The elf’s eyes were too round and big, where I had expected small and narrow; I sought pale blue and piercing, whilst this elf’s eyes were a dark blue. His face was rounded whilst Asharal’s was long and sharp.
This strange elf smiled at me, and very quickly I found Papa;s hand again and drew back.
“Greetings,” said the elf.
I knew Papa and Mother’s attention had been drawn to the elf now, for Mother came in beside me, whilst Papa’s grip tightened.
“Greetings, friend,” said Papa, politely.
The hooded elf glanced at my parents but his eyes found me again and lingered, making me wary. The faintest smile formed on his lips. His gaze rose again to my parents and he enquired where we were all from.
“North of here,” Father said.
The elf nodded. “Wind Glade, perhaps?” he asked, eyes falling to me again, the look in them intent.
Papa didn’t reply, neither did he make any move. What would make this elf think we were from Wind Glade?
The hooded elf looked up at Papa and then he bid a silent farewell with yet another nod and very conspicuously, manoeuvred his way through the crowds, heading towards Wind Tower.
Chapter 12
I am glad to meet you my lady,” I said, my eyes taking pleasure in what they saw. “I am glad, too, to have you in Wind Tower.”
The elvess looked down towards her feet, her hands before her. I could feel her discomfort, I could sense her unease, and just now, I wished to rectify that.
“This night has been filled with joy,” I said. “I saw it outside in the courtyard. I hope my eyes did not deceive me.”
The elvess shook her head, where I would have had her head lifted. Timidly and softly, she gave me her reply. “No, my Son. All rejoice. All are glad that their Son of the Father is the first to gain immortality.”
That was when she at last looked up. Her eyes filled my inner being with warmth and desire, for they were of the deepest green with specks of gold, and formed the distinctive feature of her round face. Those eyes went to my hair. The way she looked at it enticed me and fascinated me, whilst causing doubt to stir in my mind.
Does she approve of my transformation? I wondered.
When we had encountered one another earlier on, in the Tower’s outside courtyard, my hair had been as always: dark. She saw me then. She saw me again when I stepped onto the platform to receive the vial of the Father’s Eternal Pool.
Does she approve of its change?
“Do you feel immortal?” she asked.
I smiled. I delighted in the boldness of the question, as I delighted once more to have her gaze fixed to mine. Her eyes were alluring, arresting, utterly enchanting and I began to acknowledge a poignant longing build within me. I realised that I wanted her.
“I do feel a change,” I admitted. There was a warm and almost zapping sensation coursing through my veins. Since drinking from the vial, I had still to come to grips with it. “Only time will tell.”
The elvess looked down again, but this time I guided her chin up so that our eyes could meet once more. “Might I make a vow to you, my lady?”
She swallowed as if nervous, her eyes darting from my left eye to my right. Briefly, my own eyes went to her lips and I saw that her mouth was small, though her lips were full. They were good lips. I lifted my gaze, my mind made up in that moment, that one day I would place my lips upon hers.
“Yes… Yes, you may, my Son.”
I took my hand away and thankfully, she did not look away but kept her eyes on me. “Once I know for sure that the Eternal Pool has no flaw, that it indeed brings everlasting life without defect, I would be happy if you would allow me to personally present you with your own vial of immortality.”
She looked down and it was long moments before she finally spoke again, causing that doubt of mine to fester.
“My Son, I… I would be delighted… except…” She looked up at me and I saw and sensed her hesitation, her reluctance. She added, “It is not needed. I…” she looked down again to her feet and I set my mind to discern what it was she was struggling with.
I lifted her chin again so as to reassure her. I was determined to make her see that Asharal was a fading dream, that I was heir to the Sunchair, that to cast her lot with me was to ensure the brightest and most exalted future.
“You do not have to be afraid of me, my lady,” I told her, tenderly. “Nor of any of my kin. For I would allow no harm to befall you.” I held my hand out to her and offered her my smile, one I knew from experience made the ladies of my desires swoon. “Take my hand.” She looked at it and, very slowly, placed her hand on mine. Naturally, I was very pleased thus far, and so I told her, “I would show you the gardens. I would show you its beauty.”
Chapter 13
The celebration of the Son’s Day began that very night with the most incredible sights I had never been able to imagine.
There were elves shooting fire from their mouths and elves with legs as long as trees, each parading up and down the great courtyard of Wind Tower, which by now was ablaze with torchlight whilst the sounds of song and merry laughter rang throughout. The long-legged elves made for a comical sight which amused me greatly – until I saw the skilful and fascinating jugglers.
I stood at length, watching in amazement as a score of elves dressed in various colours threw up into the air three to four pinecones at a time, catching them again to the sounds of applause.
I couldn’t believe it. I was completely enveloped by the event of this night, but even more so later on when there came strange-looking folk who I knew immediately were not born of the Sun. Though indeed it was clear that they were elvin folk, for if Papa hadn’t confirmed that when Mother enquired, the pointed ears of the strangers would have.
These people had a blueish, almost grey complexion, and they were tall and lanky with blank and droopy expressions. I soon could see when making my study that they were not accustomed to what was happening around them. And who could blame them? For neither was I.
