15

  Late-Night Visits

  Tanis, looking as somber as the deepening night had no sooner arrived at Flint's shop than the dwarf hustled him back out the door and slammed it behind them.

  "Where—?" Tanis protested, tripping on the fieldstone path that connected shop and street. His sword, which he had refused to be without ever since Flint had presented it to him, slapped in its sheath at his side.

  "Never mind," the dwarf snapped, hurtling along ahead of him. "Come on."

  The spring night was chilly, and few elves were out, but the two or three who were on the streets stared as the dwarf towed the half-elf down the lane before Flint's shop, then across the mosaic of the Hall of the Sky and into a tree-lined path beyond. The scents of spring—earth, vegetation, and blossoms—filled Tanis's nostrils, but he paid little attention to anything other than the dwarf's head bobbing before him.

  Finally, Tanis set his moccasined feet, grabbed a branch with his free hand, and refused to move until Flint told him their destination.

  "We're going to visit a lady," the dwarf explained testily.

  Tanis grimaced. "A lady got me into this mess, Flint. Are you sure this is such a good idea?"

  Flint crossed his arms before his chest and looked as stubborn as his friend. "This lady knew your mother. I want you to meet her."

  Tanis, mouth agape, beheld the dwarf in confusion. "A lot of people at the palace knew my mother. What's so special about this one?" he demanded, beginning to grow angry. "Is she a wizard? Can she bring my mother back from the dead? What's the point, Flint?"

  "Oh, leave that," the dwarf replied irritably. "Would you rather sit in your quarters and mope? Or in my shop and mope?" Flint tugged at his arm. "Just come on, son."

  "No."

  Tanis's voice was mulish, and the dwarf knew there would be no strong-arming him now. "All right," Flint said. "The lady was with your mother when she died."

  Tanis felt a quiver go through him. "She told yo
u that?"

  "No," Flint replied. "I put two and two together. Now come on."

  Tanis reluctantly let the dwarf lead him again, albeit at a slower pace and without the arm-tugging that had accompanied the first leg of their journey. "Who is she?"

  "A midwife. Retired, anyway."

  "Where does she live?"

  "I don't know."

  Tanis dug in his feet again. "Then how will we know when we get there?"

  "Trust me." The dwarf's voice was curt. Flint resumed walking, and Tanis had to keep going or be left behind.

  Minutes later, they emerged from the trees into the western portion of Qualinost, overlooking the site of the Grand Market. At this time of night, the open space was nearly deserted, of course. But on the other side of the park more rose quartz homes had sprouted, gleaming with a purplish hue in the blue evening light.

  Flint accosted a middle-aged elf. "Can you tell me where I can find the midwife Ailea?" he asked, panting from the effort he'd expended so far.

  "Eld Ailea?" the man repeated, looking from Flint to Tanis with a befuddled look. "Down that way." He pointed. "Don't waste your time. Hurry!"

  "Come on, Tanis!" Flint said, thanking the man and trotting in the direction the man had indicated. "That one looked confused."

  Tanis smiled and jogged loosely to keep up with the short-legged dwarf. "I think he was wondering which of us was the father-to-be."

  Flint's pace slackened. "Now that's an interesting thought," the dwarf said, grinning wickedly. "I wouldn't mind dandling your and Laurana's kiddies on my knee. 'Uncle Flint,' I'd tell them to call me . . ." He stopped teasing Tanis when he caught the glower on the half-elf's face.

  Soon they came to a crossroads. "Which way now?" Flint mused. He asked directions of an elven woman, strolling along the street with a basket of yarn. Wordlessly, she gestured with the basket at a tall, narrow house built of quartz, with a gray granite doorstep and matching window frames. The downstairs was dark, but a warm light glowed through the shutters of the second-level window.

  Tanis hung back. "Flint, I don't think . . ."

  "Sure you do," the dwarf said, and pounded on the door of the abode. He shoved Tanis in front of him and stepped back into the shadows.

  They waited in the dark, the chill air making them shiver as they watched a lamp flare within the home and heard footsteps descending stairs and approaching the door. "Coming, coming, coming," an alto voice sang.

  Soon the door swung open, and Eld Ailea poked her catlike face out, gazing up at Tanis.

  "How far apart are the contractions?" she demanded.

  "What?" Tanis asked.

  Her voice picked up an impatient tone. "How long has she been in labor?"

  Tanis gaped. "Who?"

  "Your wife."

  "I'm not married," he said. "That's part of the problem, you see. Laurana wants to . . ."

  But Eld Ailea had spotted Flint. She looked from the dwarf to Tanis, and understanding dawned in her face. She swung the door open wider. "You are Tanthalas," she whispered.

  "I am."

  "Come in, lad. Come in, Flint."

  Moments later, half-elf and dwarf were standing in one of the most crowded homes Flint had ever seen. Tiny paintings in frames of wood, stone, and silver cluttered every horizontal surface, hung from every inch of wall space. The midwife had even fastened the miniatures on the back of the door to the street. Nearly all the paintings, of course, were of babies—newborns, toddlers, and young children. Some, for variety, were of mothers with babies.

  Eld Ailea pushed her guests into cushioned chairs before the fireplace, the half-elf doffing his scabbard with Flint's sword and leaning the weapon against the stone wall that encapsuled the fireplace. Then the elderly elf, waving aside their offers of help, made a new fire and bustled off to the kitchen to collect items for a late-night tea.

  Flint picked up one painted miniature from a low, square table; it showed a newborn elf, ear tips drooping, almond-shaped eyes closed in sleep, tiny hands bunched, squirrel-like, under its chin. In the lower left was the scrawled initial "A."

