Montanya interrupted her exercise and looked to the minstrel.
Lindon had his fingers ready on the first string. “Listen to the rhythm and match it as you go. It is very slow, forcing you to focus and accentuate every little movement. You must feel the stretch of every muscle, the tautness of every piece of sinew, and be able to perfectly replicate every movement if asked to do so again.”
Lindon began strumming the mandolin. The notes were very akin to music he had heard in Tariyka, and yet paced to match the slow movements he had seen from the students there. Montanya listened to the first couple bars of notes. Images were conjured in her mind of that far off land of warriors. When she began the movements, she was forced to execute every stretch with patience. Without rushing the routine as she normally did, she could feel every facet of her body alignment, as well as the tightness in every muscle as each move was executed.
She recalled her early days learning the movements. Her instructor had shouted out pauses to the students, and then gone up and down the line to examine if their bodies were poised exactly right. They would stay frozen at several positions throughout the dance. Grandmaster Woshan would let them linger painfully long in certain stances at times. A strike with a small switch would indicate if their backs weren’t straight, or their arm was turned too much, or they lacked the proper extension.
As Montanya performed the moves in the woods, her mind refocused on the smallest aspect of every step. No longer rushing herself or skipping the details, she made sure everything was done perfectly. With Lindon’s tune playing in the background, she would slowly rotate a fist to the exact angle required, stretch her arms out to their full length, and pivot her weight around her center of gravity. Her mind was free of distractions, which was what Lindon had been trying to achieve. The youth felt power in her arms and legs that she had never paused to consider before. Her concentration allowed her to realize she had been lacking in her discipline. She had only been mimicking movements without really using them properly. It was rare that Montanya felt so in touch with the power of her mind and body. She was content to linger in the musical trance for some time.
The youth did not notice when Cat finally descended to the forest floor. Trestan finished his own talk with Sondra and moved to rejoin his faunlessa. Together, they shared a conversation away from where Lindon performed for Montanya.
“The trees here grow thick and tall,” Cat spoke while catching her breath. “From what I could see, there was nay trace that the ship was flying low enough to disturb the canopy. The bulk of it must have still been above the treetops when this ballista fell free.”
Trestan shook his head in amazement, “Those priests of Ganden must have been very strong indeed to have kept it afloat in the sky for so many miles. I suppose this has been rough terrain on the ground, so it’s taking us longer to cross than a flying vehicle could cover. We saw firsthand how much distance Dovewing could cover in a day.”
“It would be hard to guess which gave out first, the clerics or the floor they were sitting on. Anyway, I guess its time to move on if we’re to get there before long.”
Trestan disagreed, “Not yet, you need time to rest.” When Cat looked like she was going to argue the point, Trestan nodded towards the minstrel and the chiaso. “Lindon seems to be up to something so let’s give him some time. Get in a bit of rest my love, and I shall offer you some of those fruits we found while you relax with your boots off.”
Cat giggled but acquiesced to Trestan’s idea. The half-elf settled down on her cloak as Trestan sat near. She gladly nibbled at the fruit he offered. Between bites, she voiced one concern of hers. “One thing worries me, aside from the divine chariot. I’ve been listening to the tree voices around me, and noticed signs that we may not be alone out here. I think we have passed into territorial lands belonging to the Faer’Seelie.”
CHAPTER 24 “Into the Hands of the Faer’Seelie”
They marched for more miles under the thick canopies of the trees. The biggest indication that the divine chariot had passed overhead involved the occasional rusted piece of metal lying on the ground. Each discovery yielded no more than bits and pieces. They wanted to rush on to find where the great bulk of the ship finally came to rest, and yet they had to be vigilant in case the relics had fallen somewhere along the trail of debris. Even the nature of the land prevented them from moving at any fast pace. As Cat noted, they were not able to move in a straight line. Steep hills, clumps of thickets and the occasional streams interrupted their path. This was a wild forest, one which had never felt the bite of a forester’s axe.
