In the Coils of the Snake

by Clare B. Dunkle

  “Sumur told me,” answered Miranda. “He heard it from Mongrel when they were on duty together. Have you seen the baby yet? Sumur said it has a rhinoceros horn.”

  “Hunter is a remarkably handsome child,” stated the elf firmly, and his blue eyes dared her to comment. She managed to keep a straight face, but she took her letter from Kate and hurried off.

  “I was interested in your idea about comparing King’s Wife tales,” Kate had written, “so I started to write the story of my early life with Marak. I let Arianna read it, but I was rather shocked. She laughed so much that her sides hurt. I assured her that it was a frightening and tragic story, but she kept right on laughing anyway. She said that she had no idea a goblin could love jokes and pranks as much as the elves. Honestly, Miranda! I know Marak liked to tease, but I never thought he was that funny.”

  Miranda smiled over the letter and tucked it away in her cloak. She looked up to find herself surrounded by children. “You promised!” they clamored, and she had, so she let those little hands drag her away.

  The elf King was debating the future of the two races and disagreeing forcefully with his opponent. This was perhaps not surprising since his opponent was a goblin.

  “A lasting peace is impossible, despite the friendships that are building now,” stated Nir. “Eventually, the goblins will want elf brides, and we will never give them up without bloodshed. That happened only one time, and it will not happen again. The elves will not buy peace with the misery of our children.”

  “Misery!” exclaimed Seylin. “Elf brides don’t have to be miserable.”

  “Elf brides lose their whole way of life,” declared Nir. “Many may recover from it, but not all do, and none of them should have to.”

  Seylin looked at his royal pupil’s determined face. “You can’t possibly be objective,” he said. “You aren’t just the ruler of the elf way of life, you embody it magically. Marak Catspaw is the same. He embodies the goblin way of life. You can study each other, but you will never understand each other, and you will never really like each other, either. You are the living argument between the two Greatest of the First Fathers, and that argument will last as long as the races exist.”

  “The First Fathers quarreled over whether their race should be beautiful or strong,” said the elf King. “The goblins seek for strength in the elves, and the elves look for beauty in the goblins. With such different viewpoints and such different ways of life, how could they possibly sustain peace?”

  “Within the hearts of both races lies the same code of conduct,” answered Seylin. “With minor differences, the same laws apply to each. These laws come down from a source higher than the First Fathers, and they unite the two sides of the argument. Kindness and cruelty, honesty and treachery these have the same meaning to a goblin or an elf. After all,” he remarked, glancing away significantly, “you can’t condemn the goblins for behavior that the elves also practice.”

  The elf King followed Seylin’s gaze. There sat Miranda, sun, rounded by the children, playing an old elf singing game. Opponents took turns singing the first verse of a song until someone ran out of choices or forgot the words. Miranda was playing against all the children and holding her own very well. just now she was singing in German, her clear, sweet voice competing with Galnar’s playing in the meadow. She couldn’t have looked happier, but the elf King remembered a night when he had dragged home a terrified, furious girl and enchanted her to force her into a way of life she dreaded. And that frightened girl had told him that he was even worse than a goblin.

  Miranda was deep in a vigorous rendition of Beethoven’s “Ode to joy” when her husband jerked her to her feet and kissed her passionately. When he let her go, she couldn’t remember what she had been singing. Several seconds of silence passed, but the words had gone right out of her head.

  “What was that about?” she demanded as the children cheered their victory.

  “It’s your goblin friend,” complained the elf King. “He’s making me think too much.”

  “Who, Seylin?” laughed Miranda, looking past him at the handsome goblin. “He always does that to everyone.”

  “Well, not to me,” declared Nir firmly. “He can’t make an elf work hard. Come on, Sika, let’s go dancing.” And they did.