Hal saw his destiny as a doom. “Brand, the son of Veran and Claefe,” he protested. “Was he not an elf-man, more so than am I?"
Adaoun gently shook his head. “When Claefe went with Veran, she became woman, though perhaps the most golden and gifted of women. She bequeathed her heirs insight, a quickness of perception rare in the world of men, and also the love of lore and wisdom. Nothing more."
Adaoun had been speaking steadily, but now he hesitated before he slowly continued.
“You are the one person, Mireldeyn, who can stop the plague of war which has followed us for seven ages. You are the one person who can end the age of bloodshed and terror in Isle. You are also he who must help us, the People of Peace, to Elwestrand across the Western Sea. Only if you vanquish the evil lords of the lowlands can we ever reach the Bay of the Blessed to set sail.
“I do not know whether you will succeed. Not even the One knows that, I believe. It depends not only on you, but on every person in Isle, on every man, woman and child. Only if the balance can prevail—the stakes are so high—the future of the race of men as well as the entire race of elves —” Adaoun struggled to voice what he had to say. “The People of Peace can no longer withdraw from the bloodshed of life. At whatever sacrifice, we will do what we must do, Mireldeyn, to survive. We will fight for you, He Who Rules."
The magnitude of the gift fell on Hal like a burden of fire. To be fated the deliverer not only of Isle but of the elves as well—it was an obligation that smote him nearly to the ground. Hot rebellion swept him up, and blindly he strode away from the anxious elves. But Alan walked beside him, weak with fever though he was; and in his steadfast mortal friendship Hal found the strength he needed to win his struggle with himself.
Chapter Three
Ay, it was a hard knowledge to accept, thought Hal. And yet, I am amply blessed.
He lay at ease on a comfortable rock, the late summer sun pleasantly warm on his bare shoulders. Near him sat Alan and Lysse. She was trimming Alan's hair and smiling, almost giggling, at the woebegone faces he made as his long, sun-streaked locks fell to the ground.
It was nearly a month since the two had first entered the mountaintop valley of the elves. Alan's wound had fully healed and his health was restored. Yet neither he nor Hal thought of leaving. They were hardly aware of the passing of time, for eternity hung like a fragrance in the air, as it had in that hidden valley they had chanced upon nearly a year before. The elves also lived in a place untouched by the blight of the invaders. Adaoun had discovered it while riding Wynnda, the great gold-winged horse for whom he had begged immortality from the One. With great labor the elves had cut the spiral path to the top of Veran's Mountain, but the years passed like moments in their immortal lives. When at last they reached the valley, they had found a paradise like the one they remembered from seven ages past. Here the elves had released their special joy, the horses of Wynnda's blood, and these flourished in the mountain air. Indeed, this was a place that worked its weal on all creatures. Alfie ran with the elwedeyn horses now, and his eyes sparkled with the wonder of it. But Alan's eyes glowed as warm, and, looking at him, Hal knew that it was not only the valley that filled him with love.
Dear Alan, Hal thought. The One grant him his heart's desire. I owe him so much, but I cannot help him in this.
Since their first full day in the Eagle Valley, Hal had known that Alan was in love with Lysse. And he could see that Lysse knew herself to be Alan's mendor. Yet Alan labored to conceal his love, though it crept into his every word and glance when Lysse was nearby. He held back from openly wooing her, for to win her would be to bereave her of her immortality. Hal knew she would sacrifice it willingly, in her wisdom as a woman and as an elf. But even with this knowledge, he was not sure he could act differently in Alan's place. For Alan, his dilemma was a honeyed torment. Every time he saw Lysse, his heart bounded with the sweetest of pain. They were together nearly all they waking hours, riding, through the meadows, singing in the moonlight, working together and exploring the peaceful valley. Already she had given Alan more of her immortal wisdom than he realized, and his head rose high with the strength that welled in him. But whether he would find strength to accept her as his destiny, Hal did not know.
Only in one way can I help them, he mused, and that is to give them time together.
He left them where they laughed in the sunshine, and wandered away up the mountainside.