The companions walked apart, covering more ground as they went. Trestan was one of the trio that made up the middle. He set the pace of their trek. Sondra seemed content to be within the middle of the party as well, walking a few steps out to Trestan’s side. Lindon, acting as the gentleman to protect the lady, took stride a few steps beyond her to keep her in the center. With the three of them walking side by side and a little apart, they had a better chance of spotting anything hidden on the ground. Cat moved from one flank to the other, taking a wider course that looked out for danger as well as scanned a broader area. Montanya, wanting to be helpful, tried to match Cat’s movements on the opposing side of the rest of the companions. The uneven terrain sometimes forced them into a single line, and other times widened through vulnerable, open areas.
While moving together in a runoff ravine, they heard a noise from the brush on one side. The motion quickly stilled as fast as it had begun. The companions stopped in their tracks, looking up to the raised area of earth beside the runoff in search of its origin. To their surprise, they caught the sound of faint whispers in a language other than the human tongue.
Cat thought she understood something familiar in the words. The half-elf ventured a short, inquisitive greeting in the language of elves.
Three elven youths scrambled from their hiding place. They were dressed in skins and leather; faces and limbs painted to blend in with the forest. Whether or not the elves understood Cat, they weren’t sticking around for a conversation. They fled at a disorganized run down the upper edge of the ravine. One slipped on a tangle of branches in his haste. The unfortunate elf snapped something in his ankle as his weight pulled on the trapped extremity. He dropped free of the entanglement only to land in agony within the runoff. His two friends noticed but didn’t slow down to help.
Shouts exchanged between the injured elf and his retreating friends. He panicked at his helplessness in the face of strangers. The companions stopped, not wanting to give the wrong impression to the native lad. Even as his friends abandoned him, Cat voiced assurances he was in no danger from them. Trestan couldn’t catch most of the words, but anyone could understand by Cat’s body language she did her best to show that the party’s intentions were only peaceful. The young elf relaxed a bit, despite tears apparent on his cheeks.
Trestan offered an idea. “As long as he nay longer fears we may do him harm, perhaps we should heal his ankle. He looks unable to put any weight on it.”
“Right now he is most afraid of you and your armor, Tres.” Even as Cat said it, Trestan could see he was being watched by fearful eyes masked under the natural paints. Cat continued, “Maybe someone who looks less intimidating can make the first move.”
“Sondra then,” Trestan tried to keep a friendly smile and warm demeanor as he spoke, “She can heal him and looks less threatening.”
Sondra looked nervous as Cat once again traded conversation with the elf. Trestan spoke softly to her, while keeping eyes on the native. “Smile, Sondra. Let him know you’re his friend and that you’d like to help him.”
The cleric of Ganden did her best to hide her uncertainty and look friendly. The injured boy sniffled and nodded at Cat as they talked. His eyes judged on the human woman now, weighing his limited options. He was absently rubbing his ankle as he talked.
As the others examined the boy, they noted his garments were almost exclusively made from a
nimal hides. He wore some beads and ivory as decorations, and he did have carved wooden buttons. It looked as if everything he had originated from the forest surroundings. There was no worked metal, nor was he garbed in any linen. The colors painted on his bare skin blended well with the woods. The clothes shared similar color patterns, though stained from hiding in dirty places. His people likely made their home somewhere in these deep woods.
Sondra approached, slowly and cautiously. As she knelt by the boy, her own fear fell aside as she looked over the ankle with critical eyes. He flinched a bit at her touch, gentle as it was. Cat whispered assurances to the elf the whole time.
The lad held still while Sondra began incanting a healing prayer. The miracle warmed the boy’s leg even as it made Sondra weary from the effort. The faithful of Ganden soon rested back on her heels, a contented look upon her face, as the elf boy wiggled his ankle. Cat translated as Sondra applied a restorative balm that should help with any lingering pain. Once she was done, the elf stood on his two legs again. He offered a shy smile.
“He wants you to have a gift,” Cat explained, as the lad pulled out a fresh picked flower.
