Elanraigh

by S. A. Hunter

“I knew how difficult it was for Chamakin to not be there when you left for Elankeep, but I thought it best, and so I told him to grant you a time of growth at Elankeep. I knew he was a young man of honor and would keep his word to me, though it cost him, Elanraigh knows what pain, to let you go.

  “A betrothal now with the wedding next Verdemas—that would be acceptable to your mother and I.” Leon cleared his throat, “Yes. Well, I have two young men to speak with this evening then—one I must disappoint and one I will gladly grant his heart’s desire.” Leon returned to the chair at his worktable, “Well then. I will see you again at evening meal. Your mother has arranged to have the tables laid in the garden. Send that recruit, Eagin, to me, if you will, my dear. I have messages.”

  Thera spun happily on her heel with a muted tinkling of amber beads, “Yes, father. Right away.”

  After sending the recruit in to her father, Thera carried on toward the Great Hall. The huge outside doors had been pushed open and servants were busy carrying the long tables to the flagstone patio outside. Steward Valan came toward her and bowed. “Lady, is there anything I can help you with? Do you seek Lady Fideiya?”

  “No, I thank you, Valan, I just came from my father. When do we dine?”

  “At full eventide, Lady.”

  A while yet. “Thank you.” Thera turned, and from the corner of her eye caught sight of a tall Ttamarini, just as her heart quickened she recognized him as Zujeck, Chamak’s close companion. The young Ttamarini saw her and veered her way. His handsome face was solemn as he saluted her, but he visibly warmed as Thera greeted him.

  “Zujeck, Goddess bless.”

  “Blessings, Lady ArNarone.”

  Thera turned to walk toward the main doors, the Ttamarini pacing at her side. “You fared well in the Memteth battles, Zujeck? No injuries?”

  “Yes, Lady, thanks be. Nothing to mention.”

  They emerged into the soft air of late afternoon, the lowering sun already staining rocks and trees in dusky amber. “Not all, I hear, were so fortunate?” prodded Thera.

  “No indeed, Lady, there were losses and injuries enough.” Zujeck paused and Thera halted. Standing straight, hands behind his back, he tipped his head down to meet her gaze. “My own friend, Chamak, was seriously injured at the battle by Kenna Beach.”

  “Chamak is recovered now?”

  Zujeck shook his head slowly, his long hair swaying at his shoulders, though his face remained serious, his eyes began to dance. “The wounds healed cleanly and well, yet something seems to ail him. A continuing infection perhaps remains. We hope he will begin to mend soon, now.”

  “I will offer prayer to the Elanraigh for his full recovery, Zujeck.” She smiled up into the warrior companion’s face.

  Zujeck’s lips curved into a slow smile and he bowed gracefully. “I can imagine nothing more efficacious, Lady, than your intervention.”

  “I will see you at the evening meal then,” said Thera happily. “Is—is Chamak now at your encampment?”

  “Well,” replied Zujeck, “our Maiya commanded him to go and meditate, she was concerned with him, ‘scattering his energy’, when he was soon likely to need his wits about him.”

  Thera felt a dimming of the joy within. “Oh.” Where could he be and for how long?

  Zujeck rocked on his heels, hands at his back. He eyed the top of the old sitka tree on Lorn a’Lea Point where an eagle now perched. “I believe he has found some special place near here where he prefers to go when in the mood to be alone with his thoughts. He told me he met his destiny there once.” Zujeck regarded her keenly and Thera flushed to the tops of her ears. Zujeck returned his gaze to Lorn a’Lea with a satisfied nod while a smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “Yes. I believe Chamak told me that his spirit brother, the grey wolf, appeared to him there.”

  * * * *

  As Thera reached the old sitka, she paused as she always did to commune with the old tree. “To think how close we came to losing you and so many others to that malevolent Memteth fire.” The pounding of her heart stilled somewhat and she breathed deeply the tang of salt and pungent evergreen boughs. A mind-touch, light as a feather, told her that Eiryana was close by and withholding herself so Thera could have this time alone.

  “Blessings, dear one,” Thera sent in return.

  She steadied herself a moment, her hand resting on the old sitka, as the sky rapidly deepened it’s color from lemon to orange, then red.

  In the next few moments my life’s path will be set.

  Thera pushed away from the tree then, and began the climb, her eyes fixed on the granite spur of rock—“and right below is the mossy ravine where Chamak and I sat only three moons ago.” The Elanraigh’s presence was strongly with her and it sang to her the rightness of her choice.

  “Blessings be”! sent Thera, “He is my only choice! Did you for one heart beat believe I could have chosen the other over him? Is this the choice of my soul that had to be made before you would take my vow?

  A wind rose in the tree tops, as if the Elanraigh cavorted in its sharing of her joy.

  “Will you take my vow now? Will you believe that we, Chamak and I, will work to bring our people close to you again, as it was long ago?”

  Like a warm hand at her back the Elanraigh urged her on. Thera, you are our own, it thrummed. A shadow detached itself from the base of a huge tree and padded toward her. Thera felt the brush of the wolf’s pelt below her fingers.

  “Farnash!” She knelt and fondled the huge head. “Oh, Farnash,” tears flowed freely down her face. The wolf head-butted her gently and the bright tongue lolled, then he turned his muzzle, nostrils distended, toward the cliff. “Yes. He is there. Do you come for him as well?”

  “He is myia, brother of my soul.”

  They reached the top of the granite rock together. Below them sat Chamakin, his hands resting on his knees. Two kirshrews were curled in the starmoss beside him. Though the little creatures shuddered and twitched in their dream sleep, Chamakin sat perfectly still, bathed in the setting sun’s red light. Thera felt herself reaching out to him, as if with physical hands, she touched his face. His eyes flashed open. He stared blankly a moment. Thera could imagine how they must look to him, woman and beast, dark silhouettes again the fading light. She saw his lips move. Thera. Then with a small sound, he passed his hand across his brow.

