Fire-heart (Tales of Alterra, the World that Is)

by C S Marks

  “Yes, I know what he thinks,” replied Rogond. “Yet I wonder now which of us needs protection? This strange Elf who has so attached herself to him…what will become of her? I wonder how Galador will fare as the journey grows longer, and he cannot free himself from this unfortunate burden.”

  “Hmmm…” said Fima, puffing on his pipe and looking back over his shoulder at Galador, who was even now sitting at a distance from the fire, looking rather dejected. Dona was beside him as always; at the moment she appeared to be resting, curled up beside him with one hand clutching the fabric of his cloak. Galador sat away from the fire because Dona was terrified of it. They had discovered this early in their journey, when she had cowered away from the fire, yet if Galador left her to warm himself she would cry for him until he returned.

  “Do not leave me, Galdor, please do not leave me here alone. The dark will come—the terrors…terrors with teeth! I shall die if you leave me!” Poor Dona would become more and more unbalanced until Galador returned to her side, reassuring her. The longer he left her, the greater the effort required to calm her, until finally he simply resigned himself to his task and stayed always at her side. Already he grew weary of it.

  Poor Nelwyn was having some difficulty with this arrangement. Dona no longer looked at her with menace in her eyes—in fact, she would not acknowledge Nelwyn at all—but Nelwyn could not be alone with Galador, in fact she was uncomfortable even speaking to him when Dona was listening. They could not really blame Dona, for they did not as yet know or understand her pain, but she burdened them and slowed their progress, for she was weak and unused to traveling. She could only make about ten miles a day, even mounted. And she would not travel at speed, for she was no longer a skilled rider.

  Gaelen still did not trust her. Though even she could not reconcile leaving her behind, she would have given a great deal to be rid of her. By the second week into the journey they were all thinking it, though none would say so.

  A glimmer of hope came on one beautiful night, as Gaelen lifted her voice to the stars in song. Dona stared at her with wide eyes, rose to her feet, and took a few tentative steps away from Galador. She closed her eyes, listening, with a serene smile on her ravaged face, as some of her torment fell away. Nelwyn and Galador watched her in wonderment, and when the song ended she stood as though transfixed. Then her eyes snapped open, darting left and right as the shadow of her fears returned.

  “Gaelen…sing something else. Anything else!” said Nelwyn, who had already sat down beside Galador, free to be alone with him for the moment.

  Gaelen, who understood her friend’s urgency, began to sing a song that she called “The Hunter’s Heart,” a stirring chant she had composed herself. She liked to sing it as she ran through the Greatwood in pursuit of game for the King’s tables. It was the first song that came to her mind, and she hoped Dona would be lulled by it, yet the response to this new song was quite different. Dona did not close her eyes, but instead she moved to stand uncomfortably close to Gaelen, staring intently at her. Then she began to sing along with her, her voice faltering, tears welling forth, singing no words but tones only, as Gaelen looked at her with pity in her eyes.

  Gaelen continued until she finished the chant, hoping that Dona would at least gain some joy from the toneless, broken attempt at joining her. Yet it was not so, for Dona grew agitated at once, looking around for Galador. When she did not immediately see him she turned on Gaelen. “Where is Galdor? What have you done with him? You have lured me from him with your dark song, and now he has fallen! This is your doing!” She sprang at Gaelen with a cry like that of a wounded animal, her eyes at once desperate and murderous, but she was weak, and held no weapon. Gaelen, who had once held the mighty Gorgon Elfhunter at bay, had little difficulty subduing her.

  Galador leapt to his feet as Gaelen cried out to him for aid, and he rushed to her side, trying to calm Dona, who was now crying and clutching at him. Gaelen left him to his task, backing away and shuddering with a combination of pity and disgust. How would they ever deal with this mad Elf, who even now spoke to Galador in a panicked voice: “Do not let her sing again, Galdor! Her song will take you from me, and you are my only light! Hers is the voice of evil!”

  “It’s not my voice that is of evil,” Gaelen growled, taking note of the scratches on her arm. Yet when her blood had calmed, she was troubled. What had caused Dona to try to sing the hunting chant? It was almost as though there was something in “The Hunter’s Heart” that had called to her...that she wanted to be a part of it. Perhaps she had been a hunter in whatever realm she hailed from.