  Ailea returned with a plate of dark brown biscuits with currant-and-sugar glazing. Flint closed his eyes and breathed; he smelled cloves and ginger. These delicacies would make up for the lack of ale, he decided. He replaced the painting on the table and noticed a few of the wooden toys he'd given the midwife scattered nearby.

  "Ah, you found Clairek," the midwife exclaimed. "The daughter of a friend, born just last month. And there"—she pointed at the other miniatures on the table—"are Terjow, Renate, and Marstev. All born in the last year."

  "I thought you were retired," Hint commented.

  She shrugged, and a lock of hair escaped from the silver bun at the back of her head. "Babies are always being born. And when someone needs me, I'll not say, 'Sorry, I'm retired.' "

  Finally, after each guest had munched one of her feathery biscuits and drained a cup of black tea, Eld Ailea prepared to place the tea items on the small table, but it was too cluttered with portraits and toys. She spoke a few sharp words in another tongue and—Flint blinked—suddenly an open space just the right size was available among the miniatures. She placed teapot and biscuit plate in the spot, within easy reach of her guests, and sat on a low footstool. Both Flint and Tanis jumped up to give her their cushioned chairs, but she declined.

  'This is better for an old lady's back," she said with a wink.

  She gazed at Tanis as though she had been waiting for this moment for years, drinking in his features with her eyes, seemingly oblivious to the half-elf's squirm. She murmured, "His mother's eyes. That same lilt. Have they told you, son, that you have Elansa's eyes?"

  Tanis looked away. "My eyes are hazel. They tell me I have the eyes of a human."

  "As do I, Tanthalas," Eld Ailea commented softly. The firelight flickered across her triangular face, and her eyes crinkled in gentle humor. "I also have the shortness of my human forebear. In a forest of elves that grow tall like aspens, I am . . . a shrub. But the world needs shrubs, too, I guess."

  She laughed gaily, but the half-elf looked unconvinced. She continued.

  "I am part human, but I am also part elf, Tanthalas. I may be short, but I am slender—and that's an elven trait. My eyes are round and hazel, but my face is pointy and elven. Look at my ears, Tanthalas—elven, yet I wear my hair like a human, to the consternation, I might add, of some of my elven patients."

  She laughed, and her warm eyes were liquid in the firelight. "Like humans, I am open to changes. Like elves, however, I have some habits that I will never modify—even if someone has the unmitigated gall to suggest a way that probably is better."

  Tanis's gaze reflected wonder and, Flint thought, loneliness. But when the half-elf spoke, his voice was bitter. "But your human traits are not those of a rapist, I'll warrant."

  Eld Ailea winced, and Tanis had the grace to look embarrassed. The midwife excused herself to refill the biscuit plate, and when she returned, her eyelids were red.

  "I am sorry, Eld Ailea," Tanis said.

  "I loved Elansa," she replied simply. "Even half a century later, it pains me to think about what happened to her."

  She passed him the plate, which he handed to Flint without looking at. Then she resumed her seat and clasped her arms around her knees. Suddenly, Flint saw how she must have looked as a young elf in Caergoth—lithe and lively and wonderful. He hoped she could look back on a happy life.

  "Tanthalas," she said, "I had hoped someday to meet you again—to compare the man with the baby. I must say you are much, much quieter as a man"—and she laughed silently to herself—"but you also are less trusting, which is, I suppose, to be expected in any adult. But I can see that your life at the palace has not been easy. I hoped to learn something of you by talking to your friend here. I'm glad he brought you to me now."

  "Why didn't you contact me before?" Tanis asked. His eyes were dark.

  Eld Ailea sighed, reached for a spiced biscuit, a
nd set small white teeth into the treat. She chewed and wiped her mouth with a napkin before answering. "I decided long ago that I would not seek you out while you were but a child, that because the Speaker of the Sun was set on raising you as an elf, seeing me could only be a constant reminder of your 'other' half.

  "But I realize now that my absence was a mistake. And I apologize."

  Tanis, without taking his gaze from her worn face, groped for his tea mug and took a sip. Eld Ailea warmed the drink with a refill, and Tanis sipped again.

  "I gave you your name, you know," Ailea said. "It means 'ever strong.' I did that because I knew you would need great strength to live in an elven world. You may find, as I did, that you will have to live away from Qualinesti for some time before you can appreciate both parts of yourself."

  Tanis's voice dripped contempt. "Appreciate the part of me that's like an animal?"

  She smiled. "I like to think that I have the best traits of both races. Remember, Tanthalas. You have a father who, yes, certainly, was a brutal, terrible human being. But through him, you are related to many other humans who, most likely, were much better than he."

  Tanis blinked. Flint could see that the old midwife had shed a new light on his viewpoint.

  "I . . ." he stammered, then gulped down his tea in one swallow. "I'll have to think about this."

  Eld Ailea nodded, and the conversation veered to other topics, especially the news announced at the palace that afternoon. As it turned out, Ailea had already heard.

  "Lord Tyresian . . ." she mused. "I have heard that he is very . . . traditional."

  Flint queried, "Did you deliver him, too?"

  Ailea shook her head. "Ah, no. Well, not exactly, young dwarf."

  Young? Flint shook his head, then thought that he probably was, in comparison to her.

  "Why 'not exactly'?" Tanis pressed.

  Ailea hesitated. Tanis pounced. "It was because of your human blood, wasn't it?"

  Eld Ailea hesitated again, then nodded. "I'd have put it another way, but it comes to that, yes. I attended Tyresian's mother early in her confinement; things seemed to be going well, and I had high hopes of her delivering a healthy infant."