  Thera could wait no more. “Chamak!” She ran down the narrow trail that led to the ravine with Farnash leaping like a tame dog at her heels.

  Chamakin sprang to his feet, “Thera!” He grunted as Thera flung herself against his chest. “Is it really you, Chaunika myia? Ahh—” and he crushed Thera to him with one arm and lifted the bandaged arm to trace the side of her face with the backs of gentle fingers. His eyes searched hers, then flickered to meet those of the grey wolf. “Chaunika myia, what company you keep. Blessings, brother of my soul,” he murmured.

  “Do you wonder,” he said to Thera, “that I thought I was seeing visions.”

  “He is here to be your companion, Chamak, his name is…”

  “Farnash. Yes,” Chamak’s face lit with his entranced wonder, “I hear his voice and he has given me his name.”

  Farnash loped forward toward Chamak, dropped to his haunches and lifted his head to Chamak’s hand. Above them Eiryana whistled her high-pitched call.

  “Sky Sister,” Chamak said, looking up at the watching eagle, then at Thera, “Farnash calls you Sky Sister.”

  “Yes.” Thera felt like both laughing and crying, her emotions were in such tumult. She saw Chamak look up and gaze around him. Wind tossed the high branches and evening shadows flew like dark birds across their small clearing.

  “What is that sound I hear?” Chamak looked at Thera, his face reflecting her own wonder and joy, as the sound grew around them.

  “It is the Elan
raigh, my own,” Thera sobbed with joy. “It is the Elanraigh singing. Oh, I have so much to tell you!”

  “Warrior and priestess, wolf and eagle are One—the forest rejoices,” declared Farnash.

  Epilogue

  Thera couldn’t help but compare the differences between this feast and that one at which she’d first met Chamak, only three months ago. Chamak then had seemed so grave and stern, whereas now his hand sought hers as he was animatedly exchanging a battle story with Captain Dougall, Zujeck, and Sirra Alaine. Thera could hardly contain the joy she felt as she and Chamak were bathed in the love and well wishing of family and friends.

  Of Allenholme’s council, only Mika ep Narin, the Fishing Guild Master was absent. Oak Heart said the Cythian Heir had been determined to return to his own domain immediately. Mika volunteered to journey them home on the Bride O’Wind. Mika observed the peeved and thwarted expression on the Cythian Heir’s face as he whispered to the Besteri Mage, and the old sailor clenched his pipe between his teeth to suppress a grin.

  Mika would have been disturbed however, had he overheard the whispered exchange between Ambraud and Willestar.

  “It is obscene, Willestar—he wastes her on the barbarian. What can he be thinking?”

  Willestar responded mildly, “My Lord, he must yet win consent of the King. Much can happen in the meantime.”

  “I want her and none other,” affirmed Ambraud.

  * * * *

  Thera privately rejoiced to know she’d have no further encounters with the Besteri mage. Indeed, on hearing the Cythian Heir and his mage had departed, Thera felt completely lifted in spirit—nothing now to dim my happiness in this evening’s celebration.

  “Friends, My Own,” her father rose with his cup in hand, “I offer this toast to our victory, thanks to our honored allies and the Elanraigh…” The roar of response thundered from all tables. Leon waited until this had somewhat subsided, then raised his hand, “and with the greatest joy, her Lady mother and I, wish to announce the betrothal of my daughter and Heir,” Leon gestured Thera and Chamak to their feet, “to Chamakin Dysan Chikei of the Ttamarini—Elanraigh bless them!”

  This time the thunder of cheers and mugs beating the tables seemed likely never to end, until a sudden gust of warm wind snapped the torch flames, flared through the courtyard, creaking the branches of the old oak. As the people subsided their noise and looked about them, voices began to murmur, “What is that? That sound?”

  Thera knew, and her heart swelled as she grasped Chamak’s hand. Chamak raised her hand to his lips, and a shiver of sheer joy thrilled her. The Elanraigh was singing, and her people for the first time were hearing the unearthly beauty of its voices lifted in an upwelling peon of joy.

  All present were enthralled by the Elanraigh’s otherworldly chorus, until gradually, it receded and the sounds of night returned.

  Some there remained on their feet, awestruck—some quietly wiped tears from their eyes as they slipped back into their chairs.

  Thera’s clear voice spoke into the reverent silence. “Dear friends, old and new,” her gesture included those of Allenholme and the Ttamarini present, as well as those from Elankeep. “It has been given me as gift, to commune with the Elanraigh forest-mind. Forest-mind knowing our future need has groomed me to be your Salvai. I will be present amongst you, and there will be frequent and open commerce between Allenholme and Elankeep. The forest paths will be open. The Elanraigh blesses you.”

  This time there was no silencing of the cheers and joyful thunder of many hands pounding the tables.

  About the Author:

  Sandra attended school in Victoria, B.C. and later graduated from the University of British Columbia with a B.A. in English Literature. After her daughter came along, she chose to work close to home and indulge her love of animals by working for an amiable, if thrifty, veterinarian. She believes in promoting the right of all creatures to live the existence that Nature intended. This value is strongly evoked in her novel.

  Sandra’s always lived at the edges of ocean and forest, so it came naturally to have a sentient forest as a major character in Elanraigh: The Vow. She loves kayaking the scenic Island coastline, swimming and walking. She has a ready sense of humor and an optimistic outlook (a good thing when you’re a writer).

  Her publications include Dark Fantasy short stories in pro magazines and she is currently working on a sequel to Elanraigh: The Vow.

  Visit her online at:

  http://Sandrahunter.blogspot.com

  Twitter @FuroreScribindi

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