“And they cared for your wrists,” Alan said, touching the fresh white bandages, “It is well."
“Not so much talk,” she smiled, “till you are stronger. Drink this.” She poured him a goblet full of sparkling amber liquid and helped him raise it to his lips. It was delicious, cool and tangy. Alan lowered his drained glass in wonder.
“What a marvelous draught,” he said. “It makes me think of nectar and honey and the juices of bright-colored fruits I have never known. What is it?"
“All of those things and more,” she replied, but her eyes glanced past him.
Alan turned and saw Hal staring at him with a startled look. “What is wrong, Hal?” he asked.
“Nothing,” answered Hal, his expression changing to one of joy and wonder. “I am taken aback, that is all. How did you learn to speak the Old Language?"
Alan had not even realized that he and Lysse were conversing in this tongue which had once been strange to him, so natural had it now become. And Hal was speaking to him in the same tongue. This, then, was Hal's mysterious language that had puzzled him for so long! He was staggered, and hard put to reply to Hal's query.
“I hardly know,” he murmured. “From her eyes, I think."
“In very truth, your brother is a marvel among men, Mireldeyn,” Lysse replied gravely to Hal. “His soul touched mine fearlessly. His name shall be Elwyndas among my people, for he is a brave man, and great of heart. It is no wonder you love him so."
She poured Hal a drink of her nectar, and as he took it Alan saw that he made no effort to conceal his scars from her. “You call him Mireldeyn?” he blurted.
“Ay. What do you call him?"
“Hal. Does it mean something to you?"
“Ay, indeed; it suits him well.” She took a deep breath. “It means ‘he who rules.’”
Lysse took her goblets and rose. “My father will come to you soon,” she said. “Pray make your needs known to us.” She gracefully took her leave.
Alan's eyes followed her, and his confused thoughts formed themselves into one compelling question. “Who are these folk, Hal?” he demanded, this time speaking in the language of Isle. “Are they of mankind, as we are, or not?"
Hal came and sat close beside him. His scarred body glowed golden in the diffused morning light. “Ah, Alan,” he replied in a voice low with wonder, “by my troth, my dreams come alive and walk in the light of day. They are elves."
“Elves!” exclaimed Alan. A hundred childhood tales flickered through his mind, stories of cold-blooded, heartless creatures who stole babies from cradles and ensnared the soul with their eyes. Hal saw the alarm in his face, and glanced at him keenly.
“Ay,” he stated, “elves. Remember your friends of the barrow, and take care how you heed the tales of ignorant folk. These elves are not much like the pixies which old women use to frighten children."
Alan smiled, shamefaced. “Tell me about them."
“They are the true immortals,” Hal said with a sort of awe. “They will never sicken or grow old, though they can be killed. They face death bravely if need be. But the death of one of their number is a terrible tragedy, a cause of deeper mourning than we can well imagine, for it is not the necessary end of their lives. All of them are deeply grateful to you for saving Lysse from such a fate."
“She could have saved herself,” Alan protested, recalling how the men had fled before her. “She could have killed them all with a thought!"
“If she has that power, she could not, or would not use it; not for her own sake.” Hal sighed. “There is much I do not understand about the People of Peace, Alan; until yesterday I did not dare to hope that they existed except in my dreams. But this much I know: like the spirits of the dead, they may not, or will not, intervene in the affairs of men or the coming of fate."
“But she did intervene. She saved my life!"
“You must be a very special person, Elwyndas."
Alan understood now that his elwedeyn name meant “elf-friend, elf-spirit,” like Veran before him. But if he was an elf-friend, was not Hal the same?
“What is the language that you and the elves speak, Hal?"
“It is the Old Language, the language of the Beginnings. It is the language of power, which the One used to sing the creation, when the mountains rose out of the deeps. Those who use it know all creatures and are likewise known; it is the language of the inner self. But pride fears it, for it hides nothing. So mortal men have long since fallen away from it, to quarrel across the barriers of their many tongues. Only the Gypsies, who know no boundaries, no nations and no wars, use it still."
“How did you come to know it? Did you learn it from the Gypsies?"