  Whatever her origins, Dona had left Gaelen with a chill, uneasy feeling that starlit night. It seemed almost as if her lips were trying to form the words to Gaelen’s hunting chant, though she could not have known them. Gaelen had returned to the watch, shrugging off the uneasiness, for she must have imagined it. Yes, she must have...but on the next morning she suggested that at no time should Dona be left untended, for had she acquired a weapon, she would no doubt have used it. Well, that’s the first time anyone has actually wanted to kill me for singing, she thought. She looked out over the empty plains, and sighed. This was going to be a very long journey.

  The spring had come with a vengeance, and for the next few days they were lashed by storms that brought fierce winds and driving rain. They weathered these as best they could, seeking shelter among the scrubby trees or under overhangs of rock, listening to Dona’s incessant crying as she clung to Galador in panic.

  The lightning and thunder apparently dismay her. Everything seems to dismay her, thought Gaelen as she sat beside Nelwyn, thinking rather dark thoughts. She could see the same weary sentiment on Nelwyn’s face. “Perhaps Thorndil seeks us even now, and will blunder on us in the dark, accidentally running mad Dona through with his sword,” she said.

  “Gaelen…how horrible of you!” Nelwyn whispered in a shocked voice. Gaelen was chastened, and hunkered down into her cloak. After a few moments of silence, Nelwyn spoke again. “Do you think Fima would allow me to sharpen his axe for him? My hand could…could slip! Who knows? It might just accidentally take her head off. The axe would be slippery with the rain, and all…”

  “Or perhaps one of those big rocks over her head might happen to fall. You know, that has been known to happen. A tragic end, to be sure, but not painful,” said Gaelen.

  “Well, maybe a little painful,” said Nelwyn, and that set them both to laughing as quietly as they could into the folds of their wet cloaks. They leaned against one another, side by side, trying not to let anyone hear their laughter at Dona’s expense. They reveled in the moment, like so many in their past, such as they had not shared in a long while.

  Then Gaelen noticed the long, booted legs standing in front of her, and her gaze was drawn upward into the glowering face of Rogond.

  “Ill-natured Wood-elves,” he muttered. “One day your cruel joke will turn on you. I am disgusted.” Then he turned as if to leave them, but looked back to meet their round-eyed stares. “Thorndil would never be so clumsy as to run her through accidentally, but after a few days with her you might be able to convince him to do it on purpose.” Then he left them to the agony that comes with trying to control uncontrollable laughter. They gave up after a few moments, causing Galador and Fima to wonder if they had lost their wits.

  Another two days brought the Company within sight of the River Dessa. Fima drew forth a wonderful new map showing the Ravani Road; they could already see it winding like a dusty brown ribbon beyond the river banks. “There it is!” Fima declared in a hearty voice. “There is the way to our next adventure. See how it stretches out before us, just inviting us to see what lies beyond! It makes me young again.” He puffed out his chest, drawing in a great draught of air, and then blew it out enthusiastically through his fine, white beard. “This is a perfect morning for an adventure. Let’s be off at once!” He started down into the valley, walking swiftly and tirelessly on his short, sturdy legs.

&nb
sp; Gaelen and Nelwyn smiled. Fima’s enthusiasm was infectious. “Too right!” they shouted, and raced after him, Siva and Gryffa leaping down the gentle slope with their tails in the air. Gaelen called back to Fima as she passed: “We are going ahead to scout the ford. We will return when we are satisfied that it’s safe.”

  This “scouting” turned into a horse race, with little Siva battling the mighty red Gryffa, two happy Elves bending low over their necks with the wind in their hair, reveling in their freedom. Gryffa was first to reach the ford, but only just. The horses stood panting in the shallows, for the day was warm and they were winded, so the Elves sluiced water over their necks and splashed it up under their bellies. They drank gratefully as Nelwyn and Gaelen played in the chilly water, making a great deal of noise. Just as it seemed they would surely drown one another, the rest of the Company arrived. Rogond sat tall upon Eros, looking at them with a slightly jaundiced eye.

  “Well, my fine scouts! Is the ford safe?”

