by Pati Nagle
She glanced from him to Vanorin. Yes, the angle of the brows, and the high cheekbones, were similar.
Now that they were out of the wind and snow she could better observe Ulithan’s khi, and what she sensed reassured her. As far as she could tell he was sincere in his wish to be of service. She could detect no ill will. He seemed entirely content to host three strangers in what was plainly his home.
He asked no questions. He seemed at peace, and that reminded her more of Heléri than anyone else. It was the strongest sense she had from him, that he was one who had found peace.
She took another sip of tea. “Do you live here alone?”
Ulithan smiled softly. “Yes.”
“What of your kindred? Your clan?”
The smile faded. “I have no clan.”
He took a log from a small stack nearby and laid it over the coals. Wisps of smoke began to rise from beneath it, drifting toward the crack in the roof.
“Everyone has a clan.”
Ulithan glanced at Luruthin, black eyes gone hard. “Darkshore cast me out, and no other would have me.”
“Darkshore!” Eliani stared at him in surprise. “How long have you lived here?”
Ulithan’s lips curved again, this time in amusement. “Twenty-seven centuries, and a few years.”
Eliani was stunned. “You saw the Bitter Wars!”
“I saw the first, and heard about the second. By then I had already left Ghlanhras.”
Eliani gazed at him in awe. He was one of the oldest souls she had ever met, and though countless questions leapt to her mind, she was shy of posing them. Ulithan had chosen to live alone, in voluntary exile perhaps, for centuries. She had no wish to intrude upon his privacy.
Luruthin was not so reticent. “Why did Darkshore cast you out?”
Ulithan gazed at him for a long moment. “Because my ways did not agree with theirs.”
“How so?”
Eliani directed a warning frown at Luruthin, who showed no sign of noticing. He was watching Ulithan, his expression suspicious. Eliani wished he would show more courtesy to one who was so much their elder.
Ulithan in turn was watching Luruthin, his air of amusement increasing, though it was tempered with a slight frown. “I favored upholding the creed, for one thing.”
Luruthin seemed to relax somewhat. “Oh.”
Eliani gave a slight cough. “Perhaps you have not heard of the Lost.”
Ulithan turned an interested gaze on her. She finished her tea and set the cup down before her.
“A group of folk who suffer the alben’s curse, but who live by the creed. They have dwelt in the woodlands of Fireshore for a century or so.”
Ulithan shook his head. “I had not heard of them, no. I am glad to hear they live by the creed. I tried to convince Darkshore they should live so, but they were too bitter, and would not hear me.”
“I am sure the Lost would welcome you.”
He glanced at her, laughter glinting in his dark eyes. “Think you so?”
“Yes. Their leader is Kivhani, who governed Fireshore with her lord until she was stricken with the hunger. She is a gracious lady, deeply devoted to the creed. I know she would make you welcome.”
He gazed at her, the smile playing about his lips. “I think I am best here. I have dwelt alone too long now to wish for constant company.”
Eliani felt her cheeks reddening. “It is most kind of you to welcome us.”
His smile widened. “Oh, I am glad to have visitors. It has been a long while since anyone came this high onto the Sleeper. What brought you here?”
“We were trying to retrace our path northward, but missed our way in the storm.”
Ulithan’s face went serious. “Was it you who lit the pyre two nights since?”
“Yes. You saw it?”
“I smelled it.”
Eliani lowered her gaze to the fire, where small tongues of yellow flame were now licking at the new wood. “We were attacked. Three of our party were slain.”
“Half your party?” Ulithan’s brows rose. “By what? Not a catamount.”
Eliani shook her head. “An alben.”
“Kelevon.” Luruthin's voice was bitter.
Ulithan glanced at him, then looked back to Eliani. “An alben who is known to you?”
“Sadly, yes.”
All were silent for a long moment, then Ulithan said softly, “So not all the alben are west of the Ebons.”
Luruthin put down his cup. “No.”
