Finishing the wiping down of the table, Faeril and Riatha moved to the next…. And then the one after…. And the next.
“He was named after our kelan.”
Faeril looked up at Riatha’s words. “Who?”
“My brother, Talar,” answered Riatha, her eyes grey and glistering with unshed tears. “Talar was named after Talarin—his kelan, my kelan, our uncle.”
Riatha brushed at her eyes with her sleeve, then looked with a clear gaze at the wee damman. “On the morrow we begin preparing. On the morrow.”
Faeril nodded, and together they moved to the next table.
* * *
That night, when buccan and damman fell into bed they were exhausted by worthy work. Gwylly turned to Faeril. “Truth be known, my sweet, these Elves have the right of it—sharing the burdens as well as the joys.”
“Mmmm,” responded Faeril from that state halfway ’tween wake and sleep.
Gwylly smiled at his love and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. Rest well, my dammia, for as Aravan told me, on the morrow we start training in earnest for the mission ahead, for he intends to go with us. The buccan turned over and blew out the candle, then rolled back and snuggled spoonwise unto Faerii.
On the morrow we begin….
CHAPTER 13
Honing the Edge
Late 5E985 to Late 5E986
[Two years Ago]
Winter came swiftly upon the heels of fall, and snow fell thickly down. Time and again the prevailing winds drove churning storms to crash upon the steeps of the Grimwall Mountains above the Elvenholt, for the long ravine of Arden Vale lay at the foot of the western climb to the Crestan Pass. And snow fell and fell again and pressed deeply upon the land and bent the boughs of the pine tree forest, and more snow fell as the days and weeks went by. The surface of the River Tumble froze, and hoarfrost and rime glittered upon the vertical walls of the deep gorge. Aravan took the winter opportunity to teach the Waerlinga the art of snow shoeing, and the making of shelters using cut blocks of snow or using pliant pine branches bent and woven into bowers and anchored upon the ground with pegs or rock nails and covered over with insulating snow. Too, he and Riatha began training Gwylly and Faeril in the skills of climbing rock and ice. Time and again did the four of them clamber up and down and across the sheer walls of the hemming bluffs. The Waerlinga learned of ice axes and picks and crampons; of jams and rings and rock nails; of climbing harnesses and ropes and belaying and rappelling; of free climbing and hoisting goods. And Gwylly and Faeril and Riatha and Aravan drilled at aiding one another in ascents and descents and crossings. Aravan showed them a technique named “swiftswarm” by the Drimma who had taught him, where a strong-gripped climber could come hand over hand up a rope while at the same time companions above haled the rope upward, hence the climber ascended at double rate; as could be expected, this technique worked particularly well with a Waerling climber and Elven halers.
Drilling in all that they had learned, they climbed in the night as well as the day, for who knew what Fortune held in store? And this training was cold and frigid, yet necessary given their goal and the time of year they planned to arrive.
The Elves fashioned winter clothing for Faeril and Gwylly, light and supple yet exceedingly warm, with boo** and gloves to match, all mottled in greys and whites and blacks to blend with a winter ’scape. Too, for summer wear they clad the Waerlinga in soft leathers crafted to their stature, these too mottled of pale greys and greens and browns and tans to conceal. Raincloaks were made, reversible, browns and tans on one side, greys and greens on the other; and even Elven eyes were fooled by such.
They drilled in knife throwing and slinging, in swordplay and spear casting and wielding. They practiced supporting one another in combat, studying tactics ’gainst Rūck and Hlōk and Vulg and other such, for where they would go was fraught with Foul Folk. The Waerlinga began learning the skills of plying long-knives as swords, though these weapons would be last used by them should it come to combat, their deftness at hurling blade and bullet being considered more valuable.
And Gwylly’s lessons in reading and writing continued. Faeril teaching him not only on a regular basis but at every opportune moment as well. His progress came swiftly, for the buccan seemed to have a natural aptitude for such. And both buccan and damman took up the Elven tongue, living among the Lian as they did. At times Gwylly’s speech became entangled among Sylva and Common and Twyll, yet always did he unravel the words, and his flair for apt expression grew.