I tugged on Papa’s sleeve and pointed at the queer-looking elves. “Who are they, Papa?”
Papa narrowed his eyes and after a while he said very softly, “These are the blue elves whom our friends on the road spoke of. It seems they have come to attend the Son’s Day too.”
He guided Mother and I closer, until we stood in the shadow of the western wall of Wind Tower itself, which was dark and ominous against the torch light.
“Why are they bound?” I asked, suddenly concerned, looking at these blue elves with curiosity, wondering why they looked so sad and why I felt so sad looking at them.
They were tied at their ankles and wrist and now I saw that they were on display, lined up and facing the crowds that edged closer. Did they come to attend Son’s Day or were they brought here, against their will?
A Sun Elf who had been standing close to the blue elves stepped in front of them, gesturing to the crowd pushing forward to step back so that he might address them all properly.
“Fair people of the Sun, hear me,” this elf declared, dressed in a rich and long pelt that looked silver and white beneath the torch light. “The Father, great and all powerful, all knowing and all seeing, has seen fit to reveal to us all that it is not only the Sun who live and thrive upon the seas, but that like us, elves in distant waters gather together to form their own societies.
“And so, it is with great pleasure that I present what the Father would show as proof of how great his exploits are: the blue elves, destined by the Father’s decree, to fall subject to his everlasting will, to praise his reign and to teach others like them, that none will rise as high as our great Father of the Sun, who sits on the Sunchair and who loves us all!”
The people shouted and cheered but I could only feel a swell of compassion for these blue elves, thinking to myself; would the Father make these elves slaves?
I wondered now what Asharal might think of that possibility if he were here. Instinctively, I turned arou
nd, but saw only the faces of strangers, some curious and some disturbed by the bound blue elves, others exulting over what the Crier had just proclaimed.
Papa led my mother and I across the busy courtyard and eventually we came to the centre where a bulky platform had been raised. There we looked upon its vacant state and marvelled at it, for according to Papa, this platform would soon hold the Son of the Father. There, he would be the first to sip the waters of the Eternal Pool.
“Will we see the Father of the Sun, Papa?” I asked.
Mother kept quiet. Papa, however, looked down at me and smiled. “Maybe,” he said, but those standing close enough to hear us, contradicted him.
“None ever see the Father,” said an elf, whose voice gave me a fright.
We turned our heads and there stood two elves and an elvess. “The Father is too great a sorcerer to have mere Suns look at him.”
The elvess, who was a pert and well-shaped lady, looked at me. “Of the Winds, it is only the Sons of the Father who will grace us with their presence. But do not be fooled. The Father is up there…” She motioned towards Wind Tower, towards its high walls and dark windows. When she looked at us again, there was something sinister in her voice. “The Father sees all. Even when he is not watching.”
I watched the three elves move on after they passed their revelations on to us, but soon lost sight of them amidst the crowds. Their words had unsettled me, but Papa sniggered.
“What an odd bunch.”
Mother, however, didn’t see the humorous side. “Perhaps they spoke the truth? Have you ever heard of anyone who has seen the Father?”
We moved on and came to a stall where a group of puppeteers was preparing to put on a show. I wanted to stay and watch, but Papa wanted us to get some food. Seeing as he was afraid to leave mother and I alone, we hurried away together to find some, but thankfully returned before the puppet show came to an end.
Judging by what we saw, the show seemed to have been about the Winds, for the fancy puppets were dressed in fine linen and were manipulated to speak as ones who were in power and authority. However, the other puppets were different. They had long beards, and on their side of the stage there hung a great moon above their heads.
After the show, Papa addressed one of the elves close by. “Friend. My family and I missed most of the spectacle. Would you explain to us the meaning of it all?”
The elf had his arms folded. He looked at us solemnly. “The Wind prophet, the one who claims to be able to see the future, once saw our people battle a great moon. According to him, the Winds will strive and struggle with this moon, but not forever. He predicts that the struggle will end in a union. A great union.”
It didn’t make sense to me and by the look in the elf’s eyes and the vague tremor in his voice, it didn’t make much sense to him either, especially because in the puppet show, the struggle didn’t end in a union, but rather with the Winds killing those puppets who basked beneath the image of the moon.
“Who is this Winds prophet?” asked Mother.
The elf regarded her. “I do not know his name. But he has been speaking and prophesying of moons for a long time. He even…” the elf paused. He looked around, stepped closer, and with a quieter voice than before he continued, “this prophet even prophesied that a fierce moon will fall on the head of Asharal’s brother.” When none of us responded, the elf frowned and took a step back. “Do you not know of Asharal and his brother?”
With hesitation, Papa answered. “We know of them,” he said.
The elf nodded. “I fear great trouble will come from that prophecy. Word has it, Asharal killed hundreds of Wind warriors to get to that prophet for implying death to his brother. I fear Asharal will never forget, nor will he forgive. The sooner the Winds have him, the sooner peace can return to our island.”
Later we found our friends from the road, and whilst my mother and father conversed with Narthal and Talywn, I gave my attention to their son, Velandyn.
“Do you think Asharal is here this evening?” I whispered.
