The Silver Sun

by Nancy Springer

  How he had longed for that warmth. But Hal could not yet bear to hear what Alan had to say. Staring straight ahead, he cut him off with a crisp statement. “Alan, we leave for Laueroc on the morrow. For the wedding and coronation."

  “Laueroc!” gasped Alan, startled. “But why?”

  “Ten hundred years ago, the Very King Bevan took his beloved that way, and perhaps wedded her on a Midsummer's Eve, as I will mine. Folk will be there from throughout the realm.” His hesitation was barely perceptible, but Alan, who knew him well, sensed it at once. “The elves will meet us there, though I would never ask them to come all the way to Nemeton. Adaoun is performing the ceremonies.” Hal looked at his gaping brother in carefully affected anxiety. “You do not begrudge me the use of your town, I hope?"

  But Alan was not fooled. “You have laid a trap for me,” he said, and his voice was low and dangerous.

  “Destiny is no trap, but most often a blessing,” Hal replied. “The course of our lives was set, Alan, long before either of us was born."

  “Destiny be damned!” Alan shouted. “I will not go!”

  “You shall go!” Hal commanded icily. He faced Alan with gray eyes gone cold and hard, gleaming eerily with elfin power. Alan's blue eyes blazed just as bright with mortal wrath, and did not waver for an instant. For a full minute the two wills clashed with all the force of physical combat. On a hilltop the horses stood rigid as statues, the young men sitting them silent as the wealds all around; but legend was to remember the flash of bright metal and the ring of steel in the air.

  Slowly, like the soft dusk of dawn, Hal smiled, and the shining steel of his gaze turned to glowing love, a love welling up from so deep in his soul that Alan continued to stare, lost in a trance of astonishment. “Your power is the equal of mine,” Hal murmured. “It is well."

  “Name of Aene,” Alan whispered. Suddenly he realized that Hal was aged beyond his years, battered and agonized by the death he had dealt, tired and sad; yet his back was straight and his face filled with honest joy.

  “It is well,” he repeated. “Alan, if you love me —"

  “Hal!” pleaded Alan wretchedly.

  “Nay,” he continued, as if agreeing with something Alan had said, “you are right. I will not do that. Once you made me swear an oath that nearly tore my heart to shreds, for my own sake. But I will bind you by no such oath. I know you, Alan of Laueroc, and I know that you do not need my bidding to keep the law that springs from love. Farewell, Alan. Let your heart guide you well.” He wheeled Arundel and sped away toward Nemeton.

  “Hal!” Alan called after him. “Hall Wait —” But Hal had disappeared over a rise of the rolling wealds, and Alan got no answer except the lonesome cries of straying sea birds.

  Chapter Four

  “He was not back all night,” Rafe told Hal the next morning.

  “I expected as much,” he answered. “Well, let us go."

  It did not take them long to make ready, for they were all accustomed to traveling light. For the first time since Rosemary had known him, however, Hal needed a pack horse to carry something he wished to take along.

  They were all saddled and waiting when Cory appeared, looking distressed. “I cannot find Alan anywhere!” he exclaimed.

  “Alan will be coming later, I dare say,” Hal replied. “We must go on without him."

  “I will wait for him here,” Cory decided.

  Hal shook his head. “You shall come with us. He must make his journey alone.” The youth gaped in startled protest, but Hal shot him a glance that made him quickly take his place in line. For the first time in their acquaintance, Hal had chosen to command.

  The castle folk merrily wished the company a good journey and great happiness. Nevertheless, it was a silent cavalcade which made its way out from Nemeton toward Laueroc. There were Hal and Rosemary, Cory, Robin and Roran, Craig and Rafe and a few maids. Not a word was spoken among them; they all felt the presence of the unseen watcher on the wealds.

  That night Robin came to Hal. Concern for his tow-headed friend blotted out fear of Hal's wrath. “Hal, whatever is the matter? You must tell Cory something. He is so miserable."

  Hal sighed. “I cannot tell Cory what is happening,” he explained, “or you, or anyone else—not even my lady. For, if Alan's journey does not go as I expect, no one must ever know.” He shook his head fretfully. “Tell Cory that Alan is in no danger or hardship. He knows that Alan can take care of himself. Tell him—I miss him, too ...."