The young elf placed the flower in Sondra’s hair. He then giggled and ran off unexpectedly. His run wasn’t as strong as it had been earlier, but the ankle supported him. The companions felt no need to chase him, and so they calmly began to regroup and continue their journey.
The companions had barely resumed conversation and walked forty meters before more noises came from the woods. There were no sounds such as armor clanking, or crunching branches. Instead, the approach of the elven scouting band sounded like strong wind passing through the leaves. The companions assumed a defensive posture with backs together as elves poured out of the surrounding trees. Cat spoke fast as she voiced peaceful intentions and tried to greet them in a friendly manner. Elf bows were drawn back with arrows aimed at hearts.
Trestan had a hand on his sword but didn’t draw it forth. Lindon also had gotten a grip on his smallsword yet allowed it to stay in the scabbard. Montanya assumed a fighting stance, though she still carried no weapon.
The elves had them outnumbered and surrounded. Each wore an outfit of leather armor that blended well with the surrounding trees. Several wore or brandished an angled wooden club; many of these cudgels had sharp rocks attached in key places to give it more of a cutting edge. A few carried the only steel that had been observed on these woodland people. The steel was in the form of a long, curved sword edge mounted upon bowed, four-foot long, pole handles. Elves carrying the pole-sword stood to the fore of their line. Their faces were painted in shades of green, brown, gray, and black. The leather armor they wore also helped disguise the profile of the wearer with the use of colors and oddly shaped angles. They formed a defensive ring around the invaders of their homeland, ready to slay at the slightest provocation.
Trestan noticed a conversation taking place near the rear of the elven ranks. The young elf boy they healed insisted on speaking with some of the scouts. By the tone of voices and expressions, the boy was pleading on behalf of the companions. Another elf responded to Cat’s words. It relieved Trestan slightly to know that they were willing to talk, instead of outright attack.
Cat spoke in the human tongue, “They are going to take us to their elders. We will surrender our weapons here or die. I suggest we cooperate and go along with them.”
“We can’t give up,” Montanya hissed. The chiaso stared at an arrow pointed at her chest. She recalled her teacher saying a well-honed chiaso could catch arrows out of the air. It seemed she would be tested this day. “We are in the right…”
Cat reprimanded the youth. “We are in their land and they will kill us easily if we don’t comply. We have to live to be able to complete our quest.”
“If you make the wrong move, we will all die,” Trestan added, more calm than he felt. Montanya watched the champion of Abriana slide his baldric off and offer it to their captors. “We will only be slaughtered if we resist here. They only mean to take us to their elders.”
Montanya reluctantly lowered her fists. She scowled at the elves closing in around her.
One elf took Cat’s belt and silver rapier. She continued talking with the scouts’ leader as she was searched. The elf inspecting her found several hidden daggers in her outfit. Before backing away from her, he scrutinized her looks. His stare studied her angular ears, the lines of her cheeks, and the tilt of her eyes.
He wore a look of revulsion as he proclaimed a judgment to the others. “Agora!”
The elven scout spit in her face.
* * * * *
The scouting party rounded up their prisoners and escorted them deeper into the forest. They wound their way through thick underbrush and over small streams. They went down trails that only seemed fit for animals to travel. The path veered from the course of the Doranil Star, but Trestan knew it couldn’t be helped. Hopefully they would regain the trail…if they lived.
The elves made a living in the deep woods of what others called Wilder continent. To them, the land was Eyldiian. They considered the land itself to be the sacred body of the daughter of the Treemother Laedelious. These elves were Faer’Seelie, one of the oldest branches of the elven people in the realm, and the ones who most honored the ways of the woods.
The Faer’Seelie called the forests of this continent their home. They had lived here for longer than any elf could recall. The forest kept its virgin look because these people were very restrictive in how they altered the land. They could shape the trees to grow as they needed, or at times they would shape themselves to the needs of the trees. The lack of a civilization such as what humans built might allow others to view them as barbaric. The truth was far different. It went against their beliefs to clear large tracts of land for cities and roads. They considered themselves children of Laedelious, Goddess of Forests and Wildlands. As such, their lives grew as a part of nature, not apart from it. They disturbed the forest as little as possible, giving creation to a secret world among the trees.
