Bloodless

by Roberto Vecchi

  There was a day when his great uncle would have embraced him in a large hug lifting him off the ground and shaking him from side to side, but those days, he feared, were long gone. As a child, he would spend months at a time with his extended family and could be seen climbing the various smaller trees surrounding the city with his cousins. While it was important for him to learn everything concerning Meckthenial’s culture, it was also important for the younger prince to be seen as an ambassador between the King’s different cities. While elves, for the most part, remained peaceful within their own comings and goings, it was important for the ruling House to appear empathetic to the different nuances of all the regions. And this provided Eriboth with the role he would eventually accept, once his brother, Prince Rendunial, took his father’s place as King.

  While most of his formal education regarding the customs, beliefs, knowledge and all other aspects a royalty a price should have mastery over was under the strict implementation of the royal tutors, it was in Lrossiduun where Eriboth learned what it was like to be a real elf. Within the Royal City and under the ever-watchful eye of the King and Queen, not to mention those of his elder brother, he was not able to construct a real picture of life outside of the royal walls. In large part, the logistics of day to day life were completed for him for no other reason than, as royalty, there were certain chores considered beneath him. Not because he nor any noble elf was above them as an aspect of their innate value, but because the minutia of the day to day grind could consume their productivity away from the development of large, more vital implementations. As a result, it came as a shock to him when he was expected to do his own laundry inside Lrossiduun when he turned eight years old. While he was in his youth, it was his most hated chore. The monotony of it drummed on his soul like the ominous and mind-numbing task of watching and recording the different patterns of the stars. It was nothing for the Lorekeepers to sit for hours and hours, almost motionless, while pouring over their charts during the night all with an excited expectation as their eyes looked to the sky. But for him, a young Eriboth more enticed by the sword and word, it was complete torture. However, now, when all the world seemed to be pressing on his shoulders impeding even his ability to breathe, he wished for a return to warm and soapy waters, wrinkled fingers, and aching back he acquainted with more peaceful times. But these were not peaceful times.

  He would have stayed inside of his youthful memories had it not been for the young elf’s voice bringing him back to the here and now, “I remember this forest. But it is not like it was. These trees, they seem hollow, as if something has drained the sap from their inside.”

  “They are beginning to be a reflection of the evil in the realm,” answered Eriboth.

  “How can that be?” asked Hundolis.

  “I am afraid I have not been given to know how it happened. But I do know why it happened,” he answered as they continued walking.

  “Alright,” Hundolis said, pausing briefly expecting Eriboth to respond, but when he did not, the young elf continued, “So why has it happened?”

  Eriboth remained silent for a moment and then pointed to the right and asked, “Do you see that tree? The one with the knot one third of the way up?”

  “How do you do that?” asked Hundolis.

  “Do what?”

  “See. I mean, your eyes. Can you still see out of them?”

  “Not in the manner in which you see.”

  “Then how do you know that there is even a tree let alone where it is and that is has a knot?”

  He chuckled briefly and responded, “I am afraid I have not been given even the why to that question let alone the how. But to your point, do you see that tree?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now, if the tree’s sap started to leak from that knot, which direction would it flow?”

  “It would flow down.”

  “Correct. Now apply that to what has happened to the elves.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you wondered why you were spared the changes the other elves underwent?”

  “I never considered that,” said the young elf thoughtfully.

  “Think of the sap. If it starts to leak, it would flow down, as all things flow. The current of the rivers, the leaves as they fall off the trees, the rain from the sky. Everything flows down. And it is no different with people. Do not all of the laws flow from the king to his court, then to the lords and then to the people? We are subjected to the same laws of cause and effect as all other things in our mortal world.”

  “But King Hinthial is still King of the elves,” said the young elf.

  “Lordship goes far deeper than titles and crowns, my friend,” said Eriboth as he ducked under the branch of a new sapling.

  “Ok. Let us suppose you are correct. Then that would mean the King must have pledged his allegiance to something,” Hundolis said, ducking as well.

  “You are correct.”

  “And yet, if he did, why have I not changed? I am still an elf am I not?”

  “Yes and no,” answered Eriboth with a slight grin.

  “How can I be something and not be it at the same time?”

  “Did you not pledge your life and heart to Jesus?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Did you mean it?”

  “You know that I did.”

  “Indeed,” responded Eriboth. “Does Jesus reside here, with us, next to us, on a throne of stone, or wood, or marble like all the other kings of Avendia?”

  “No. He is with God is he not?”

  “Precisely. And where is God?”

  Hundolis stopped walking, put his hands on his hips, considering, and said, “I do not know.”