Eliani glanced at him and saw the familiar haunted look in his eyes. He was thinking of Ghlanhras, she knew. She changed the subject.
“Kelevon is—unusual. He suffers the alben’s curse, but he does not claim kinship with them. He only recently acquired the hunger.”
Luruthin shook his head. “He is traveling north. That implies he is going to them.”
“He could be returning to the Steppes.”
“There are alben in the north?”
Luruthin made no answer. Eliani glanced at Ulithan. He had a right to know about the upheavals in Fireshore, for they might affect him.
“The alben have taken Ghlanhras. Two hundred warriors or more, led by their ruler, Shalár. We were there when the city fell.”
Ulithan’s brows rose. “Shalár? Would she once have been called Shalári?”
Luruthin’s head came up sharply. “You knew her?”
Ulithan gazed thoughtfully at him for a moment. “Shalári was a child when the wars began. Her father was head of Clan Darkshore and governor of Fireshore, until he was killed in the war. So she survived?”
Eliani looked at Luruthin. He had drawn up his knees and was resting his chin on them, plainly unwilling to discuss Shalár.
“Apparently.”
Ulithan picked up the pottery jug and offered to pour more tea for Eliani “I saw a group of alben traveling northward not long ago, though on the west side of the mountains. It must have been Shalári and her warriors.”
Eliani sipped the tea and sighed. She tried to think of something else to talk of, if only to spare Luruthin’s feelings. His face had gone grim, and he sat frowning at the fire though she doubted he saw the flames.
Her brow grew warm. She closed her eyes.
Yes, love? I cannot take long, I am in company.
I wanted to ask if all was well. I thought you were troubled, earlier.
I was, but all is well now. I will explain later.
Opening her eyes again, she saw Ulithan watching her. His expression was unreadable, though she thought it was partly curious. He glanced away toward Vanorin, who had risen to his elbows and was blinking at the rabbit fur cloak that lay over him.
Eliani set down her cup and moved to Vanorin’s side. “How do you feel?”
He looked up at her with a chagrined smile. “My foot feels somewhat better, and I feel rather a fool.”
“Anyone might have slipped there, in this snow.”
“Hm.”
Vanorin looked around the cave. When his glance fell upon Ulithan his eyes widened and he sat up sharply, wincing a little at the movement. Eliani’s hands twitched toward his injured foot, but she kept them back.
“This is Ulithan. He has been kind enough to make us welcome in his home.”
Ulithan nodded in greeting. “I have balmroot, if you would like some for your pain.”
Vanorin stared at him, then glanced at Eliani and seemed to conclude from her manner that Ulithan was no danger. “Thank you, I am well enough for now. You are very good to shelter us.”
Ulithan smiled and offered tea to Vanorin. A gust from the roof crack raised a cloud of sparks from the fire, and Eliani glanced upward. If the storm continued, they might be trapped here for a while.
“Is that a handfasting ribbon?”
She glanced at her arm, where the glints of gold and silver showed at the edges of her bracer. “Yes.”
“Your partner does not travel with you.”
Eliani met Ulithan’s gaze. �
�He is with the army.”
“Ah.”
Ulithan smiled, a little wistfully, she thought, and a tingling of realization passed through her. He had been alone here for centuries. He must not have had a lover in a very long while. Pity moved in her heart, though his isolation had been by choice. Had she not been bound....
Foolish to think that way. She was bound, for life.
And he suffered the curse. Strange how quickly she had almost forgotten that. He reminded her of the Lost in a way, though he was also different. The Lost were always watchful, always cautious. Ulithan must be no less alert, or he would not have survived so long alone, yet he seemed more at ease.
She wondered how often he had to hunt. He must have to descend the mountain to find kobalen, possibly on the western side. Perhaps he would take Luruthin with him, if they stayed a few days, and advise him. Eliani swallowed and reached for her teacup, not wanting to think about that.
“Is there more?”
“I can make more.” Ulithan reached for the jug.
Vanorin drained his own cup. “We have some tealeaf.”