  Gaelen shook her wet hair from her eyes. “Safe? Oh…oh, yes! Yes, it certainly appears to be safe. We would have warned you otherwise.”

  Rogond smiled at her. It was good to see the Elves so light-hearted. “Well, enjoy the river, for such opportunities to drown your cousin will be quite rare the farther south we travel. We should fill every available water-vessel before we leave this place.” He dismounted from Eros’ back and turned him loose to drink, an act he soon regretted, for Eros walked placidly into the shallows and, without warning, dropped to his side, rolling in the water, soaking Rogond’s gear.

  “He is taking your advice, I see,” said Galador with a lopsided smirk. Rogond scowled. He really did not care for riding on a soaking wet saddle. His wayward mount regained his feet and shook his powerful frame, sending water flying in all directions.

  Fima preferred to stay dry, so Gaelen led him across on Siva.

  Galador dismounted, thinking that he would have to lead Dona across. To his surprise, she slid down from Malvorn’s back and handed him the bridle-reins, wading into the water until she stood waist-deep in it. Finally, it seemed they had discovered something which brought her joy. Far from being afraid of the river, she bent over, soaking her brown hair and combing though it with her fingers, then raised up and snapped it back over her head. It was the first thing they had seen her do that indicated she was actually capable of taking care of herself, and they were encouraged. Sound came from her, and at first they wondered whether she was crying again, but then they realized that she was singing. As before, her song was toneless and no words came forth, but she seemed happy for the first time since leaving Dûn Bennas.

  She remained in the river until the rest of the Company had crossed. Galador went to her and took her hand, and she followed him with some reluctance onto the Ravani Road. She turned back once, and whispered something to the river that Galador could not understand.

  The River Dessa marked the boundary of the King’s realm to the south, and they had traveled well over a hundred miles to reach it. Now they were in foreign lands, on the road leading southward through the desert. As the sun rose high they took their first taste of what was to come; the heat would eventually tax even the Elves. They decided to do much of their traveling at night, when it was cooler. This suited everyone except Dona, who feared the darkness. She rode with Galador upon Réalta, and he led her mount as she clung to him, eyes closed, muttering in what sounded like gibberish.

  As they continued to travel southward, the land changed. The grass diminished, and the soil turned dry, stony, and poor. There were plants here that even Nelwyn had not seen, and did not know. Some of these had spines or thorns, or thick, leathery leaves to store water. The grazing was not too bad—not yet—but many of the plants here were not fit for the horses to eat.

  “Rogond…why are we attempting this desert crossing in summer?” asked Gaelen one dark, breezy evening, as the last of the sunlight disappeared over the western horizon.

  It was a fair question, and Rogond had no answer. He turned to Fima, who usually had something to say. “There is little difference in the seasons here, except at night. It is always dry, and the heat of the day is little less in winter, but the winter nights are quite cold. You will be glad we travel as we do, little Wood-elf. Tonight, I believe you will be treated to the first of the desert stars, for the high clouds of the past few nights are clearing. Look to the heavens!”

  Gaelen did so, and nearly fell from her mount. She gasped, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, as an incredible array of sparkling stars burned brilliantly above her, with no clouds or heavy air to obscure them. She had not seen anything like these stars, as there was nowhere in the North that so many could be seen, save for perhaps the summit of the tallest mountain. She was completely transfixed, and drew Siva to halt, sliding down from the saddle and sinking to the stony ground, staring at the lights.

  Galador and Nelwyn reacted in the same manner, and Rogond and Fima knew they would go no farther this night.

  Galador set Dona down, encouraging her to lie with them and gaze at the stars, but she curled into a ball would not open her eyes. Galador coaxed her, almost tenderly. “The stars are bright, and their light keeps us from harm. Fear no darkness, gentle maiden.” He looked over at Nelwyn and drew a deep breath. “I will protect you. Do not fear.”

  Dona opened her eyes, moaning a little in dread of what she might see. Then she beheld the innumerable, brilliant lights, and she was amazed. Her doubt gave way to joy, and she laughed for probably the first time in a long while, rising to her feet and taking Galador’s hand. She pulled him upright, then began to dance under the stars, still laughing, beckoning him to join her. She had no strength, and soon grew weary, sinking back down upon the ground as he sat beside her. Dona would now travel willingly in the darkness, so long as the skies were clear and her “Galdor” was at her side.

