by C S Marks
I have an answer for that, said Toran. Oh…my! Is that a shrubbery? It looks rather like a crouching beast! Oh dear, oh dear! He leaped forward in mock terror as Gaelen grabbed his mane. In another heartbeat, both horses were away. Despite the soft turf, their feet thundered in an all-out effort to prevail. Toran was not as motivated as Réalta, for he was younger and less prideful, but having taken the challenge he would give it his best. Réalta had far more to lose. The older horse had always been swiftest and most beautiful, in his opinion, and he would not lose his place to this young, ridiculous upstart! Only the swiftest horse was fit to bear Galador.
They ran headlong, nose to nose, as their riders gave up trying to rein them in. “It would seem that we are in the midst of a horse race,” called Galador.
“I’m ready if you are,” Gaelen yelled back. It was hard to hear through the wind in her ears and the pounding of Toran’s feet. She crouched low over his neck and pulled her knees up, balancing upon her lower thighs and lifting her seat from Toran’s back so that she was nearly flattened. This streamlining was helpful, and Toran inched ahead. Réalta answered him at once. He would run himself to death rather than allow Toran to best him, and his speed was nearly unrivaled. It was the very reason Galador had chosen him, apart from his looks. Réalta was taller, and his legs were longer and more slender. Toran did not stand quite as tall, but he had more power and thrust in his hindquarters. This power made for a stride that matched his taller adversary.
In the end, there was no clear winner. Galador and Gaelen had set a finish to the race between two small trees, and the horses crossed it in nearly the same exact moment. Gaelen found that Toran was easy to rein in then, as he was glad for the contest to end. Réalta was not so easily convinced, for he wanted to best Toran, not match him. At last Galador cantered back to Gaelen, who had already dismounted and was checking Toran’s feet in case he had picked up a small stone.
“I suppose now the question is settled,” she said. “They crossed the finish together. Toran is just as swift as Réalta! I suppose he has to have some attribute that makes up for the foolishness of youth.” She was proud of her horse.
“I don’t think so,” said Galador, patting Réalta. “Remember, Gaelen, Réalta carried twice the weight. He is still the swiftest horse in the Company. Aren’t you, my beauty?”
“Never mind, Toran,” said Gaelen. “Galador is right. And being almost as swift as Réalta is still impressive.”
“He does have an attribute that makes up for his foolishness, Gaelen,” said Galador, who would not look at her. “He has the better rider.” He left her to stare at his back before she could reply, knowing that it was probably the first time he had ever given her such a heartfelt compliment. It took a few minutes for the red to fade from her ears, and from his.
Chapter 16
THE SECRET COUNCIL
The Company finally approached the Lake-realm with mixed emotions—anticipation, apprehension, uncertainty, dread, relief…
Nelwyn hoped for healing, though she dreaded speaking of her visions to Lady Arialde, as she would need to recall them in detail. They still tormented her, especially when the moon was full. But she was most thankful to find the Lake and its environs peaceful and calm—no Darkness had yet come there.
As they made camp on the cloud-shrouded shores, Carmyn and Estle approached Nelwyn, who stood lost in thought, wrapped in her cloak against the chilly morning air.
“Forgive us for disturbing you,” said Carmyn, “but we are wondering…how will the Lady know we are here? Do we need to light a signal fire, or something?”
Nelwyn shook her head. “She is aware of us…she has told me so.” She drew a long, deep sigh. “A great weight has been lifted from my spirit…I was so afraid that we would arrive too late.”
At that moment, Gaelen appeared from out of the mist. “Here’s something to lift your spirits even more! I have just seen the most amazing sight…I have seen these folk only twice before, as they do not dwell in the northern Greatwood. It has been long since I heard any rumor or news of them. You must come with me and meet them! The rest of the Company is there already.” She mouthed a single word to Nelwyn, whose eyes grew wide with surprise and delight.
Gaelen took her friends north to a point on the rocky shoreline where the Company had assembled, and called out to the misty waters:
“Heralds and Messengers of the Lady, our Company has now gathered. Please come forth that we may welcome whatever news you bring.”