Hal looked hesitant, almost fearful. “Nay,” he answered, “it cannot be learned or taught; only those who conquer pride and fear can speak it. The Gypsies raise their children to be selfless and brave, but many fall away, and some of the Mysteries are lost. As for me, I suppose it was somehow born in me. I do not remember a time when I did not know the Old Language, though it was known to no one around me."
Alan studied his brother. The mystery in Hal's gray eyes, he sensed, might find its answer in this mountaintop valley. “Hal,” he questioned abruptly, “are you one of the People of Peace?"
“Do you think so?” asked Hal slowly, and Alan realized that he was frightened, with no answer to offer. He seemed to shrink into himself for a moment, bent with thought. Then, with an effort of will, he squared his shoulders and faced Alan, speaking the Ancient Tongue.
“Today you know me, I believe, as well as I know myself,” he said. “Help me find myself, Elwyndas. You who love me, discover my soul."
Alan felt the same peculiar abeyance of fear as he had with Lysse. Knowing that he should be terrified, he looked deeply into Hal's eyes; clouds of misty gray melted from before him. For a moment he was surrounded by profound darkness, deep and warm as a womb. Then a speck; of light formed, growing larger and more brilliant, so that Alan's vision was filled with wheeling circles of shining light, warm and marvelous. He stared without blinking, until he realized that in the center of the swirling light was a crowned figure in mail of burnished silver. He thought he had never seen a more noble form, though the head was bowed and the face turned away. Then the figure looked up and strode toward him, till the face filled his sight, and Alan felt fearless and consummate joy such as he had never known. He went down on his knees and reached out, still gazing into those marvelous gray eyes. “Mireldeyn!” Alan whispered, as the meaning of the name was manifest to him.
The vision disappeared suddenly; Alan was engulfed in a darkness of panicky pain. A voice cried to him from a great distance, “Alan! Don't! I beg you —” Then he found himself once again in the light of day, on his knees before Hal, who tugged at him with both hands while tears streamed down his white face. Alan rose quickly and put his arm around him.
“Hush,” Alan said gently in the Old Language. “Do you not know that I love you? In Lysse's eyes I saw the past of the Blessed People, but in your eyes I see the future. Some day I shall kneel to you and you will understand. You are Mireldeyn. There has been no one like you, nor ever, is likely to be again."
“I don't want to be different!” choked Hal, weeping like a child. “I don't want people kneeling to me! All I have ever wanted is peace and friendship and a little love!"
“Don't you see,” Alan explained softly, “how special that makes you? All men, to some degree, lust for power and fame—except one. All men are greedy for wealth and comfort—except one. Only you, of all men, can heal this land which is scarred even as you are, for only you cannot be corrupted by these things you do not desire."
“What of you?” cried Hal desperately. “I saw no such lust in your soul!"
“It is there, nevertheless,” Alan replied wistfully. “Even now I feel the stirrings of envy over that marvelous crown I saw you wear. I am not Mireldeyn. The blood of the elves does not run in my veins, except that bit I received from you."
/>
“Your brother speaks words of great wisdom,” said a quiet voice. Adaoun stood before them; Adaoun, the elf-father, the patriarch. Alan stood fixed in wonder at the age in his youthful eyes, but Hal stumbled toward him with outstretched hands.
“Adaoun,” he appealed, “what is this Alan tells me? Am I not a man, like other men?"
“You know you are not, Mireldeyn,” Adaoun replied, placing a hand on Hal's head in calming benediction. “You have felt it from your earliest days. Now that the truth is finally within your grasp, do not seek to flee from it!"
Hal hurled himself onto his bed. He pummeled his pillow in anguished fury, then sank back, clenching his shaking hands. Finally he took a deep breath, set his jaw and sat up.
“Very well,” he stated, “I am not just a man; I am something different, something called—Mireldeyn. What does it mean?"
“We must eat before we talk,” Adaoun told him. “Elwyndas has had little for days, now, and is weak from fever. Put on your shirts, and we shall eat outside."
Alan was indeed white and trembling from just the slight exertion of standing. “I'm sorry,” Hal murmured to him. “I have been thinking only of myself."
“Never mind that,” Alan grumbled. “Just help me with this sling."