He looked at me with obvious disapproval. “You insult his intelligence to even ask such a thing.”
That took me aback. I didn’t like being accused of insulting Asharal so I gave the rude elf my most displeased look. “Do not act as if you know his mind,” I said.
In response, Velandyn rolled his eyes and went silent, staring at the crowds around us, until at last I made another enquiry.
“When do you believe the Son of the Father will appear?”
Velandyn shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. He is a Wind. And the Winds are the enemy.”
The time came when the tide of the people brought us in view of the centre platform of the wide courtyard of Wind Tower. Behind the platform, I could see heads gathering over the shoulders and bodies of those who stood in front of me. Those heads, I deduced, belonged to important people, but none I could see now appeared to be the Son of the Father.
Papa saw my struggle to get a good view and so he led us deeper into the crowds until at last we found our spot. It was much closer to the platform and conveniently, those standing in front of us were much shorter than those who were further back. I raised my head towards the centre stage and my eyes widened as I watched someone take his place upon it. My mother gasped.
“The Son,” she said.
That’s when I saw him. That’s when I saw the Son of the Father.
I squinted. Until now, I had not known what I had expected to see. I realised that I had envisioned a youthful figure who exuded with every strut the salacious and imperious self-awareness that came from being born a Wind.
But now, as I stood watching the heir to the Sunchair present himself to the crowd, I saw an elf who, oddly enough, caused a pleasant frown to shape my expression. For the Son of the Father was dressed simply, though indeed his pelt and the fancy gleaming boots he wore bespoke his wealth and luxurious living. Perhaps the root of my surprise was that while I would have envisioned cruel arrogance to exude from one born of the Father, I saw a solemn and perhaps uncomfortable elf, who appeared strong yet unsure of himself whilst hundreds of eyes fell upon him.
The Son of the Father pulled back his hood, revealing a well-rounded face. His hair was chestnut brown, appearing black where the torchlight did not reach. His eyes were the warmest blue, dark blue, and, from down here, they seemed kind. It was only when I emerged from my initial surprise at this elf’s appearance that I suddenly realised that I had seen that face before.
It was that stranger elf from earlier, the one with the hood, whose face I had thought to be Asharal’s.
Papa and Mother realised too.
“Was it not he who we encountered earlier?” asked Mother.
“It seems so,” said Papa, in a way that made me think he was now caught up in a state of awe as he looked at the Father’s heir.
I concentrated on the Son as he prepared himself to speak, trying to come to terms with the reality that the love of my life, Asharal Evening, hated this elf with an unquenchable passion.
“On behalf of my father, the Father, the Father of the Sun and ruler of its domain, I thank you all for venturing from far and wide so that you might be present on such a day as this.”
Even his voice surprised me. I could tell he was an elf of confidence, yet perhaps shaken confidence. He spoke well but his eyes were steadfastly gazing straight over our heads as if he were addressing the night beyond the torchlight, afraid to look into our eyes, to meet our gazes. I concluded within myself that the Son didn’t at all feel comfortable up there.
“The Son’s Day, the Father has named it, in honour of me, in honour of his first born. It is an honour I accept with humility and gratitude as a son loved by his father.”
My gaze was narrowed, my attention undivided as I continued to analyse such an elf. The more I watched him, the harder it became for me to resent him as I had done unconsciously over the past few weeks.
“This is the day we have looked forward to for g
enerations, a day my father has strived with great effort to bring to pass. The day death becomes bereft of our island. The day death ceases to cast out the Sun’s light. The day death is defeated. It is to my father, the great Father of the Sun, I give honour and glory. For it is of his will and decree that I, being among so fine a folk such as yourselves, be the first immortal of our proud and triumphant race.”
An elf dressed in similar pelts to the Son, came to the Son’s side and handed him a thin glass vial, its contents shining so brilliantly I was caught up in amazement whilst the crowds around me gasped.
The Son of the Father took the vial and held it up high for all to see. “With this… I defeat death!”
The Son brought his hand down to his mouth. He tilted the top over his lips, and though there seemed a brief hesitation, the Son downed the contents of the vial in one quick gulp. When he straightened, another round of gasps resounded and reverberated throughout the entire assembly.
The Son of the Father’s hair had turned completely white.
“What does this mean, then?” asked Mother, once the Son and his company went back inside Wind Tower and the crowds had begun to disperse. “Are we all to have white hair if we choose to drink from the Eternal Pool?”
Papa was thrown deep in thought by my mother’s questions. He looked to be preparing to offer some form of a response, yet before he could, we were approached by a company of Wind warriors. I immediately became afraid, even more so when from amidst these warriors, a richly dressed elf emerged and greeted us warmly.
He looked at me and bowed his head. “The Son of the Father wishes a word with you, my lady.”
Papa stepped between us, protectively. “To what end?”
That seemed to raise the elf’s ire. “To whatever end the Son wishes. Do you intend to prohibit the First Immortal?”
I didn’t know what to do. I began to panic. I was afraid. I was afraid to refuse and I was afraid to accept. Asharal had told me to stay away, but now I was faced with this dilemma: to stay away was to endanger myself and my family.
The Evening Tide Page 9