  “Are you quarreling?” Robin asked gently. “His quarrel is more with himself than with me. Robin, what more can I say? I know him well; he will fight dragons, if need be, to—to come to me. All will be well."

  Robin returned to Cory with these words of dubious comfort. But if Hal's reassurances sounded confident, his restless sleep that night belied him. There had been a time when he thought he knew Alan's heart. But his brother had been distant for so long, and he did not know why ....

  Still, it was impossible for Hal to remain unhappy for long with Rosemary. He was on his way to his wedding, at long last! Within a few days, the spirits of the entire party had lifted. They traveled in easy stages, taking pleasure in the journey. In each village the excited folk called greetings and good wishes, pelting them with flowers.

  When they came to Laueroc at last, a great throng awaited them, not only townsfolk but many old friends. One of the first they saw was Pelys in his litter. Rosemary ran to him and embraced him, whispering, “Father, pardon.” But Pelys answered gently, “Tush, tush, daughter, I expected you would be off,” and kissed her absently.

  Will was not with Pelys. He had been killed at Gaunt; Rafe sorrowed to hear it. The warlords were not present either, for already they were fighting among themselves. But old Margerie was there, cackling in coquettish shock as Hal kissed her. The King of the Gypsies was there, a tiny man, gnarled as an ancient thorn tree, and stone blind. His hands traced Hal's face reverently, as if he touched the carved features of an idol. Ket was there too, his blazing hair still out of control under a leather cap. His brown eyes glowed warmly when Rosemary greeted him. Then, like everyone else, he asked Hal, “Where is Alan?"

  “Thinking,” Hal grumbled. “Say no more about it, Ket."

  And then there was Adaoun, with all the People of Peace. It was indeed the closing of the Age, and perhaps the hearts of men had been purged for the new beginning to follow. Whatever the reason, they greeted their earth-brothers the elves with joyful wonder, though they could not communicate their gladness with words. But Rosemary trembled when she faced Adaoun, even though she was not afraid, and Hal put his arms around her. Adaoun gazed deeply into her unflinching eyes and set kindly hands on each side of her head.

  He spoke to her softly, "Laifrita thae, Kellea," which is to say, “Greetings, Kellea.” Her elfin name meant “the faithful one.” Rosemary responded in the Ancient Tongue, "Laifrita thae, Adaoun." ["Fair peace to thee, Elf-Father."] With the Old Language, there came to her the understanding of many mysteries, so that she looked at Hal and saw that he was Mireldeyn. He gazed at her with loving pride, and she answered with happy tears; at last she knew him entirely.

  “She is the one,” Adaoun told Hal.

  “Did you ever doubt it?"

  A spark of light glowed deep in Adaoun's ancient, youthful eyes as he shook his head.

  “Where is Elwyndas?” asked Lysse.

  “Wrestling with his pride,” Hal replied. “And yet, he may hardly know with what he fights. There are many things he does not fully understand, and the very thoughts of his mind take arms against him. But I depend on his great heart to bring him here in time."

  “I will go out and wait for him until he comes,” said Lysse, and in a moment she was gone.

  Cory and Rafe searched the crowd for the elf they knew, but did not find him. Soon Hal brought them confirmation of their fears: Anwyl had been killed at Welden. “He was one of only a few of us who fell,” Adaoun explained, “for most of the lordsmen fled
from us rather than fighting us. But Anwyl was overbold for your sake, Hal, eager to wrest Veran's treasure from the ancient hold of Welden, and he met with men to whom the panic had not yet spread. He was not afraid to die, but it grieves me that we did not find what he sought."

  “I have it with me!” Unbuckling the canvas of his pack beast's load, Hal exposed a small, strongly built chest, plain except for the half-sun emblem shining from its metal top. “Torre's youngest son, Gildur, brought it to my mother's keeping before I was born. I knew nothing of it until three weeks ago, when my old nurse showed it to me."

  “Let us see,” Adaoun said in a hushed voice.

  The chest seemed to open itself to Hal's touch, so quick and silent was the task. He stood aside, and Adaoun stooped and reverently took from it a crown of shining silver, beautifully simple and unadorned, the bright metal molded in graceful pointed shafts like the rays of a sunburst. “This is the ancient crown of Eburacon,” Adaoun explained softly. “Veran brought it with him when he came to us over the waves of the Western Sea. It was all he had left of that former Age of greatness."