  “None of us knows,” said Eriboth chuckling. “But we do know that He is not of our world, though He created it. We know He lives differently, apart and hallowed. We know we are His reflection insomuch as we have a body, as did Jesus, and that we have a spirit, the part of us that reflects His eternally pure will. It is that spirit that truly defines who we are, or at least, who we were intended to be when He breathed life into us. So, while our bodies exist here, in the mortal world as a housing for our immortal spirit, we are governed by the laws and rules of both the mortal and immortal. But we can have one and only one master, as it were. And before we declare and recognize Jesus as our one true King, we are subjected to follow the edicts of mortality. So, when you received Him into your heart and dedicated yourself to Him, the sap of King Hinthial no longer flowed down to you. For lack of a better metaphor, though perhaps it is the best one, you moved from the tree of death, to the tree of life and are no longer in the line of elves, but the lineage of God. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I think so,” said Hundolis as he caught up to Eriboth. “But that does not solve our current problem.”

  “Oh, and what is that?” asked Eriboth though a chuckle.

  “That we still have bodies that need food and water if we are to make the long journey all the way to Pretago Cor,” said the young elf.

  “You are correct, young Hundolis. How do you suppose we remedy our current dilemma?”

  “We are close to Lrossiduun. I grew up there and my parents still live there. I could get the supplies we need from them,” he suggested.

  “I, too, spent time there in my youth,” said Eriboth. “But I fear I would not receive the welcome you would. Perhaps it would be better if I remained outside of the city and out of sight of their patrols,” he said.

  “I have not been back since I first traveled to Meckthenial. It will be nice to be back, even if my stay is brief. How far away do you think we are?”

  “No more than a day’s travel. We should camp before that. From what I can remember, you may not be granted entrance after a certain hour,” said Eriboth.

  The rest of their journey that day proceeded without much conversation. Hundolis was deep within his hopeful reunion with his parents and family while Eriboth was consumed with thoughts of the inevitable batt
le rushing toward him. An incontrovertible truth, a truth he was consciously avoiding ever since his defeat at the Stone Keep, was creeping slowly toward his inability to avoid its consequence. More than the condition of Nadalize and her husband Geromain, even more than his thoughts of Soliana, were his thoughts of who he knew was his son. The man, the evil lord of a truly evil horde bent upon the destruction of life for the creation of death, even if only in part, was the direct result of the actions and decisions of Eriboth’s life. Although he had just recently came to the knowledge that he had a son, to deny his own contribution to what Jesolin had become was to suggest that Eriboth’s interjected presence in his life would have resulted in exactly the same end. If that were true, then Eriboth’s influence over the goodness, or lack thereof, within Jesolin was akin to no influence at all.

  Was that all he was? Would his presence in Jesolin’s rearing have resulted in a different consequence for Avendia? He was not naïve enough to believe that the fault was his and his alone; however, he could not deny his role in Jesolin’s degradation was of paramount importance for no other reason than his absence meant the subjugation of evil was allowed entrance as a surrogate father, a father he was supposed to be. As such, it meant the responsibility of this man’s transformation and subsequent actions, while not entirely his fault, fell gravely upon his shoulders nonetheless. Would the mother share in his guilt? Of course, she would; however, he had no idea whom she could be. As pervasive as his prowess had been with his brandished sword’s effectiveness at dictating the outcome of war, as well as his renown for poetry and words to all but the farthest reaches of Avendia, to his ever-shameful regret, so to was his swashbuckling reputation for wooing the hearts, minds, and wanton desires of women, many women. As such, he held not even the first supposition of who Jesolin’s mother could be, or even if she still was. In truth, it could have been any one of several women whom he bedded the number of years ago required to qualify as his mother. Yet, though there could have been many, his hope was dominated by one, her.

  Athlorial as she was then, Soliana as she is now continued to hold his epitome of feminine completion throughout the years. He never forgot the week they spent together before the situation of noble interference caused him to leave. Though he had every intention of returning to her much sooner than he was able to, he was, nevertheless, unable to fulfill his promise in a manner preventing her from seeking another’s comfort. Ultimately, he knew it was his fault. Sure, he could have blamed all sorts of things outside of his control, and for a short time after he bore witness to her wedding, he did. But regardless of the circumstances, his decision to become involved was his and his alone. Wars would always be fought and won. Battles would always rage with generals at the helm seeking to advance their proposed strategy. And kingdoms and nations would rise and fall with the ebbing and flowing of life. His intervention might advance one side over the other, but in the grandest scheme of things, his role could be replaced. So, he faced the unavoidable truth that he and his prowess was completely expendable.

  “This seems like a good place to rest for the night,” said Hundolis partially as a suggestion and partially as a question. According to Eriboth’s estimate, they were a few hours from Lrossiduun by foot and just beyond the borders of their scouting patrols.

  “Yes,” he agreed, “I do believe this will do.”

  Wordlessly, they made camp, which did not take long because they lacked many of the usual supplies for an adequate site. They had no bedrolls, nor fabric to suspend with basic steaks and ropes for tenting, nor did they have any flint and steel to make a fire. Although it was not winter yet, the cool of the late autumn air was unseasonably severe at night, often times reaching below freezing. While the sun still warmed the mid-day hours, once it set, or even before it set, there was little they could do to prevent its penetration into their bones. Each night they spent outside of the hostile but warm stone walls of Meckthenial, the chill intensified its effect. However, as they did every night, they found a way to ignore the cold, still their minds, and sleep.

