The elf mage spoke, “Korrelothar stands ready to hear his promised song.” The elf turned a glare towards Jentan Mollamos, adding, “And you will remain quiet as the grave.”
Lindon fell into a graceful bow, holding it for some duration out of respect. More important than a ship full of royalty, his benefactor stood ready to be entertained. The minstrel from the poverty-stricken Highwater district assumed his full height and brought the bamboo flute to his lips. He retreated into his inner peace, touching upon the harmonic web with his purity of concentration. No thoughts were spared for the silent, smoldering mentalist glaring at his back. Nor did Lindon of Orlaun give consideration to the councilors at the table who were supposed to be judging his recital…his back was to them as he faced the elf on the balcony.
A level of silence previously unattainable by most of the prior performers descended, since everyone present knew Korrelothar and took interest in the display. The first notes sounded as clear to those in the upper balcony as if they were actually standing right next to the performer. The bamboo flute made music exactly as Lindon had described to his mentor: akin to soft breezes in a sylvan wood. The melody invited all ears to relish an unspoken tale of the elves. Though Lindon could not sing words as he played, those in attendance could hear the tone of the tale as if it was laid out before them. It was a song Korrelothar heard during his childhood, over a couple centuries ago. The elf respected the fact that Lindon traveled long miles into the heart of elven woods to study this tune.
Few present knew the name of the elf maiden Treajuliane, or understood her sad tale. In elf lands, the sad story was sung in the evening starlight, under the full boughs of giant trees. It was an elven myth that had grown old before the days of the Godswars. The elf maiden Treajuliane, bereft of her family and home in a tragedy, was forced to live in squalor upon a strange land. Over the years, the despondent elf maiden turned her life for the better, tending to her natural surroundings to make a new home. She planted new trees, rid the soil of rocks and weeds, tended the flowers, and used the natural magic of old to bring life to her barren patch of land.
As Lindon’s notes took on a stronger, more uplifting mood, Korrelothar envisioned the brighter portion of the tale. A new forest home developed around the barrens in which the maiden resided. A sanctuary thrived where once there had been naught but a lonely, stranded soul. Lindon’s notes came to a happy peak at the portion of the tale where another band of elves happened upon the grove. Homeless as Treajuliane had once been, they were welcomed into her sanctuary and bonded with it as their own. Warmth and happiness entered into the life of the elf maiden who had suffered the loss of her family. Among the new arrivals, the maiden met an elf lord who loved her for the rest of her days. After the elf woman and her lover came to the end of their long, merry lives, they left behind many children. An elven community thrived where once existed inhospitable soil.
Similarly, as it seemed, Lindon lived his life. From the depths of his existence in the slums of the city, he worked hard his entire life to reach something once thought unattainable. The song ended all too soon for those who truly knew the meaning of the tale. There were no dry elven eyes in the room, and the humans looked on in wonder at how their companions could lose such composure. Years after the request of music had been made in the slums of Highwater, Korrelothar’s promised song was delivered with the highest skill and regard.
A long moment of silence passed as the magic of the song lingered in the air. Korrelothar’s tears satisfied Lindon that he had succeeded in a lifelong personal quest.
Korrelothar spoke, “You weave a superb tale in your tune, Lindon. My ears have not heard such a splendid rendition of a song from my homeland in more years than I can recount.”
The elf wizard smiled at the red-bearded minstrel, but his next words were directed towards the council of mages. “Every so often I try to do things for people to give them hope and the ability to realize their potentials. I have a feeling Lindon is destined for great things. I hope you will grant Lindon your acceptance to perform. Regardless, however, he will come along as my personal guest.”
Since Korrelothar was one of the founding members of the Brotherhood of the Circles, there would be no question that his endorsement meant that Lindon would perform. While the minstrel looked up at Korrelothar with thankful eyes, he could not see the baleful glare coming at him from Jentan Mollamos.
