"What do you think?" Elora asked up at her.
"It's beautiful. Perfect."
A nod. "A lot of people wonder why Tiomi Rowan doesn't come to live here with us."
"I can see why," Sara replied. "Compared to this the city must seem terrible to you."
"We don't like cities much. But he wouldn't be happy here. The mortals need him, and he needs Tiomi Jason. My father says that everyone has a journey to make, and that they start and end in the same places but the way inbetween can go anywhere."
"Your father is very wise."
"Yes," Elora agreed. "So was my mother. That's why I'm smart too."
Sara didn't know if she should say anything to that, but she couldn't help it--Elora had the ability to coax honesty out of people. "You must miss her."
"I do. She was a Priestess, and had the Sight. I'm going to be a Priestess one day, like Deisa or Talia. Except Talia doesn't talk. I like to talk."
"Do you?" Sara asked. "I hadn't noticed."
Elora, in a rather human gesture, stuck her tongue out at Sara. "Here we are--through here!"
The main path had branched out in all directions as they walked, and here it wove to the right into a bank of houses, but a narrow unpaved track split to the left, toward a few smaller structures. Out in front of one, a female Elf was fitting a pine board into an unfinished table; the smells of wood shavings, fire, and something a bit like turpentine told Sara this was probably a neighborhood of artisans, like Ardeth, whose work was messy or at least needed extra space.
They reached the building on the end of the row, and Sara realized it was both a workhouse and a home for Ardeth and Elora, with two stories and a fenced rear yard. She could see the enormous chimney in the back that must be the forge, and half expected to hear the clang of a hammer on an anvil, but there was no sound at the moment. They took the side door, Sara feeling suddenly awkward and nervous and rather intrusive walking into someone's home and work without any sort of warning.
"Father!" Elora caroled. "I brought Sara!"
Sara stepped into the small room, which had long workbenches lining either side, jars and boxes of materials she had no idea how to identify labeled neatly on shelves, and an array of metalworking tools laid out with care in easy reach of what looked like three separate projects in various stages of completion. One was a sculpture of some kind, halfway carved out of a block of clay that Sara guessed would be turned into a mold.
She had seen Ardeth's work, of course--there was Beck's knife, and the bracelets the two immortals wore, as well as the symbolic piece he'd created for their handfasting that sat prominently on the household altar Rowan had set up in their quarters. All were exquisitely crafted in amazing detail, and each with different methods and alloys; Sara knew absolutely nothing about the craft, but she could only imagine how much time and patience went into it.
The walls of the workroom bore more examples: a pair of twin blades with leaves and vines figured along their length, a silver chalice that would have been at home on the finest Pagan altar, and several pieces of jewelry, each labeled and waiting to be claimed by their owners.
The door in the far wall opened, and Ardeth emerged...dirty.
Sara could never remember having seen a dirty Elf before.
She was going to have to take Rowan out and roll him in the mud as soon as possible.
Ardeth, dressed in plain clothes covered in a heavy apron, had his sleeves rolled up, exposing muscular arms and a curving black tattoo that wrapped from elbow to wrist on the left. His hair was pulled back, and he was smudged with soot and sweat, and Sara was sure she was drooling.
"A bright welcome to you, lady," he said, bowing slightly. "Pardon me just a moment."
"Um...of course..."
That was when she noticed the crucible in his gloved hand, a cupful of molten silver, which he took quickly over to the bench and poured with sure, deft hands into a small square mold. He set the cup aside and held one hand over the mold, and Sara watched, fascinated, as cool energy gathered around his fingers and surrounded the cube of treated wood, doing...something arcane. He was barely even concentrating. The magic was effortless.
A moment later he snapped the mold open and a perfectly-formed ring fell out onto the workbench. He picked it up and fitted it onto a conical rod, tapping it down gently with a small hammer until it had stretched out to the right size. Then, he set it aside and turned his attention back to his guests.
"My apologies," he said with one of those warm, toe-curling smiles. "There are some aspects of my work that depend on timing. Again, welcome to our home."
"Do you use magic like that for all of them?" she asked.
"I do the initial forging and forming with fire, but after that there is magic in every step. It takes practice to know how to cool the metal without weakening it."
"It's amazing," she said. "What is that you're working on?"
"It is a gift from one amora to another, in honor of their anniversary at Beltaine," he explained. "The two became lovers at a festival twenty years ago, and survived the loss of their Clan together to come and live in peace here."
"I thought the point of the Beltaine rites was that if you walked with someone, it was only for that one night?"
Ardeth shrugged fluidly. "Most of the time. After the rites, two may choose to see one another again, or they may consider it a night out of time, and go on their separate ways. Pairing afterward is rare but it does happen, usually among those who were already enamored of each other before. Sometimes the rites are an excuse to act upon an attraction that already existed."
He wasn't looking at her, and she glanced down at Elora to see the Elfling roll her eyes. "Shall I fetch wine, Father?" Elora asked pointedly.