But it was not all lessons and learning, training and practice, for the Elves oft held celebrations, Winterfest among these. At times Gwylly and Faeril participated in the dancing and singing and other ceremonies; at other times they cooked and served and cleaned alongside Elves doing the same, sharing in the burdens as well as the joys. And in their own cottage they worked together or took turns doing the chores, be it cooking, cleaning, or aught else, for they had fully embraced the Elven way. Gwylly learned to sew, Faeril to chop wood; both learned to cook a variety of dishes, crowing over their successes, laughing over their failures. These and more did the Warrows share, and their common ground grew as did their love.
The first eve of Winterfest—Year’s Long Night, the night of the winter solstice—found Gwylly and Faeril in the kitchen standing on overturned crates, washing pots and pans, while the sounds of music and singing and dancing and gaiety drifted in from the great room of the gathering hall. Even so, at mid of night all labor stopped and everyone took up a cup of pure water and assembled to see Inarion raise his own cup and hear him speak the invocation. And though his words were in Sylva, still Faeril and Gwylly understood what he said:
[“Darai e Alori an Arden Dal…]
“Ladies and Lords of Arden Vale,
now is the longest night.
On the morrow again begins
the long march unto the Sun.
As grows Adon’s light,
so may grow the bright spirits of each and every one.
May the renewal of the seasons
bring renewed joy to all the world.
Let us here affirm our guardianship
o’er Adon’s creations:
The sweet earth, clear air, pure water,
and all the creatures which live thereon
and crawl and fly and swim therein.
Let us not forget to aid
those in our charge whom we guide most gently
along the paths of wisdom.
But let us remember as well
that even the most humble or young or inexperienced
may show wisdom beyond their years,
wisdom beyond our own, for which we should be grateful
Hence we must ward our hearts against pride,
e’en as we ward the world ’gainst evil,
for knowledge alone is not wisdom.
Ladies and Lords of Arden Vale,
now is the longest night.
On the morrow again begins
the long march unto the Sun.”
Inarion then raised his cup and called out: “Hai, Lian Guardians, hai! Protectors of the world!”
“Hai!” shouted the gathered assembly, Faeril and Gwylly among them. And each and all drained completely their cups of pure, sweet water.
* * *
Spring came, and with it the snowmelt, water running everywhere, and the River Tumble roared throughout the days and nights. Green grew the land, flowers bloomed, and the birds returned and sang their songs of territory and mating. Animals began stirring, Bear and deer and elk and mountain sheep and goat. Small animals, too, came forth from their winter’s lay-up, badger and hare and squirrel and marmot and otter and many others as well. Not all of these had slept in the winter, not fox nor Wolf nor wildcat nor others who roam the snow as well, but spring brought a renewal of energy unto them, and so they were active in preparing dens and in rearing young and in their unending quests for food.
And with the vernal equinox came the El
ven celebration of the change of season. And just as did the festival of the autumn, so too did the festival of the spring extend over three nights, with singing and dancing and music and feasting, as well as sharing the joy of the labor. For the occasion Elven seamstresses fashioned for Faeril a silken gown of scarlet and gold, with just a touch of black. And Elven tailors made for Gwylly dark satin breeks of emerald green and a pale silken shirt of jade. Slippers there were of ruby for Faeril and shoes of black for Gwylly, with gold and silver buckles respectively, and Gwylly had a belt to match, while Faeril was accented with ribbons. Oh, how their eyes did sparkle in the light of the gathering hall, and after the feast the twain waltzed alone to the joy of the assembled Elvenkind.