CHAPTER 8 “Katressa’s Elven Side”
It was a difficult stretch of greenery to navigate, but Katressa reassured Trestan they were going the right direction. Amongst the trees they sought a village of forest gnomes that Mel Bellringer called home. The two companions looked forward to seeing the lively gnome again after so many years. It was hard to imagine a settlement with lots of families, even of a short race, existing somewhere in this tangle of trees. The young paladin became disoriented in the dense wood. He had a hard time finding the position of the sun most of the day. Cat’s elven blood accepted the surroundings. Between her heritage, and her life as a scout and infiltrator, she could make out hidden paths. Although this region of Kashmer’s Protectorate featured open valleys and pastures, Trestan knew by his own firsthand accounts that there were still patches of dense forest and steep ripples of land. Although his traveling days were marked by urgency and danger, the journeys through untamed wilds took him to wonderful vistas. Cat lived as much in the wilds as inside a town. The half-elf shared her knowledge of the land, teaching Trestan woodland survival skills.
Trestan found ways to change the conversation. While her knowledge of the woods intrigued him, his thoughts dwelled on his future with Cat. His desires prompted him to cunningly shift the subject. Before long, Trestan questioned Cat about the romantic aspects of elvish cultures.
“So, elf women like receiving flowers just as human women do, but it’s done differently?” Trestan asked.
As Katressa responded, she reached out to give a gentle, fingertip caress to a flower in the process of blooming. She passed it by with only the slightest pressure. The fragile flower bobbed slightly from the touch as they led their horses past it.
“As with both races, flowers are welcomed by the appraising female heart. Human males may pick wildflowers for their faunlessa, but elvish society has different ideals in regards to the plants of the forest. We must give what we take from nature. Therefore, elf males grow the flowers they gather for their lover. In this way, a balance is assured.”
Trestan’s eyebrows rose, “Elf males have to be good gardeners if they want to be good at romance?”
“Well, not necessarily,” Cat replied, “but it helps. It conveys a message to the female in how and where he acquires the flowers. Sometimes the male went and traded for them. Some male elves are not gardeners, and they barter their talents for flowers. However, elves have a long lifespan, which leaves plenty of time for pursuits such as watering plants. The type of bouquet he grows tells us something about the male. It is very impressive to the female if he grows flowers that are especially fragile, or unsafe to handle. While such a bouquet has its thorns, it delivers a message that the male will work hard yet tenderly to make the relationship blossom.”
Trestan sighed, “How can I compete with an elf male? I have nay bouquet. I suppose for all those wildflowers I picked for you I should be ashamed I didn’t give back to the land.”
Cat reached around his shoulders as they led the horses. “I love everything you do for me. You may pick as many flowers as you choose, but keep in mind something must be given back as well. I wouldn’t fret over it my love; I know your good heart and what you are willing to give.”
“I hope to fulfill all your desires, Cat.” Trestan looked into her eyes with complete sincerity. “It troubles me to learn that one nice act I may have done could be viewed in a bad way, because I didn’t follow elvish custom. I want to give you treasured memories without taint.”
“Taint?” Cat giggled. “You do a lot to appease my heart, faunlessa. Do not focus on se
parate sides of me; I am one woman, both human and elf joined. I like sharing wine with you under a pink sunset. I like when you compose poetry to me, even though you whisper it in a shy voice.”
Trestan wondered if he was blushing at that moment.
Cat continued, rather coyly, “I love your strong hands massaging my back. You send waves through me which soothe my troubles. Most of all, I love men who inquire as to my desires so that they may better know how to treat me…like you are doing now.”
The half-elf smiled an infectious grin, leaving both of them striding through the woods in a light mood. Under the green layers, amidst the mating calls of songbirds, they discussed more about their own relationships. Trestan felt he had little to contribute. Although he’d had romantic interests in the village, none ever lasted for any lengthy commitment. The former blacksmith never had a relationship as deep and in such closeness as the one he shared with Cat.