He laughed. "Rebuked by my own child. I have been remiss in my hospitality. Yes, daughter, if you will bring it out to the garden we will join you there. Bring some juice for yourself."
Elora nodded and disappeared. Sara felt a clench of nerves at suddenly being alone with the Elf, but there were plenty of topics of conversation all around her. She moved over to where the long knives were hanging, examining them, and asked, "Do you make a lot of weapons?"
"More than I would like. Most are meant to be purely ornamental, though I design them all to be functional as well. I would prefer never to let one of my kin be caught unable to defend herself."
He unfastened the apron and hung it on a peg on the wall, and said, "If you will give me a moment to wash up, we can sit outside a while--through the door and around the back of the house. I'm sure Elora is already there."
Sara smiled. "All right."
She made her way to the back, walking around the fenced area, which was covered and contained the forge. The fire burned low, and there were bricks and ingots of metal in piles along with tools and several skull-crush-ready hammers. Behind the yard was a small planted area that butted up against the edge of the woods; it was mostly flowers and herbs, and the plants were all fairly short in height--confirming her suspicions, she saw Elora standing amidst a patch of cosmos, cutting blooms with a small sickle-shaped knife and letting them drop into her gathered dress.
There was a table and chairs in the garden, and the Elfling had set it with a pitcher of wine, cups, and a plate of some sort of cakes. There was also a glass of juice at the smallest chair.
"Oat and almond cakes," Elora said, seeing Sara peering at them. "We usually get plain bread from the bakers, but they're making special festival treats this week. They're very good--try them with the honey."
Sara sat down, plucking a grape from the bunch and savoring it; it was smaller and darker than she was used to, with a pleasant tang.
“So, why do you eat honey, if you won’t drink milk or eat meat?” Sara asked. “Bees are living creatures too.”
Elora paused in her flower-gathering. “We talk to the bees. We grow flowers for them, they give us honey and wax. Bees are sacred to the Goddess—a special Priestess tends the hives.”
; “You could drink milk without hurting a cow or a goat.”
“Ew. Why?” The Elfling made a disgusted face, but added reasonably, “There’s no room here for cows anyway. They eat a lot of grass and need open space. Like elephants. I don’t need to drink elephant milk either.”
“It’s a good thing,” came a voice, and Ardeth appeared, having changed clothes and washed the soot from his arms and face. “I would not want to be the one charged with milking an elephant.”
Elora giggled, and in fact so did Sara, as Ardeth took the chair beside her and offered her one of the cakes. Sara took a bite, and nearly moaned aloud; it was quite possibly the most delicious thing she'd ever eaten. It was soft on the inside, a little chewy--a lot like a thick oatmeal cookie with nuts, but not so sweet. "That’s fantastic," she said after swallowing.
Ardeth smiled. "Here," he said. "Try this." He lifted the spoon from the jar of honey and drizzled some on her cake--at the last second her hand shifted, and a few sticky drops fell on her fingers.
Without thinking, Sara licked one off, and felt eyes on her; she looked up to see the Elf staring at her, but when he saw her glance he cleared his throat and lowered his eyes. Sara felt her face turning beet red, and, feeling bold, she took her time licking the rest off, deliberately turning her face back toward the garden, giving him the opportunity to watch...which he did.
Her toes curled.
Her time as Rowan's lover had done wonders for her confidence--so, she suspected, had learning how to shoot a gun and kick four kinds of ass--so she said, "Tell me more about Beltaine, then. It sounds similar to some old practices among human Witches, the whole Great Rite thing."
The Elf cast a glance over at Elora, who was busy sitting among the herbs, talking to them. "After the community celebration, those adults who wish to take part each bring a silver cup from home--everyone has one of his own, on the home altar—and fill it with blessed wine. If someone comes up to you and offers her cup, and you drink from it and they from yours, you are considered joined for that one night, and walk together into the forests and fields to merge the powers of Goddess and God and bless the crops and the Clan."
"So does that mean the couples have to be male and female? That's one of the things that used to be a sticking point in Pagan tradition--eventually it was phased out, as was the rite itself in favor of a purely symbolic act."
Ardeth looked perplexed at the idea. "Of course not. Any act of love is seen as creative and blessed among our people. A male may be Goddess, a female God; Deity has no true gender."
"I like that." Sara took another bite of her cake, washing it down with what turned out to be gently diluted table wine that was still better than anything she'd ever had at home. "Rowan said that Elves are all naturally bisexual--he said that if you live forever, eventually you would get bored with the same old thing. I remember Jason giving him a look like he was crazy, but then, he's a lot younger than Rowan."
Ardeth smiled, taking a drink of his own wine. "Somehow I cannot picture the night walker with a woman in any case, although it would surprise me if he never had been...and what about you, my lady? Humans, as I understand it, have more defined preferences."
"I'm pretty much straight--er, I prefer men. I did my share of drunken girl kissing in college, just to try it out. I grew up in a very narrow-minded town, so I figured, how would I know for sure if I never gave it a shot?"