After the Springday festival, the training continued, as Gwylly and Faeril, as Riatha and Aravan, taught and acquired skills and drilled—in snow and slush and water and mud, o’er wet rock and dry, among pines and crags and open fields, on slopes and banks and on ground flat, on soil smooth and rough, and on open stretches of stone, for none could foretell what conditions would prevail when a given skill would be called upon. And so in all conditions, day or nigh, fair or foul, they practiced: stalking and hiding and other skills of stealth, learning to blend with forest and field and stone, learning how to catch a foe unaware, learning, too, the deadly skills of silent kill and more. Ambushes they lay, and overhead drops, and deadfalls and other traps. Still they climbed vertical rock, and climbed trees as well. They practiced walking a rope, Faeril teaching the others. All this and more did they do as spring moved toward summer.
But not all was training and practice, not all was learning and drill, for there was the spring tilling to do and the planting of crops and the tending of flocks and herds: sheep, cattle, horses, swine, ducks, geese, chickens, and the ponies of the Waerlinga. They sheared sheep for the wool and aided with foaling. They drove cattle to the high fields, and the sheep higher still.
It was while she and Gwylly were tending sheep that Faeril spoke again to Riatha about the prophecy, a topic often speculated upon in their free moments. But this time Faeril asked about Dara Rael and how the prophecy came to be.
As the Elfess and damman perched on a large rock in the high meadow, Riatha cast her thoughts back, recalling that distant day. “We sat on the banks of the River Tumble, not far from the cote, and Rael had a long crystal”— Riatha held thumb and forefinger some three inches apart—“clear it was, with six sides and faceted ends that came to a shallow point. I, too, had a crystal, somewhat smaller, but one I had prepared long ago.
“Rael had been trying to teach me scrying, though it seems I have little talent for it. Ai, now and again would I seem to catch an inchoate glimmer, a confused flash, but no true redes or sooths came to me.
“Nevertheless, we were playing at scrying when she seemed to slip into a trance, and then spoke the prophecy.
“Afterwards, I went unto thy ancestors—Petal and Pebble—to tell them of the rede…but thou hast read of that in thy journal, neh?”
Faeril nodded. “Yes, Petal wrote of it.” The damman fell silent and the two sat together and watched the sheep grazing the grassy ways among the rounded boulders and smooth stretches of partially exposed white stone of the high mead, Gwylly in the distance trudging up a high slope intending to retrieve a lamb that had somehow become separated from the flock. After a long moment—“Someday. Riatha, would you teach me to scry?”
Riatha’s eyes flew wide. “What little I know was said to me a millennium agone, Faeril. As a teacher, thou couldst find one better than I.”
Faeril laughed and caught up Riatha’s hands in her own “Oh, Dara, I am merely curious as to how it is done.”
Riatha smiled back at the damman and nodded her assent.
* * *
During their stay in the high meadow cabin, Gwylly’s reading and writing plunged ahead apace, and Faeril began seriously tutoring him in Twyll, speaking as much as possible only in that tongue, keeping her phrases short and simple, translating only when necessary. With Gwylly’s natural aptitude for tongues, he took to Twyll as a duck takes to water—or rather as an akkle chinta vi.
The days of spring lengthened and summer drew nigh, and a week or two before the solstice their relief came, and the buccan and damman returned to the Elvenholt below The training with Aravan and Riatha resumed, though every third day or so, they disengaged from it to aid in the labor of the Elvenholt.
It was on such a day, on Year’s Long Day, that Riatha and Faeril broke off from hoeing rows of vegetables in the Elvenholt fields and strolled down to sit on the banks of the River Tumble, preparing to take a midday meal. And as they sat, the Elfess gave over a long crystal to the damman. Clear it was. Pellucid. Six-sided down its length, each end blunt-pointed with six facets. Some three quarters of an inch across from flat to opposite flat, and perhaps four inches from tip to tip.
Faeril drew in her breath, clearly taken by the transparent stone. She held it up in the sunlight and turned it and peered through the shirting panes. “Oh my, this is splendid.”
“’Tis a gift, wee one,” said Riatha after a moment of watching.