Cat admitted that she felt similar. The rogue claimed she had always felt too busy for romance. Abriana’s champion believed Cat only skimmed the surface of the tale when she talked about her lack of previous interests. Although Cat didn’t say anything about it, Trestan had a feeling her mix of human and elf blood played some role in distancing her from the young elves of her village. Cat may be young in age for an elf, yet her human side matured her faster than her playmates. The half-elf skipped ahead to talk about her young years training to venture into the wild. She became a scout for the elves at an age when her companions still enjoyed blissful youth. Cat scouted orcs, explored nature, and all around escaped her home environment while others her age played games.
Trestan felt uncomfortable when Cat talked about certain aspects of elvish life reflecting their long lives. Elves generally live for several hundred years. To a human perspective, that offers a lot of time to accomplish goals. The way Katressa described elvish life, it seemed that few elves pursued some endeavors the way humans did. With all the time to enjoy life, many elves tended to procrastinate in their work. Trestan had always heard about how talented elf artisans were at their craft, due to all the years of experience by which they could develop their skills. Indeed, many great things crafted by elves sometimes took decades of work or even centuries. It was an eye opener listening to Cat as she described the lazy facets of elvish lifestyle as well. To the elves, there are always plenty of tomorrows.
Trestan was unwilling to continue the conversation along that course. If he followed that subject to its end, he and Cat would find themselves faced with their differing life spans again. Trestan brought the conversation back towards relationships and romance.
“Yet, elves still mate for life?” Trestan interjected.
Cat looked ahead to the trail as she answered. “Aye. I know of cases where elves try to undergo a separation; there are laws and customs to cover it. Separations are shunned publicly, and elves who try to marry a second time, especially after a separation, may never be free of scandal. So, for the most part, elves do mate for life. They usually have plenty of time to get to know their potential mate. Elvish courting can last decades.”
Trestan gulped at that, hoping Cat didn’t realize his discomfort with that revelation. “What are the elvish symbols of marriage?” At Cat’s questioning gaze, Trestan elaborated. “Korrelothar had an earring to denote his marriage. All the human cultures I know use rings on their finger.”
Cat nodded her understanding, “Not all human cultures use finger rings, Trestan. I’ve known at least one that uses a lip piercing to indicate a partnership.”
A giggle erupted from Cat as she noticed Trestan’s eyes widen at that news. She resumed, “Elves have nimble fingers for crafts, bows, and such. They generally shun finger decorations like rings, calling them a distraction. The elves that favor wearing rings are usually doing so because of the magical nature of the ring. For marriage, elves like to use a variety of symbols. The symbols themselves offer up to the gods some prayers of virility, fertility, safety, mutual compassion, or long life. They appear on charms, which could be either pinned to clothing or worn as a necklace. Korrelothar wears his as an earring. Elves tend to be attracted to sexy, smoothly pointed ears, and by wearing an earring with a marriage symbol they make it known their heart is claimed.”
Trestan appreciated Cat’s good mood. She giggled over a thought before sharing it with him, “But unlike those barefoot halflings, elves tend to avoid wearing toe rings to signify marriage!”
As Trestan navigated Belgard through high ferns, he dared to delve further into the customs of elvish marriage. “So, after two elves decide to mate, how do they go about it? Is there a proposal?”
Cat laughed, “I don’t know if I want to give you ideas.”
Trestan blushed, “Oh, I’m just curious. I like to learn more about the world.”
“Well, there is a ‘proposal’ as you would call it.” Katressa elaborated, “A human term my mother used for engagements was ‘oathbond’, by which the one doing the proposal offers hand and heart forever to his lover. Oathbond is the engagement; the spiritbond is more or less what the elven term for marriage means. Let’s say the male initiates the oathbond, although with elves it could easily be either sex. He announces his fidelity to the female, proclaims his love for her, and asks that she be oathbond to him. There is some ceremony to the occasion. The offer and promises must be made in the presence of a spiritual guide, such as a cleric, as well as both a male and female friend of the couple. These people bear witness to the vows of the one offering the oathbond, and the response of the recipient. Thus, once he has made the proposal to her, she can accept or reject it. She does not have to give her answer immediately. Even if she accepts the oathbond, custom allows her leeway of a full year in which to decline the proposal or fulfill the spiritbond to the male.”