  They encountered the first of the people of the Ravi on the following afternoon as they sheltered from the heat of the day, resting among the rocks. Gaelen and Nelwyn were on the watch, nearly invisible in the pale dust-colored cloaks given to them by King Hearndin. Nelwyn saw the caravan first, and she called to Gaelen, who was watching out to the north and west. The Wood-elves alerted their fellow travelers as the strangers approached: five men, about a dozen horses tied head to tail, and three peculiar-looking animals, obviously akin to horses but with very long ears. At the fore went the most peculiar creature of all, much taller than a horse, striding along placidly on long, knobby legs and huge, flat feet. A warm, light brown in color, its long neck undulated like a serpent with a strange, ungainly head wobbling about on the end of it. It moved with deliberate grace.

  “What is that?” asked Gaelen, incredulous.

  “I think it’s called a dromadan,” said Fima. “But I have never seen one until now, except in pictures.”

  As the men drew nearer, Gaelen caught their scent on the wind. They were unwashed, but had tried to mask it with musk and spice, which would have been pleasant if not for the foul undercurrent beneath. Water was precious in these lands, and Gaelen expected to encounter many unwashed bodies here.

  One of the men, richly dressed, led the caravan astride the strange animal. The others were most likely his servants. Their task, apparently, was to follow along with the horses, encouraging the reluctant ones with their whips.

  Gaelen loved horses, and she knew these men for what they were. She gritted her teeth as she stood beside Rogond and Fima, her eyes drawn to one poor, lame fellow with a dull bay coat, thin and wasted, trailing the line. He struggled to keep up as the richly-dressed man called a halt.

  “These are horse-merchants. They will have nothing we want, but you might wish to inquire after Hallagond,” said Fima. “They probably speak some form of Aridani.”

  Rogond approached the caravan with Fima and Gaelen, while Galador, Nelwyn, and Dona remained hidden.

  “Hail, wayfarers. What is your business here?” asked the man on the dromadan. Rogond and Fima bowe
d, but Gaelen stood erect, looking squarely into his eyes. He would not long meet her gaze, and pretended to ignore her.

  “We seek a man named Hallagond, and are traveling to the southlands, where we have been told we may find him,” said Rogond. “He is tall, and grey-eyed, and probably resembles me, for we are brothers. Have you heard any tales of such a man? “

  The horse-merchant considered, looking at Rogond with some suspicion. “If he is your brother, then you should know whether or not he resembles you,” he said at last. “I know of no Hallagond. We are here because these rocks collect water; there is a tiny seep that flows from beneath them. Surely you have found it already.”

  “We have,” said Fima. “You are welcome, and your animals as well. Three of our companions still shelter among the rocks, but they will not harm you.”

  Gaelen’s gaze was torn between the man and the horse. The man was a sight to behold, with raiment of many beautiful bright colors and fantastic, woven designs. He wore a full, black beard and moustache, into which many tiny golden beads were plaited. Several gold rings dangled from his large ears, and a silken cloth was wrapped about his head to keep the sun off it. He was not especially tall, but was of considerable girth. Gaelen did not care for his eyes; they shifted and changed expression to suit the moment. False, inside and out, she thought.

  The horse was shaky and weak, and bore the scars of many battles. It stood with its head down and eyes closed. As Rogond and the strange man continued their parley, Gaelen cautiously approached it. The servants drew near to her, warning her to keep away. “That one is worthless, and will soon fall to the ravens,” they said. “He is treacherous, and will bite and kick. Keep clear of him.”

  As though he knew the men were speaking of him, the little bay horse opened his eyes and raised his head, laying his small, neat ears back flat against his skull and baring his teeth, swiping at one of them. He was rewarded with a crack of the whip across his scarred face, and he blundered back against his tether, a large welt already forming between his eyes. “Another lesson wasted on you,” the man growled, but his satisfaction gave way to fear as he stared down the shaft of an arrow. Gaelen’s hood had blown back, and she was angry.