The ties to forests and nature became apparent from the first glance of their scouts. Their armor came from animal skins. The edges of the garments were frilled or cut unevenly to help disguise their humanoid profile when hiding in the woods. Several different colors were used in every piece of the armor, allowing for brown, tan, green, and other natural variations. Some elves utilized browned animal bones to provide extra protection in places or simply for use as decoration. It wasn’t until the companions traveled further along that they saw stronger types of armor worn by sentries closer to home. Though not as heavy as metal armor, the use of caleocht wood offered more solid protection than leather alone, and without much compromise in weight. The elves used strips of the durable wood, mixed with their druidic magic, and banded it about the torso of the wearer. The caleocht wood offered a hard outer shell that fit comfortably around the person it was made to fit. The druids needed to use their magic only once to fit the armor to the wearer, unless battle damage required repairs.
Their favored weapons were shaped from wood. Shortbows made from yew were in abundance. These were handier in the confined woodland areas than the longbows favored by some elves and humans. Many bows were notched for range and angles, though more commonly they displayed markings dedicated to elven gods. Feathers, fur tails, or beads hanging from the bottom decorated many of them.
Another prized wooden weapon included the kittane. These war clubs were built with a lot of individuality and creativity from their owners. The common theme between each involved a length of wood that featured a bend about two thirds of the way up its length. Many of these bends were a gentle curve, though some were close to a sharp right angle. The goal in crafting the shape of kittanes involved using edged sides and pointed angles that focus the weight of impact into a small area. A cross section of the club might seem very similar to a double-edged sword as they were thicker in the middle but narrowed down to edges on the sides. Even with the slicing edges, th
e main injuries caused by the kittane depended on the weight of the weapon and skill of the user. It could bludgeon an opponent’s extremities until they were too incapacitated to offer resistance. Pieces of flint, bone, and other sharp objects could line the inside of the bend like a row of teeth, while a spike could be positioned on the outside curve of the angle to allow for a wicked backslash. As with the bows, these war clubs often had individual decorations such as bits of amber, colored strips of leather, and markings favoring certain gods.
The one weapon disconnected with the rest of their culture was the pole-swords with their steel blades. There seemed to be very few, and they were the only advanced metallic items seen. Although some of the elves wore decorated pieces of gold and copper, the steel-bladed staves appeared beyond their crafts. Most consisted of a three-or-four-foot bowed staff of caleocht wood, topped with a two-foot-long curved blade. In place of a cross guard there would be a wrapping of fur and an attachment of bright feathers. These seemed to offer a distraction for opponents, yet they served the practical purpose of soaking an opponent’s blood before it ran down the handle.
Except for Cat, the companions didn’t know when they had passed the boundary marking the edge of the elf city. At some point they looked up and realized a network of walkways stretched overhead. The city welcomed few visitors from such far away lands. It was as foreign a place as most of them had ever seen. There were few places a wagon could pass easily, flora abounded along every route. Paths meandered back and forth around the trunks of old trees. Even open areas were filled with the most beautiful gardens or harbored pools teaming with colorful fish. Occasional wooden statues paid homage to elven gods and heroes. The forest floor was not even a big portion of the elf city. Much of the ground areas were dedicated to gardens that produced the fruits, herbs, spices and plant products the elves traded to other societies. Few places allowed a beam of sunlight from the forest canopy, but the lightshafts struck among the twisting gardens. Many druids walked the grounds among plants cultivated to make healing remedies and concoctions. Most structures loomed from the trees above, shaped by the growth of branches. The companions were marched around tree trunks the size of merchant ships, supporting buildings just as large. Curious stares found them from every walkway and balcony as they passed through the elves’ paradise.
The Earthrin Stones 2 of 3: Trials of Faith Page 38