The steel-grey waters rippled and roiled as several large, dark, otter-like shapes glided and turned beneath the surface, occasionally flashing bright white undersides. They swam with no effort, swift and graceful, completely at home.
“What are they?” whispered Estle, who had spent very little time around any water-dwellers. She edged a little closer to Hallagond as about a dozen bright-eyed faces popped up above the surface at once. They were the color of ivory, with pale blue eyes and gleaming white smiles. All at once, they began to laugh.
“They’re Currgas,” said Gaelen. “They are among the most secretive people in all of Alterra. Yet they are peaceful, and never mean any harm to anyone. Nelwyn and I have seen them before, but not in the Lake. Usually they are river-folk. I hope they have not been driven forth from the southern Dominglas. That would mean the river has been darkened.” Her eyebrows knitted together for a moment…this thought was just too close to home.
The Currgas emerged reluctantly from the water, for they spent nearly all of their time there. They dwelled in expertly-concealed burrows along the banks of the Dominglas River in the south of the Greatwood. Never many in number, their lives were inclined to be short and hazardous. Yet they were stubborn in their good humor, refusing to see anything but the best in almost any situation.
“What in heaven’s name are they?” whispered Azori.
“It is said that they are Children of Men,” replied Fima. “They took to the water long, long ago—during the Time of Mystery—and their choice has shaped them ever after.”
Indeed, the River had shaped the Currgas. Small in stature, only a hair taller than Fima, they carried a nice layer of fat to keep them from cold and aid them in gliding smoothly through the water with little effort. Hence their contours were soft and rounded. Their short, powerful arms and legs were streamlined, with large, webbed hands and feet, yet their thumbs and index fingers were separated enough to allow them to manipulate things with clever dexterity. The palms of their hands were studded with tiny growths—hard, sharp, and directed backwards—designed to aid them in grasping and holding fish and other water creatures.
Their coloring was perhaps the most striking and remarkable aspect. They had taken the example of most water-dwellers, becoming quite pale on their undersides while their backs were very dark. Their hair , cropped shorter than Gaelen’s, was snowy-white as it framed their faces, turning abruptly dark behind as though someone had painted them. Their entire bodies were covered with very thick, soft hair which they could raise and lower at will. Now that they were out on the bank they shook off the water, raising their hair for warmth. This included the hair on their heads, which stood up in damp spikes such that they rather resembled hedgehogs.
They were beautiful, gentle people, and it showed in their faces. They did occasionally get into mischief. More than one fisherman’s boat had been overturned by groups of young, playful Currgas, yet no harm would ever come to the fisherman. They wore very little clothing, wrapping their loins with black and white cloth that did nothing to break their unique coloring. Males were distinguishable from females by long white mustaches, the lack of very small breasts, and slightly deeper voices.
“Why are they colored like that?” asked Estle, whose experience with water creatures was understandably limited.
“If you look down upon the water from above, all is dark,” said Nelwyn, “yet from below, the surface is very bright. The Currgas cannot be easily observed, either from above or from beneath. T
hey must be able to remain unseen by the fishes they prey upon.”
“Hail, Wayfarers,” said one of the larger males. “The Lady sent us to welcome you and allay your fears. A boat is being brought up even now to conduct you.” He bowed low before them, eliciting quiet laughter from his companions. “My name is Collyn, and this is my mate, Gin-gin.” He indicated a pretty female at his right, who smiled and bowed. Again, all the Currgas smiled and chuckled to no one in particular.
Galador bowed in return. “We are honored by your presence,” he said.
This elicited outright laughter from the Currgas, who thought it uproarious that anyone would be honored to be in their presence. Galador’s ears reddened, though he smiled in spite of himself.
Gaelen stepped forward and did not bow. Instead, she smiled a very warm smile and extended both of her hands, palms upward. “I’m Gaelen, of the northern forest realm, and I thank you for your message. Will you share our fire…and our food…while we wait?