Adaoun had been greatly relieved when Hal had given over brooding about the burden Aene had placed on him. The destiny of the elves was not secure, Adaoun knew, but a fate which trembled on the Wheel. Mireldeyn's choice must be made firm; indecision at the wrong time could cause eternal disaster. So when the Elf-father found Hal sitting alone and troubled, he moved quickly to his side.
“What ails you, son of the mortals?” he asked lightly. “You look as if the sky has fallen on your head."
Hal's solemn face broke into a smile at the elf's cheerfulness, but he was not fooled. “Never fear, Adaoun,” he answered dryly. “I am not thinking of myself. We have never spoken of Elwyndas and Lysse. Are you pleased with their love, Adaoun?"
The elf sat beside him to answer.
“Neither happy nor saddened, Mireldeyn; not yet. Elves seldom feel such things. Indeed, what is there to say? They are coupled in Dol Solden, like you and the Lady of Celydon."
Hal looked at him in surprise; he had never mentioned Rosemary to Adaoun. “Then do all things written in Dol Solden come to pass?"
“Nay, indeed,” Adaoun replied slowly. “Written therein are things that should be; but Aene cannot, or will not, make them come to pass. Elves and men must carry on the affairs of the world to the End, whatever that may be. Each of us has a destiny to help direct the force and flow of life. If we heed it, then all is well. If we choose to ignore it, then our lives run counter to the current of the world's weal —"
Adaoun's voice faded away as Hal envisioned thousands upon thousands of slowly spinning years, cycle upon cycle, millions upon millions of lives like shimmering droplets converging into a circling stream of gold. The years resolved themselves into ages, and the ages into the Whole, the golden flood of countless lives swirling slowly but remorselessly toward the vortex of some unseen End. Time spun before him like a great golden wheel, humming in a minor key.
The vision faded, and Hal became aware once more of Adaoun sitting beside him.
“Do they know?” he murmured.
“Lysse knows,” Adaoun answered at once. “Now tell me, Mireldeyn, for the mind of your brother is hidden from me: Does he love her, and will he fulfill her in the course her heart has chosen?"
“He loves her well,” Hal declared. “But his course is not yet clear to him, and he is troubled. It is hard to conceive of a better man, Adaoun, but his pride and reason battle against the direction his heart would take.” Hal's lips tightened in frustration. “My heart aches to help him, but I dare not speak to him, lest the choice be mine and not his."
“What strange creatures you mortals are,” Adaoun sighed. “Well, I see that I can only hope and wait."
“So must we both,” Hal replied.
Three days later Hal and Anwyl, his first friend among the elves, were climbing among the rocks of the outer ramparts, searching out deadwood for the cooking fires. They moved silently, for the elves never disturbed the forest creatures without cause. Many marvelous things had they seen, but they scarcely expected to see what next met their eyes. As they rounded a corner of rock, in a wooded hollow below them stood Alan and Lysse. He was giving her a little bunch of violets; purple, blue, gold, lavender and white. He looked not at her, but at the flowers, as he spoke.
“Each is different from the others, Lysse,” he said. “Yet all are lovely. None is more perfect than another."
“Ay,” Lysse answered softly, puzzled.
“So also with the bright elf maidens of this valley. All are different, yet all are perfect in loveliness. No sane man could choose one over anot
her."
With an effort he faced her, meeting her eyes. “Yet I have made that choice, Lysse!” he told her earnestly. “To me no maiden, mortal or immortal, can begin to match you in loveliness. Your eyes and your hair outshine those of your sisters as the sun outshines the stars. I desire no woman in my life except you, and without you I will have none.” He took her by the shoulders, for her face revealed her consternation. “Do you understand me, Lysse? I love you, so help me, with the love of a mortal for a mortal. I must make you understand or I shall go mad!” He kissed her, tenderly but strongly, full on the lips. Her eyes closed and her face went deathly white. Then with what seemed to be the last of her strength she wrenched herself away from him and wordlessly fled down the mountainside. “Lysse!” Alan called once after her, but the mountain returned only the echo of his cry. He struck a young ash tree furiously with his fist. As he stared down the way she had disappeared, his face grew hard as rock, and the blood dripped unnoticed from his bruised hand.