  When the young elf opened his eyes before dawn, but not before the first lights of the sun were detectable through the cover of the trees, he saw Eriboth already awake. The grizzled warrior poet was standing several feet away with his back turned toward him. His feet and torso were bare revealing two distinctly bright red, viscous looking scars spanning the width of his back. Hundolis was sure his waking avoided the shirtless warrior’s notice, but before he could speak, Eriboth slowly sank into a squat, extending his palms outward. His posture was impeccable, but not because he assumed the correct form all elves did when performing their morning devotional, but because his movement was unmistakably his. Transitioning his weight onto his right leg, he extended his left leg sideways maintaining his squatted posture with his palms still extended. Shifting his feet slightly to allow for a deeper squat, he extended both of his palms sideways and sustained this pose for a full minute.

  Hundolis did not want to interrupt Eriboth during his devotions, so he stayed silent, but never averted his attention. As the progression unraveled more of its intricacies, he noticed that it grew further and further away from what he had been taught by the elders. There were definitely remnants of the recognizable star forms, but each posture and each motion was undeniably different and undeniably more and more Eriboth. As the minutes progressed and the full force of the sun broke the repressive horizon leaking more of its brilliance through the leaf laden umbrella, Hundolis found almost no similarity between Eriboth’s movements, now amazingly rapid, and the complex patterns of the most advanced star forms. He was entranced within this moment, for not only did he see what Eriboth was doing, he saw Eriboth for everything he was becoming inside the moment of this doing. Because, in truth, the warrior was not driven by the act of motion, but rather the act of becoming. The more he moved, the more he became. And the more he became, the more he was directed to move by the invisible power of his will driven intent. In a flurry of twists and spins mimicking what must have been a technique for battling multiple attackers, Eriboth came to a resounding halt in the exact position everything had begun, a low, split legged squat. As he rose, returning his feet to a centrally balanced position with his hands down to his sides, Hundolis heard him say two words.

  “Thank you,” said the warrior to an unseen presence.

  Had Hundolis not known better, he would have sworn he heard the soft breeze of the wind whisper “You are welcome,” in response. But things like wind and light and night and waves cannot speak audible words. So, as it was, the young elf dismissed the sound and stood up.

  “Those were not the star forms,” he said as an observation, void of accusation.

  “No, they were not,” said Eriboth as he turned around. “Good morning, Hundolis. How did you sleep?”

  “Cold, intermittently, and shallow,” he said.

  “Yes. I slept poorly as well,” he said.

  “It will be nice once we are able to sleep in a bed again and off the hard ground,” said Hundolis.

  “Indeed, it will. Though as long as we walk in the steps God has placed before us, we can do nothing more than count ourselves blessed to have all that we do,” he said walking over to the young elf.

  “Well we do not have that much,” he said looking around and chuckling.

  “No, we do not. But we still have His Grace. And that, my young elf friend, will have to be enough. Now, as I recall, you have a reunion to see to and supplies to secure,” he said putting his hand on Hundolis’s shoulder affectionately.

  “Indeed, I do!” Hundolis said excitedly. “It has been many seasons since I returned and I would be lying if I did not say I was looking forward to seeing my parents and sister.”

  “Then delay no longer for if they knew you would be returning to them today, they would share in your excitement.”

  “I will return before nightfall.”

  “Enjoy the warmth of a familial hearth and the softness of your bed for this nigh
t. I will meet you on the other side of the city. It does not make sense for you to backtrack only to return in the same direction again.”

  “Are you sure?” asked the young elf.

  “Yes. I am sure. Enjoy this respite, brief though it may be. We have the better portion of our journey still ahead and many more nights of cold in our futures,” insisted Eriboth.

  “Very well. I will see you in the morning. Where should I wait?”

  “Half a day’s travel to the east. There is a small clearing filled with grodberry bushes. The hunters cleared the trees and planted them as a natural baiting technique. Though I have never known the deer to visit. Perhaps they are more intelligent than we think,” answered Eriboth.

  “Be well and be warm,” said the elf as he turned and started walking through the forest.

  “Be with God,” answered Eriboth.

  Watching the young elf walk away gave him a small smile because he knew well the joyous emotions waiting for him at his home. While he was confident in the lack of his own inconspicuous entrance and subsequent presence in Lrossiduun, he was equally confident that Hundolis’s arrival, while unannounced, would remain largely accepted. At most, there would be questions why his parents were given no previous communication announcing his intention of journeying to visit them, but that could be explained away easily enough by siting the recent Ogre attack of Meckthenial as well as the events surrounding Eriboth’s escape. While elves had a well-trained and easily accessible system for communicating over great distances by using falcons to carry messages, the precaution of suspending all but royal communication during potential war time would be valid enough to satisfy the initial questions. However, as confident as he was, he was still unable to completely dismiss the potential for their subterfuge to be discovered. So, he knelt down facing the rising sun as its warmth broke the cold of the late autumn breeze on his face, closed his eyes, and prayed.