This invitation was irresistible to the Currgas, who shook more water from their bodies and approached Gaelen as though inviting her to lead them. It was surprising how ungainly they were on land, displaying a peculiar, waddling gait made even odder by the large, webbed hands swinging to and fro as though for balance.
They stayed always within sight of the water’s edge. Should enemies threaten, they would move with incredible quickness, disappearing below the surface in the blink of an eye.
Gaelen built up the fire so that the new, larger group could warm themselves. Then Nelwyn and Rogond broke into the last of the stores brought from Dûn Bennas. The Currgas had been enjoying the hospitality of Tal-sithian, but they preferred the food of men to that of Elves. They relished the heavy molasses bread and the wonderful spiced dried meat. They loved salty things, and spicy things, and sweets above all. Such delicacies were rare along the riverbank.
Currgas sometimes stole into the encampments of men, taking what food they desired, but they always left fresh fish and shellfish in place of what they had taken. Sometimes, their kind hearts would cause them to leave fish even when the travelers had nothing they wanted, if said travelers were low on provisions. No folk of good will would starve to death on their watch.
Rogond made a permanent friend of them when he offered a small phial of strong lemon juice. He had brought it from Dûn Bennas to prevent the ailments that come to men when they do not eat properly—it kept nearly forever so long as it did not get too warm. While there were fruits in Tal-sithian, this juice was aged, and it was stronger and more flavorful. Collyn took it with reverence. It would taste so much better than the dried rose-fruits he was accustomed to eating.
The horses snorted and backed away from the Currgas at first, for horses do not care for anything unfamiliar until it is proven harmless. The Currgas, likewise, were somewhat fearful of the horses and their hard, trampling feet. Yet trust and inherent friendliness won out on both sides.
Ever-curious, Toran actually approached Gin-gin as she sat by the fire. He snorted and blew her hair forward, startling them both, then ran backward in an awkward manner. He was so comical that everyone chuckled at him, including Gin-gin.
“Forgive my impertinence,” said Gaelen after everyone had finished eating. “How came you to the Lake? My heart is filled with some dread, as I have not known you to venture from the southern riverbank. I hope…I hope all is well there.” The Currgas became very quiet then, and for the first time the light of their good humor was dimmed. “I’m sorry,” said Gaelen. “I did not mean to bring up bad memories.”
“We don’t blame you, Dweller of the Northern Forest,” said Collyn. “The Evil of the Laban Fuath has spread to the River…the power of the Elves can no longer contain it.”
Gaelen knew what Collyn referred to. The Laban Fuath, a most horrible bog that surrounded Tûr Dorcha, had been growing in size for over five hundred years. It had invaded the southern regions of the cold stream known as the Brunner Ia, but it had stopped short of the River Dominglas until now. Gaelen and Nelwyn hung their heads in sorrow. This did not bode well for the realm of Ri-Aruin—the Dominglas ran right through the King’s fortress to the north.
“A curse on Lord Wrothgar and all who serve him,” muttered Gaelen. This sentiment was shared by all. The Currgas told their tale, though it pained them. When the bog spread to the river, evil creatures came with it. The fish became unwholesome and unfit to eat, and the terrible Úlfar were everywhere.
“We had to leave, or face starvation and death,” said Collyn. “The Lady called to us and we came here, though it was no easy task for us to journey so far. Yet there are those of our race who made their way to other lands farther away than this. Whether they were successful, none here can say.”
“The boats are approaching,” said Galador, as three long, grey boats appeared in the mist just before putting to shore.
Each boat contained at least three of the Elves of Tal-sithian. After the pleasant, cheerful Currgas, they looked rather grim. They disembarked, approaching the Company and bowing.
“We are here to conduct you to the Lady,” said one. “Please make ready, for she is waiting.” They were obviously in no mood for pleasantries as they gathered the horses and began packing the Company’s belongings into the boats. One of the Elves grabbed the pack containing the fire-cloak. Gaelen took exception, throwing one of her leaf-shaped blades into the soil a hair’s breadth from his right foot.