  Next he took from the chest a crown of gleaming gold, pure and graceful of design as the first. “This he fashioned like the first, out of gold freely taken from the streams of our mountain valley, and in a mold newly made by his own hands, to signify the dawning of the new Age."

  Then he brought forth a velvet pouch, and carefully shook from it two golden rings, plain and unadorned, but of a brightness that almost pulsed. “These rings, also, Veran made from the gold of the Eagle Valley, and with them he and my daughter Claefe plighted their troth."

  Once more Adaoun stooped, and he removed from the chest a leather-bound tome of parchment pages, ancient, but with golden fastenings and tooled scarlet designs still glowing. Adaoun held it aloft, and the light flashed on strange golden runes for all to see. “And this,” he said vibrantly, “is The Book of Suns. In the time of our despair, the One offered us words of prophecy and comfort. They are written in this book, by Veran's hand, and almost all are now come to pass."

  Each of these statements Hal had relayed to the awed multitude that had gathered around. But now Adaoun said something he kept to himself. “If you have read this,” he remarked with mindful pity, “you know many things.” “I have read it.” Hal turned to Rosemary. “And so shall you, my love, and know everything that is in it: the secrets of the elves, and of the elfin part of me. But not yet. Not for a few days.” He tamed and locked the crowns, the rings and the Book once again in their chest.

  The following days were spent in feasting, merriment and much talk. Hal was able to check on the welfare of his entire kingdom, and the news was good. Most of the spring planting had been done before Iscovar's death, and Hal's throne had been secured so swiftly that the rhythm of work was scarcely interrupted. Famine, the specter that so often stalks in the wake of war, was not likely to be seen—especially since half of each lord's holding of land had been divided among the peasants. The same had been done with the enormous stockpiles of grain and other supplies, and with each lord's hoard of treasure and gold. Such a spirit of peace lay upon the land that there had been no quarreling over fan shares; the countryfolk rejoiced in their unexpected prosperity. In most of the manors a man who had been a leader among the people was elevated to the position of responsibility, with the assurance of help and advice from the King and his liegemen. Hal offered Ket the manor of Lee, but he refused it, saying he would rather stay by Hal as one of his officers. So Rafe was prevailed upon to accept Lee, and Craig took management of White-water, since Margerie said she was too old for such nonsense.

  As the wedding day drew near, neither Lysse nor Alan had been seen. From time to time, Hal raised the hope that they were together, but in his heart he knew they would have come to him if it were so. In his mind's eye he envisioned Lysse as indeed she was: a patient figure waiting and watching the road by a lonely campfire. But try as he might, Hal could not envision Alan. By the eve of the Midsummer festival, the Feast of Bowers, Hal's low spirits had influenced the entire camp. Rosemary could have wept at the despair in his eyes, and only her generous heart kept her from cursing Alan as a graceless, selfish, thick-skulled mule, he who had spoiled what ought to be the happiest time of Hal's life.

  For two full weeks Alan lay in the sun on the upland hills, waiting for some unknown succor, foraging for food when he felt the need, seeing no living being except the birds and the furry beasts. After the first few days he gave up consciously struggling with his problem. Its dull ache rose with him in the morning, lived with him through the day, went to bed with him at night. His dreams were colored cruelly with pain and sorrow, leaving him as fatigued as if he had fought a long and losing battle.

  On the last day when he could leave and hope to reach Laueroe in time, he rose and saddled Alfie, scarcely knowing how or when he had decided to go. Then the dull ache in his heart was replaced by sharper pangs of fear that he might miss Hal's great day. He set his course as straight as an arrow toward Laueroe, and Alfie ran with all the urgency his master felt. At least there was no longer any fear of lordsmen. Alan sped through the days, rested only a few hours each night, and ate as he rode.

  As the afternoon before the Midsummer festival drew on, Alan sighed thankfully and slackened his pace somewhat at last. Laueroe was only a few miles away. I shall be there in time for the late meal, he thought, and that will give me the evening to set things to rights. Under the golden light of a low sun, he was cantering up the last slope outside of town, smiling with relief, when he looked up and saw the one person who was the cause of all his heart's commotion.