A chuckle. “Your people have strange customs, to be so restrictive about sex and yet think about it so much. It is no wonder you like to blow things up.”
Sara, laughing, looked into the reflective surface of her wine, and asked casually, “What about you? I find it hard to believe that you’re not surrounded by suitors of both genders.”
He sobered, taking an apple and cutting a sliver of it. “After my amorea perished I had no real interest in taking another lover for a long time. First I had to find Elora, and once she was rescued and our lives could continue, I buried myself in my work and in caring for her. That has, for the most part, been enough, although...every Beltaine that passes I am reminded more and more that our people are not meant to dwell in solitude.”
“I’m sorry,” Sara said. “I forget sometimes how much you’ve all been through.”
“Yes…” A moment of pain crossed his face, but then cleared. “But we are here now, it’s a beautiful day, and we are safe. Would you like a tour of the village, my lady?”
“I’d love one,” she replied, “but don’t you have work to do? I don’t want to be in the way.”
“Never,” Ardeth said, standing and giving her a gallant bow, then offering her his arm. “Everything I have to do can keep for a few hours. Shall we?”
Damn it, she wasn’t going to blush again. She rose and took his arm, trying not to obviously feel on the hard muscles beneath his sleeve, and fell into step beside him on the path, leaving Elora giggling in the garden, telling secrets to the flowers.
*****
"Tell me about yourself," Rowan said, nuzzling the young Elf's ear and holding him close beneath the covers.
Aven's fingers were absently tracing the edges of the scar on Rowan's wrist, and his voice was a little hoarse from crying. "I was a Gardener. I tended the harvest for thirty years. My Clan...did anyone else survive?"
Rowan thought back to the visions they'd shared, identifying which Clan the lad came from, and trying to remember what he'd heard about it; so many had fallen, it was hard to keep straight who had lived and who had died. "I think there were five others. I'll put the word out and see if any are here--there are other refugee Clans as well."
"What am I going to do now?"
"That will be up to you, dear one. If we find any of your kin you could go to them, or you can stay here. Clan Willow would welcome you and there's plenty of need for all talents."
Aven looked at him, and there was wonder in his face. "I had heard of you. There are legends--and you were a slave, too, once."
"Yes, I was. For a decade, before I was rescued by the same people who rescued you. I live with them, in the human city of Austin."
"And you...you're healed? Do you still...how did you get through this?" He turned his face into Rowan's shoulder again, shaking, and whispered, "I feel like I am dying. Or dead. How do I live with this?"
"Day by day...it will get better. I promise you that. It takes time, and patience with yourself. But there are others around you who will help you. Everyone here has been hurt, and has lost those they loved. We're here for you and we understand."
"How long will you stay?"
"I'm here for a week, and I can come to see you every day if you need me. Your body is essentially healed now, so you may wish to move to a more private dwelling, but I will come there whenever you call." Rowan shifted so that Aven was on his side, and tucked the blankets up around him, meanwhile threading power around the boy and easing him toward sleep. "Rest now, dear one."
Aven sighed but didn't protest, only asked, "Will you...I would sleep easier if I could hear your voice...it doesn't matter what you say, only that you speak...please."
Rowan smiled. He understood. The sound of their own language, the timbre of a voice that held neither scorn nor lust, was a balm like no other. "Close your eyes, then, and listen."
A tiny smile, and he obeyed. Rowan kissed each closed eye, then his lips, very lightly, and settled back, saying, "I was born to Clan Oak, over four centuries ago. My mother was High Priestess, and I was a Beltaine child so by tradition I had no father but the Lord of the Wood. Mother used to tell me the ancient legends of our Clan. It's said that when the God and Goddess were young, They walked together beneath the great Blessing Tree, an oak that bridged the heaven and the earth, and they lay there among its roots. The first children of the Beltaine fires were our ancestors, the Elves who became my Clan, and all other Clans were born from them. The first Elves were so powerful that they could stop the turning of the world, bring life back from death, and had knowledge of the entire Web of Life--pa
st, present, and future all contained within their minds, able to be changed at a touch. They were young gods, all of them, and in their love of creation, they made humankind.
For many centuries both races lived together in peace. Their offspring became the first Witches, human in body and heart but Elven in spirit and power. But as the years passed, the humans drew farther away from the forests and their ancestors, and forgot the old gods. They learned greed and fear, and from this arose evil. When at last they turned on their immortal kindred--and upon those with the blood of the gods in their veins--the firstborn Elves were heartbroken, and withdrew from the world, taking with them much of our magical knowledge. They vanished, but they left behind the Blessing Trees, one for each Clan. From that day onward, humans and Elves could no longer create children together. But one day, they said, when the time is right and humanity is ready to heal instead of harm, they will return, and our people will again be whole, and strong as we once were. The old powers will return and the Earth will enter a new season."
The Agency, Volume III Page 3