Anwyl and Hal looked at each other with pain in their eyes. To move away would have been to risk interrupting Alan's wooing. So they had remained, involuntary witnesses of his anguish. Hal clenched his fists, his face white and taut with misery. But when Anwyl signaled, “Go to him,” Hal's eyes flashed back, “Nay!” Alan must never know that his courtship had been observed.
Alan stood like a statue until shadows began to deepen in the hollow and darkness gathered in the dome of the sky. Then, with a gesture of decision, he set off rapidly toward the pavilions in the valley. The instant he disappeared, Hal and Anwyl ran in another direction. They must arrive at the camp before he did.
“Why?” Hal panted. “Why did she flee from him?"
“I believe I would have done the same,” gasped Anwyl haltingly. “Mireldeyn, try to understand. She is standing on the brink of the unknown. What is to you mortals the very stuff of life is to us elves the greatest of mysteries."
They paused to catch their breath outside of camp. Then, pledging each other to secrecy, they parted. The cooking fires gave off delicious aromas, and all around rose the hum of contented talk. Hal walked through it like a stranger and went to the tent to wait. Alan was not long in coming. Hal looked up in carefully arranged surprise as he entered.
“Alan! Your hand! It's all blood!"
Alan did not even glance at the hand. “Hal,” he said hoarsely, “we must leave this place at once."
Hal was too busy fetching water and bandaging to reply. Anxiously he tended the injured hand. When he was done, Alan spoke again, calmly but with a dogged persistence that Hal knew from long experience would take no denial. “Hal, we must go. I am well now, and strong, and our business is finished here. There is much yet to do, and time outside this valley does not stand still. We should have left before now."
“Very well,” Hal said quietly. “I shall speak to Adaoun tonight, and we shall leave tomorrow morning. Come to supper."
“I am not hungry,” replied Alan, throwing himself down on his bed. Hal knew better than to argue, and went without him.
Neither of them slept much that night, though Alan might have thought Hal did. Toward morning Alan fell into a doze and Hal slipped out in search of Anwyl. When he found him, the news was brief. “Not a sign of her,” Anwyl said. “She has not been back to camp at all."
Morning dawned bright and sunny, but the elves seemed oddly quiet. Farewells were brief, for in spite of Alan's courtesy his restlessness was apparent. For the first time in a month, he and Hal wore swords. Their saddlebags were packed tightly with provisions and new clothing of soft wool.
“I have no gift for you,” Adaoun said, “except memories and hope. Cherish them well, for my sake."
“Farewell,” said Anwyl. “May we meet again in more peaceful times. The One be with you both."
Within a few moments they were trotting up the trail that led to the mountain's rim. When they reached the edge of the woodland, they looked back for a moment. Lysse was nowhere to be seen. Whether Alan was relieved or disappointed, not even Hal could tell.
They entered the leafy shade and moved rapidly and silently up the slope. But as they came to the upper reaches of the elves’ domain, a slim form in green emerged from the shadow of an ash tree like a sprite materializing from the living trunk. Lysse stood before them.
Hal flashed her a delighted grin. “I'll wait for you at the top, Alan,” he called as casually as he could, and sent Arundel onward at a gallop. Alan tried to shout after him, but his voice would not respond. He who had traveled over half a kingdom, slept with the spirits of the dead, braved the perils of the White Tower and fought unshielded against mailed foes was now very close to panic at the sight of a slender, golden-haired maiden.
The realization made his face burn. He set his jaw, took a deep breath, and looked at her. He gazed into her smoky green, eyes, and before he knew what he was doing, he had dismounted and taken her hand. Only then did he realize that she was trembling. All the speeches he had prepared vanished from his mind.
“Lysse!” he exclaimed. “Are you afraid?"
“Afraid?” She tested the word, savoring it in her mind, and a tiny smile started at the corners of her mouth. “So that is the name of what I feel! Ay, then, I dare say I am afraid."
“But how—why—oh, Lysse, frightened of me!"