They put on the garments that were laid out for them. Alan was surprised to find that they were of a very soft, fine, lightweight wool, not at all like the coarse woolen garb he had known, brilliantly dyed in shades of sunshine, leaves, sky and water. Though innocent of any ornament, the clothing was so delicately stitched and brightly colored that they felt they were arrayed like kings; and indeed Adaoun himself wore no better. They pulled on their boots, but left their swords behind, wearing only their chain-link belts for girding.
They found Adaoun on a grassy hill which sloped down to a lake set like a jewel in the center of the valley. Lysse was there with one of her brothers, a golden-haired elf who seemed like a young man in his twenties except for the centuries of wisdom in his eyes. His name was Anwyl—“beloved one.” They sat on the ground to eat. On wooden plates were eggs and cheeses, honey, fine breads and a variety of fruits, some of them unknown to Hal in spite of all his lore. They drank milk from wooden noggins. It took Alan a while to realize that there was no meat. Remembering that Lysse would taste none of his, he suddenly understood why the elves’ feet were bare, and why their belts were of cord, not leather. “Of course,” he thought. “They do not kill animals, creatures who speak to them heart to heart."
From the talk, Alan gathered that Hal had arrived at this place not long before himself. “I scarcely know how I found the spiral path,” Hal explained. “I was drawn to it somehow, and though I could hardly hope to find you on it, Alan, yet I knew I must ascend. As I neared the top, I felt the presence of Anwyl, and I spoke to him, though I could not see him: ‘Ir hoime, wilndas elwedeyn, ir selte, to nessa ilder daelen frith.’ ['Come to me, friend of the old blood, talk to me, for the sake of the former days of peace.'] He leaped down from above. I was terrified that he would fall, but he landed squarely on the path. He seemed much moved."
“Indeed, I was as much disturbed in my mind as an elf is ever likely to be,” remarked Anwyl. “I asked him who he was, that spoke to me in the Old Language, and he answered me: ‘Hal, son of Gwynllian, heir of Torre, Taran, and the line of the Blessed Kings of Welas.’ Then I longed to kneel and swear fealty to him, for I knew he was Mireldeyn. But great weariness and distress weighted him, so I refrained, and led him hither."
“Greatly was my heart torn, Alan,” Hal said quietly, “between my joy and wonder at this place and my fear for you. I poured out my anguish to Adaoun, but scarcely had I finished when you arrived."
“I believe I was sent to bring him,” said Lysee. “There was no reason for me to go to the lower slopes, where those cowardly men fell upon me, except that I felt I must."
“What does it mean, Adaoun?” asked Hal. “I feel the threads of destiny all around me."
“Before I can tell you,” Adaoun replied, “I must know how much you understand."
“Where must I start?"
“At the Beginning."
They cleared away the breakfast and settled back against trees. Lysse brought pillows for Alan, and he lay at her side. The air was not hot, though it was almost midsummer, but mild as springtime.
“Before there was time,” Hal began, “there was the One."
“And what is the One?” Adaoun asked.
Alan understood, as he seemed to understand everything now, that the One was an essence and emanation neither good nor evil, neither female nor male nor yet a sexless spirit, but all of each of these. There was a word for such essence in the Old Language; it was called Aene. But he could not have explained it in the language of Isle.
“The One is sun and moon, dawn and dusk, hawk and hunted,” Hal averred.
“Ay,” Adaoun agreed softly, “Star Son and Moon Mother, Fatherking and Sacred Son, Black Virgin and snowy Babe and russet rowan Lady of All Trees; they are all in Aene. Even the crescent-horned god is in Aene. But man has made his worship a divided thing, to his sorrow."
“At the Beginning of Time,” Hal went on, “the One sang out earth and sky, days and seasons, and all the plants and beasts. And Aene loved that song. You were in it, Adaoun, and your mate Elveyn. You loved peace and beauty, and lived alongside the beasts. Progeny came to you."
“Anwyl here was among the first."
“What was it like, Adaoun, in those Beginning days?"
“Ah, Mireldeyn, it was beautiful, so beautiful,” Adaoun sighed. “Great birds flew in the air, and little ones made music in every tree. Life was abundant; nowhere was there desolation, for even the deserts bloomed. Many wonderful creatures have since vanished from the earth; shining dragons and playful sea-beasts.... But of all creatures that walked upon earth, the noblest were the horses, and their kin, the unicorns. And of all creatures that soared the sky, the noblest were the eagles."