Ulithan’s face brightened. “I have not had leaf tea in ages!”
“It is in my pack.”
Eliani stood up. “I will get it.”
She went to their packs at the side of the cave and rummaged in Vanorin’s for the tea. She took out the metal urn and cup they shared, thinking as she set them down that Ulithan might consider them rare treasures.
Such simple things, and she took them for granted, but he would not have the means for making or acquiring their like. She glanced at him, wanting to offer them to him, but her party needed them and perhaps he would be offended by what might seem like charity.
She found the tea, and from her own pack brought out a pouch of dried stonefruit and the last of the bread. Returning to the fire, she handed the pouch of tealeaf to Ulithan.
“Bread?”
“Yes. Would you like some?”
She tore off a quarter of the loaf and offered it to him, remembering that the Lost ate small amounts of regular food after hunting. He accepted it with a quaintly formal bow.
“Many thanks! This is a rare treat indeed.”
He set the bread aside, then opened the tea pouch, inhaling its scent with a smile of delight. The jug was filled with fresh water and sat upon the fire, but was not yet boiling. Ulithan set the pouch down carefully before him, then tore off a bit of the bread and ate it.
Eliani watched him close his eyes, savoring the food. She had spent enough patrols living on trail fare to know how one might relish a bit of fresh bread, but she could not imagine what it must be like to live for centuries without such comforts.
She glanced around the cave, looking for any object that could not have been made by Ulithan. She saw none, save for the long knife he had worn, which now hung from one of the pegs. No other metal was in view, nor any crafted thing save for the wooden bowls and the pottery, which he must have made himself.
The furs and skins must be his handiwork as well. She was impressed at the variety of skills he must have developed, but then, he had had plenty of time to hone them.
Her gaze fell upon the quiver of arrows hanging from a peg beside the knife. She glanced at Ulithan.
“May I look at your arrows?”
“Certainly, if I may look at yours.”
Smiling, she got up and fetched Ulithan’s quiver and her own, bringing them back to the fire. She handed her quiver to Ulithan and drew an arrow from his, admiring the straightness of the shaft, the fletching of striped feathers perfectly aligned, and the wicked point of sharpened ebonglass.
“Glass points, like the kobalen use on their darts.”
Ulithan glanced at her, one of the Lost's arrows in his hands. “Yes. I have not the means to work metal. I make knives of glass as well, for everyday use.”
She held the arrow tip up and peered through the point at the firelight. It set up a smoky glow in the glass.
“How do you keep the points from breaking in the quiver?”
“A handful of fleececod in the bottom.”
Eliani handed the arrow to Vanorin, who was watching with interest. “Fleececod? That does not grow in the mountains.”
“No, I found it when I was traveling in the west. If it grew close by I would try my hand at weaving cloth, but it is too distant for that to be practical. Skins and furs are much easier to come by.”
She gazed at Ulithan. “You must know the Sleeper very well.”
He smiled. “Yes.”
The jug was now steaming, and Ulithan turned his attention to it, shifting it over the coals. When it boiled a moment later he took it off the fire and added tealeaf to it, carefully pouring a small amount of leaf into his hand first, then stirring it into the hot water, brushing the last bits from his palm.
“Ah.” He smiled as the fragrant steam arose. “How delightful. You brought this from Alpinon?”
“No, it was a gift from the Lost. They cultivate it near their camps.”
“In Fireshore? I would have thought it too warm.”
“Inóran said they find sheltered places to grow it.”
“Perhaps I could grow some on the lower slopes.”
“I am sure they would give you cuttings.”
Ulithan stirred the tea. He was silent for a moment, then looked up at her.
“You see, I am not certain I wish my presence to be known.”
She saw the depths of years in his dark eyes, and was reminded again of Heléri. Part of her wanted to protest, to point out the many advantages he would gain by associating with the Lost, not the least of which would be companionship. Yet, he could have sought companionship if he truly desired it.