“Now that I have your attention, I would ask you to put my pack down,” she said. “No one handles that pack without my leave, begging your pardon.” The Elves of Tal-sithian paused in their labors to stare curiously at her, wondering whether she should be taken seriously.
“If I were you,” said Fima with a smile, “I would remove any doubt from my mind, bow respectfully, and replace that pack where I had found it.”
“Would you do me harm, Gaelen Taldin?” said the Elf who held the pack.
“Of course not,” said Gaelen. “I’m sure the Lady didn’t mean for you to invade our encampment and lay hold of our belongings without leave or explanation. I’m sure you simply forgot yourselves for a moment.” She drew herself up, lifting her chin as though challenging the offender to disagree. The word that came at once to everyone’s mind was “regal.” It was enough to chagrin the Elves of Tal-sithian, who allowed the Company to gather and stow their own things thenceforward.
“By your leave, we will take your animals around to the western grasslands, the Falad Capell, where they may keep company with our own horses. They will be safer that way,” said a very tall, golden-haired Elf named Aldor. “You should proceed to Tal-sithan at once. We will conduct you, and your new friends the Currgas may escort us, if they are willing.”
But Collyn shook his head. “That is a long, hard swim,” he said. “We will rejoin you, but we intend to take our time about doing it. We do not travel across so much open water in haste. Farewell for now!”
He signaled to the others, who rose to their feet and made straight for the water. They slipped in, hardly disturbing the glass-like surface, and disappeared. In a few moments Nelwyn spotted them, floating on their backs, looking like so many long, bright dots in the distant mist. She could hear their merry voices and their laughter. She wished for just a moment that Collyn had climbed into the boat, instead of the grim-faced Elf who now sat at the tiller.
It took several hours to reach the island, but once they made their way through the clouds and mist the journey was sunny and pleasant. Gaelen amused herself with staring into the deep blue water. It fascinated her, though she was a little fearful of it. She had no knowledge of the creatures that dwelled below. The Great Seas were even worse—Gaelen had no desire to ever explore them.
In Dûn Arian, she had been told enough stories of deadly sea creatures to preclude her ever becoming a mariner. It was best to stay with things that were at least a little familiar. Yet she had enjoyed late nights on one of the long fishing-piers that extended out into the h
arbor, climbing down to the braces between the huge pilings and hanging a lamp over the water. This brought a most intriguing array of living things to her curious eyes. Their variation in form, color, and size was astonishing, and she learned to bait them even closer by dropping bits of food. Some of the small fishes would even leap from the water to grab them! She stopped this practice when, one very dark night, a great fish appeared out of nowhere, leaped from the water, passing inches from her face, took one of the smaller fishes in mid-air, and came down again with a great “splash.” It could easily have taken Gaelen herself, at least in her mind. She had seen the size of its teeth!
Lake-water creatures are not as colorful, and they do not occur in such variety, but at least there are very few that are threatening, thought Gaelen as she watched the little silvery fishes play beneath the boat.
“Don’t lean over too far,” said Aldor with a good-natured smile, “or the Guardians might decide to make a tiny meal of you.”
“The Guardians?” said Gaelen, sitting quite respectfully upright again.
“Huge creatures, kept by the Lady,” said Aldor. They will attack and devour any evil creatures that sully these waters. They have existed since the dawn of time, and were once found in far greater numbers, but only a few remain. They are very large, and are said to be intelligent, but they’re very secretive—even I have rarely encountered one, and I patrol these waters nearly every day. I’ve heard them, though, especially at night. Impressive beasts, they are. Most impressive.”
“Well, since I’m not an evil creature, I need not fear,” said Gaelen, who immediately returned to searching beneath the waters, hoping for a glimpse of one of the Guardians.
At last the boat gained the shores of the Green Isle. In late spring it was spectacular—the heady fragrance of a thousand flowers greeted the Company as they approached. A welcoming party awaited their arrival, escorting them without delay to the dwelling-place of the Lady. Yet they did not stand before her immediately—they were allowed to rest and wash away the dust of the journey. Later they would be treated to a very fine meal.