“I have heard my father say that men fear that for which they do not know the name.” Her smile broadened. “I have now found that it is not only men who fear the unknown. When you did this thing yesterday —"
“It is called a kiss, Lysse. Something a mortal man does with the woman he loves."
“A kiss.” Her eyes widened in the pleasure of discovery. “So that is a kiss! It is not fearsome at all, now that it bears a name. When you made this kiss, Elwyndas, my head spun; my body grew hot, then cold, my heart pounded and my breath came fast and shallow, so that I did not understand what was happening. I thought perhaps I was dying, and I was afraid, as an elf ought not to be afraid. I walked all night on the mountainside, thinking, and now I am sorry and ashamed, Elwyndas, for I see that I was concerned only for myself, and I caused you great pain.” Alan was startled to see tears growing in her eyes, so that they became unfathomably deep, dark pools, like the lake at the heart of the mountain. He sensed the meaning of those tears, and he ached for her; all his wrath was lost in his love and his desire to comfort her. He put his arms around her shoulders, stroking her hair and gently kissing her face. Suddenly her trembling stopped. She looked up to him with eyes that were still bright with tears, but bright with joy as well.
“Alan,” she said, using his mortal name for the first time since he had entered the valley, “that which you told me yesterday...."
“Ay.” He kissed her eyes. “I love you well, Lysse."
“That is the name of what I also feel.” The tears at last overflowed her eyes and began to wet her cheek. “I love you, Alan of Laueroc."
Agonized, as if obeying something greater than himself, Alan leaned to kiss her. But before their lips could meet, he paused and asked her a yearning question with his glance.
“I will never flee from you again,” she answered him aloud.
On the rim of the mountain Hal waited patiently, the rising sun warm on the back of his neck. Finally, from around the bend of the trail came the sound of hoofbeats. Hal stiffened, then relaxed and sighed with relief. Alan carried Lysse in the saddle before him, cradled close to his chest.
But when they reached the top of the rampart, Alan wordlessly set her down. “Wait,” she said, and from around her neck she lifted the pendant she always wore. Alan lowered his head, and she slipped it onto him, centering the darkly glowing green stone on his chest. “The past and future of your people and mine glimmer in that stone,” she said. “Wear it in hope of a better dawn."
Alan shook his head with a gesture of pain. “Oh, my love, my future is dark to me. My hopes are dreams, without substance."
“Dream them still,” she answered, �
��and let your deeds shape the substance. Remember me in your dreams, Alan! Farewell!"
Alan bent in his saddle to kiss her for what he felt sure was to be the last time.
He and Hal lifted arms in final salute to the People of Peace assembled below. Then they rode over the rim, and a wall of rock hid from their sight the secret valley which they knew they might never see again. Alan blinked hard as he faced the rising sun, but he did not look back.
Chapter Four
Summer's green was just tipped with the pale gold of early autumn when they left the mountaintop valley of the elves. The sun shone brightly, and the air was fresh and crisp. But the trees were all to be bare, the sides dark and windy, the earth sodden and cold with autumn's rains before they again found welcome.
They traveled south and east, along the curve of the mountains which rose between Welas and the sea. Their progress was slow, for they followed no beaten track. They wound their way as best they could along ridges and into ravines, picking their path between great rocky crags and ancient ruins. Somewhere in these deserted reaches of Welas Hal hoped to find his grandfather. His bright eyes probed the landscape eagerly at every new vista, though for days on end they would not see a living thing.
They traveled openly, by daylight. The henchmen of the lowland lords seldom ventured into these parts, for many outlaws lurked among these peaks. Hal, confident that he and Alan would not be attacked, rode fearlessly. Alan followed sullenly, caring little for the danger. He had fallen into a black moodiness, seldom saying a word. Lysse was a constant torment at the back of his mind. He did not plan ever to see her again, for he was sure he could not deny her the immortality of an elf. His declaration of love had been a cry wrung from his tortured heart. He bitterly berated himself for his weakness, and he cursed this stark and soaring land from which Lysse's voice seemed continually to echo, “Remember me."
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