Adaoun rose to his feet and, putting fingers to his teeth, blew a piercing whistle. From the distance came a musical cry like that of a great bird. Then around the curve of a hill swept a herd of great horses, clean-limbed stallions and long-legged mares, such lovely horses as Alan had seen only two of before.... One of these, Arundel, ran at the fore, his silver-gray flanks flashing in the sun. But ahead of him, and the leader of all, sped a blazing white steed who stood shoulders above the rest, and from his sides rose a shimmering pair of golden wings. His fetlocks also shone golden, and as he and his herd reached the shore of the lake, a white and golden image sparkled below him in the midnight blue of the water. The steed raised his head; Alan was stunned by the flash of his deep eyes. The winged stallion shrilled an eerie whistling scream, and from the skies overhead came reply. Great golden birds appeared, led by one whose aureate wings were almost as broad as those of the stallion below. For a moment they formed a brilliant tableau, the white and the gold mirrored in he blue of the unfathomable lake. Then, like the last flashing beams from a westward sun, they were gone, and the thunder of hooves faded in the distance.
“Dweller in the Eagle Valley,” breathed Alan. “Did Arundel come from here?"
Hal seemed unable to answer, but Adaoun was quick to reply. “While he was still a colt, Arundel was called away from here, as Asfala was a few years later. But, Mireldeyn, how did you know?"
“Many times I have seen this place, Adaoun, in dreams and waking visions. But I hardly dared hope I could ever find it."
“Have you also seen the past, Mireldeyn?"
“I have seen one who may be Elveyn. She has rippling hair of dark gold and wears a garment of deep, stormy purple. I see her on rocky sea cliffs, facing the gray water."
“Ay,” said Adaoun, “she always loved the sea. When men overran the earth and forgot the Ancient Tongue, it was she who showed us how to sail away from them in ships."
“Why was man put on earth?” Hal asked bitterly. “He has turned it into a desolation of str
ife and bloodshed. Was it not better, the way it was?"
“Too good! Nothing ever chanced; and Time, which had just begun, was likely to pool itself into eternity. Moreover, the One was lonely still. We elves could not satisfy Aene's craving: we know only mindfelt love. We choose our mates with judgment; we are quiet, patient and reasoned. We do not shout or laugh for joy, nor do we weep."
Alan glanced up at Lysse, startled. Her smoky green eyes were as deep as the mountain lake, as intense as the brilliant gem that hung about her neck. She smiled down at him, and Alan wondered at that smile.
“So the One made man,” Adaoun went on, “a being could feel the strength, and passion of Aene's love.... But the wisdom which counters passion could not be man's. Only in Aene are wisdom and love complete, together, and this is one of the great Mysteries."
“I can imagine what happened, though I was not there,” Hal muttered. “First we began to kill the animals —"
“That is your nature,” Adaoun interrupted. “The fox kills the pheasant and the marten slays the mouse and men hunt the fleet red deer; they are all in Aene. But alas, I believe that is why man fell away from the Old Language; it would be a hard thing to kill a creature which speaks with you soul to soul."
“I know,” said Hal wryly, “for I have done so, many a time. And then, I suppose, we began to kill each other. Is that also in Aene?"
Adaoun sighed. “As the wolf is in the Forest, Mireldeyn, or as the old sow slays her farrows—but not often. It seems to me that the great wheel is wobbling off of balance. There is need of more love in your world.” Adaoun paused significantly. “Say also, Mireldeyn, that man began to kill the elves."
“I had hoped not to say so,” Hal faltered, stricken.
“A few of us. My son Freca was the first.... Because we do not know the love that burns in the heart, men called us cold and evil, and ran from us, or stoned us and laughed, or hunted us ruthlessly, according to their whim; for men are above all creatures of passion. The One had made them mortal so that they might know to the fullest every passion of living, joy and sorrow and the begetting of progeny. This was forbidden to my children, lest they in their immortality overrun the earth. But in spite of death, men grew more and more numerous, so that even in the wilderness we could not avoid them. At last, at Elveyn's advice, we built ships and started across the sea in search of a new place.
The Book of Isle Page 32