  Lysse sat still upon a filly of the elwdeyn breed, and she wore a dress of the same dark, sun-flecked green as her eyes. Golden sunset rays made a halo of her golden hair. No amount of resolve could have prepared Alan for this moment. His eyes fastened upon her, and slowly, scarcely knowing what he was doing, he took her hand and held it pressed to his cheek.

  “Wherever have you been!” she asked in her sweet, melodious voice. “I have awaited you these many days."

  The sound of the Ancient Tongue shocked him out of his trance, and he dropped her hand. “I have come to see my brother, Lysee,” he declared hoarsely, “to bring him something that belongs to him and to wish him joy on his wedding day. I must go to him now.” Dazed, he lifted the reins, but for the first time in years Alfie balked. The horse rolled his eyes until the whites showed, and flapped his ears, ogling impudently. But Alan did not notice; his gaze was caught on Lysse. The pain in her eyes was pitiful. Yet she was an elf, and should, not know such heartfelt pain ....

  “Alan,” she whispered, “by the mighty Wheel, tell me now, truly: do you love me still, or not?"

  The cruel lie, rehearsed a thousand times, came to Alan's mind, but wrestle with it as he might, it would not leave his tongue. For a breathless moment he struggled, shaken to the roots of his being; then the answer exploded from him. “Ay!” he shouted, and the hills of his native land rang with it. “Sweet Lysse, I do!” Shaking, his voice subsided to a whisper. “Oh, Lysse, I am so sorry ...."

  “Why?” She placed gentle hands upon his bowed shoulders. “For you know I love you, too, Alan of Laueroc."

  “Because I cannot have you.” He spoke decidedly, with the perfect calm of longstanding pain. “I will not doom you to death, you whom I love, or tear you from your people. Go, Lysse, sail to fair Elwestrand which is your birthright, you and your brothers and sisters. Live there long after I am dead and turned to dust. I cannot kill you, Lysse!"

  “I will not go,” she told him with dogged patience, as if she must explain to him the clearest facts of his life, even the rising and setting of the sun. “Nor will my father ask me to; he knows I must be with you. If you ride away from me I will follow, and if my horse fails me I will walk, winter or summer, to be by your side. I love you. Is so simple a thing so difficult for you to accept?” In her eyes, to the deepest reaches of her soul, there was no hint of falte
ring or sorrow.

  Alan gazed into those incredible eyes, and saw there a love as marvelous to him as it was incomprehensible, for he scarcely felt deserving. Breathlessly, he sensed the deepest strength of his soul stirring within hin, surrendering foolish pride and false honor to the love that rules the heart. With tears of relief flowing freely down his cheeks, Alan took Lysse's chin in his hand and kissed her deeply on the lips. All the jagged pieces of his life fell into place, and he was finally at peace with himself and with his world.

  Chapter Five

  On that last night before the fateful day, the strong stone walls of Laueroc Castle seemed to choke Hal, so that he felt he must move out of doors, under the stars and the full moon. With Arundel for company, he built a little fire in a copse of trees on the town common. Sitting beside it, he bowed his head and thought of Alan, wishing that his thoughts could draw him there.

  Lysse and Alan were still deep in talk. “Silly,” she was chiding him fondly. “To think that any good could come to me, without you! My immortal life would have become a curse, for the Ages of the elves are at an end. My brothers and sisters, like me, will find mortal love in Elwestrand, and will die happy that their ancient loneliness is ended. And perhaps a finer race will come out of it all."

  “Why did you not tell me!” he cried. “You or Hal..."

  “The choice had to be yours, without telling. Though I know Hal has suffered with you."

  “Dear Hal,” he murmured, holding her close against him, “For months I have been longing to speak to him."

  “Come, let us go to him. The night moves on apace.” He still held her and sighed, but she laughed at him tenderly. “You shall have me the rest of your life!"

  They found Hal with his head on his knees beside a dwindling campfire, keeping a dozing vigil, as Alan had often known him to do in times of wounds or sickness. The silver circlet on his head had slipped rakishly over one ear, and Alan knelt to gently straighten it. Hal looked up, scarcely daring to believe he was in the world of the waking, whispering, “Alan!” He reached out to embrace him, but his arms stopped in midair as he remembered that, lately, Alan did not care to be touched.