Or perhaps he could not. It was unlikely that any ælven would welcome intimacy with one who suffered the alben’s curse. Then, too, Ulithan seemed to hold no love for the alben. If he had been open to them, he would have sought their company west of the mountains.
“We will respect your wishes, of course, but we would be happy to carry a message to the Lost for you.”
“Thank you. I will think on that.”
The tea being ready, he filled all their cups, then held his own in both hands, savoring the steam before taking a sip. Eliani watched him, touched by the pleasure he took in a simple cup of tea, and resolved to be more grateful for her own blessings.
Vanorin reached for the bread, tore off a share for himself, and offered it to Luruthin, who gazed at it for a moment, then shook his head. Eliani wondered if he was beginning to be hungry again. He looked well enough, but the amount of blood they had given him was small. She had no idea how often he would need to hunt. The Lost had not hunted every day, though that might have been only because there were no kobalen nearby.
She opened her pouch of stonefruits and offered them first to Ulithan, who took three, then to the others. Luruthin accepted one and nibbled at it, though he seemed to take no pleasure in it.
Vanorin took three of the fruits. “All we need is a song to make this a regular feast.”
Ulithan glanced up, smiling. “Yes, a song! You must know many that I have not heard.” He turned to look at Eliani. “Will you sing?”
She laughed. “Not I! My voice is as sweet as a jay’s.”
“Truth.” Luruthin glanced sidelong at her with a grin, his first contribution to the conversation in some while.
Relieved, Eliani grinned back, then looked at the captain. “Vanorin has a pleasant voice. Will you sing for us?”
Vanorin nodded, finished chewing a mouthful of bread, then drank some tea. He sat thinking for a moment, then set down his cup and drew breath.
The shepherd’s fair daughter to market did carry her fleece,
All on the fairest of midsummer mornings,
And there she did meet with the woodworker’s comely young son,
Dally, heigh dally till midsummer moon.
Eliani sat back, enjoying the tune, which she had heard often around the G
uard’s campfires, and had even sung herself when the wine was flowing and the company was uncritical. Ulithan listened with evident delight to the frivolous tale, laughing at the clever parts, and applauding when Vanorin had finished.
“That is wonderful! May I note it down? I would like to remember it.”
Vanorin nodded, and Ulithan got up and went to a shelf, returning with one of the small, rolled skins, a quill-cut feather, a small bowl and a tiny gourd. He poured some dark powder from the gourd into the bowl and added water, stirring it to make ink, then unrolled the skin.
“A parchment skin.” Eliani admired the beautiful, thin and supple skin. “I never learned how to make them.”
“All it takes is patience.” Ulithan smiled as he dipped his quill.
Eliani looked up at the shelf that held many of the skins. She had not realized at first what they were.
“Have you written on all of those?”
Ulithan followed her gaze. “Yes. Most are about the events leading up to the wars. I thought I should record them. It was a way of occupying myself, and I wished not to forget the causes of those troubled times.”
Eliani gazed in wonder at the shelf laden with history, history so ancient that it was little more than legend now. Events leading up to the Bitter Wars, as seen through the eyes of a member of Clan Darkshore.
What a treasure to find in the cave of a recluse high in the mountains! Nothing like it had been known among the ælven. She glanced at Luruthin, who seemed as awed as she.
“Ulithan, may I read them?”
He glanced up at her, looking slightly surprised, then at the shelf. “If you wish. They are numbered. The first ones are at the left.” He turned his attention to Vanorin. “It begins, ‘The shepherd’s fair daughter’?”
As he and Vanorin murmured together, Eliani stood and went to the shelf full of scrolls. She hesitated to touch them, wondering how old they must be.
Ulithan must have recopied them from time to time as the parchments began to crumble, for as she looked at them more closely the scrolls seemed relatively new. She reached for the topmost scroll at the left end of the shelf, taking it down carefully. The number “1” was written on an outside corner. Smiling with quiet pleasure, she carried it back to the fire and settled down to lose herself in reading.