As they road deeper into the green landscape, Trestan tried to visualize the events. “So, they have a year after the oathbond to either get married, or refuse and possibly go their separate ways. And you’re also telling me they can accept the oathbond and yet change their mind later?”
“Aye,” the half-elf responded, “Of course, the one doing the proposal could change his mind also, but since he initiated the offer it would reflect very badly on him.”
Trestan became absorbed in his own private thoughts over the customs. Now he understood more of elvish marriages if he ever proposed to Cat. He wondered if she ever suspected how much his thoughts centered on her. Trestan often wondered what it would be like to be bonded with Katressa Bilil, but it was hard to foresee the future they would have. He wasn’t sure that it felt right to ask her yet. After years of spending so much time in the confines of the seminary, Trestan simply looked forward to having their time together on the road. He tried not to think about the one large obstacle looming in the path of their relationship. If they fulfilled everything they dreamed, and raised a family, Cat would be placing flowers on Trestan’s grave a hundred years after he ceased to live.
Trestan shook his head, trying to dislodge the notion. No one had ever been as close to Cat’s heart as he was, and he had never met anyone that consumed his heart and dreams more than she did. They were deeply, completely in love. Trestan hoped it would last forever.
Her sensitive ears attuned to a noise in the greenery before Trestan noticed it. Cat put a hand on his arm, nodding off to the side of the unseen trail. “Do you hear that?”
Trestan held his breath as he looked off into the tangle of bushes and low branches. Sure enough, distant laughter floated to his ears. The two of them whispered while keeping an ear on the sounds. The half-elf, who had spent a good part of her youth scouting in forest settings, reasoned they were nearing the fringes of the gnomish village. As they listened to the echoes through the nearby trees, they ventured a guess that it was only two people making the noise.
The two companions followed the fleeting laughter. It was hard to tell if any traces of a forest gnome village existed ahead. Though Trestan remained uneasy, Cat move
d with confidence. The half-elf finally pointed to a spot in the low growth ahead, indicating a group of leafy plants that were shaking in response to some hidden movement.
A threatening growl emanated near them in warning. Trestan and Cat stood nearly immobile, though their eyes slowly swept off to the side in order to identify the sudden danger. A very large dog stepped into view. The canine, ears lowered, teeth bared, issued a rumbling growl in response to their presence. The dog wore a saddle on its back, suitable for carrying someone of a small race. Clearly the dog had an owner somewhere about, and was trained for protection.
From ahead, where Cat’s pointing finger still lingered in uncertainty, a gnome woman’s face popped up from behind bushes. Loose leaves clinging to the dark hair which lay in disarray about her head. As far as the two companions could see her shoulders were bare. Both guessed she might not even have any clothes covering her top portion. Her gaze lacked all friendliness at the sudden interruption. The gnome seemed unconcerned about the large dog or its angry growls, focusing solely on the trespassers.
The woman called out to them in a demanding tone. Neither Trestan nor Cat understood the gnome’s native language. Cat spoke out, hoping that she could at least understand the more common human tongue. “We didn’t mean to invade your privacy. We are friends of Mel Bellringer, and had hoped to find him out here.”
Suddenly, a second head popped up from the bushes. Trestan and Cat were relieved to see their longtime friend Mel. The little gnomish sorcerer looked at them with gleeful surprise. Mel also had his top half bared; the rest hidden by the foliage.
Mel spoke his companion in his native language. The female gnome whistled and called to the dog, which immediately ceased its growling. After the canine guardian had been called off, Mel returned his attention to his unexpected visitors. “Good day, I’m so surprised to see you! I can’t wait to talk about old times and find out what you two have been doing!”
The Earthrin Stones 2 of 3: Trials of Faith Page 14