Faeril was astonished. “Oh, no, Riatha. This is too precious for one such as I.” She held out the crystal to Riatha.
“Hush thee, Faeril.” The Elfess refused to take back the stone. “Thou dost place too low a value upon thyself. Too, Inarion would be puzzled by thy refusal.”
Faeril’s eyes flew wide. “Alor Inarion? This is a gift from him?”
Riatha smiled. “He was most happy to give it over.”
Faeril looked down at the crystal, shifting sunlight flashing as she slowly turned it. “I suppose it would be an insult to refuse a gift from the Lord of Arden Vale, neh?”
Riatha laughed her silver laugh. “Indeed, wee one. Indeed.”
They sat and took their meal of oatcakes and berries, drinking tea, Faeril’s eyes turning ever and again unto the crystal, while below the River Tumble shsshhed over falls and burbled over round rocks. Somewhere in the distance birds sang. At last the damman said, “Is this the same one you and Rael used when she spoke the rede?”
“Nay, Faeril. That one was Rael’s alone. But heed, these stones are not uncommon, though one of this size and clarity is seldom found.
“Most come with flaws. Some with threads of gold or silver or other metals. Some are tinged rose, while others are smoky or blue or green, ruddy or faintly gold.
“Rael told that those of color had particular uses, depending on the tint”—Riatha took up the stone and turned it aglitter in the sunlight—“but crystals clear, such as this, could be used for all.”
Again Riatha handed the stone to Faeril. The damman held the crystal and looked into its structure. “Riatha, is it…magic?”
The Elfess’s answer was long in coming, as if she pondered an enigma. “I know not what thou dost mean by such a word as ‘magic.’ But this I do know: it is special, for to some it provides the focus for them to unleash their own…power.”
Faeril looked up at Dara Riatha. “Does everyone have this…this ‘power’?”
Riatha sighed. “Mayhap, though for some it comes in greater measure than for others. At least that’s what Dara Rael believed. And perhaps I subscribe to that view as well, for never did I succeed in scrying. Perhaps, though, it was because I could not meet Rael’s criteria.”
“Her criteria?”
“Aye. “This is the way of it,’ she would say. ‘Empty thy mind of all distraction, and concentrate first on cleansing the crystal; then thou canst charge it with light sunlight, moonlight, starlight, dawn light, twilight, candlelight, lantemlight, firelight, forgelight, torch-light, spectral light, gem light, and light from other sources—each has a purpose, each.’”
Faeril looked again at the crystal. “And just how does a person go about this ‘cleansing’?”
Riatha hearkened back, remembering. “It must be submitted to the five elements: buried in fertile earth; washed in clear water; b
reathed upon by a natural breeze; passed through a living flame; and aligned to the six cardinal directions of the aethyr—north, east, south, west, up, down.
“Then it must be kept wrapped in a black silk cloth and stored in an iron box to protect it from the fluctuations of the aethyr until time to charge it with the light and seek the vision.” Riatha took a small iron container, one inch by one inch by four and a half inches, from her pouch and opened it along a lengthwise seam, hinged opposite. The interior held a square of black silk, clearly marking this box as the container for the crystal that Faeril held. The Elfess gave over the receptacle to the damman. “Once cleansed by the one who will use it, the crystal is…attuned. It need not be cleansed again unless others have touched it or have otherwise greatly influenced it in some manner…or so said Rael long past.”
Faeril looked in at the iron box, the silk cloth, and the clear crystal. “All right, I understand how it might be cleansed. But how is it, mmm, used?”
Riatha again took the crystal and held it up into the sunlight “Charge it with the light by bathing it in the desired illumination. And in the same light hold it before thee. Gear thy mind of all else but the crystal and the light and look deep into the stone, and let thy consciousness fall within. Ask it what you will, and perhaps answers will come.
“I remember not all Rael said, yet this I do know:
Moonlight to see the future;
Starlight to see the past;
Noonlight to see the present;
Twilight to see tomorrow;
The Eye of the Hunter Page 18