The Elven city was built into the sides of a wooded granite canyon. At first Kellen didn’t see the houses he knew must be there, but slowly his eyes adjusted, and they appeared, as magically as the Elven woods-guards had.
I guess the houses are just very, very good at hiding, too, Kellen told himself.
The dwellings of the Elven city of Sentarshadeen blended into their surroundings as if they’d grown there: low beautiful cottages of silvery wood, each one unique, each one set into its own garden—but too few to make up a city, and when Kellen studied the canyon wall across the valley floor, he suddenly realized that it, too, was filled with dwellings cut into the living rock itself. Every inch of the canyon wall was subtly carved, to form windows and doors and pathways that so beautifully harmonized with their surroundings that they were not immediately apparent to the eye. There must have been hundreds of them.
In fact, if Kellen had not just spent a season in a true wildwood, he would have mistaken the sight before him for untouched Nature, but it wasn’t. It was Nature perfected, touched so lightly and gracefully that what had been done wasn’t immediately obvious—but, like Canderil himself, everything Kellen saw was quietly perfect.
A wisp of mist trailed along the side of the canyon; faintly he heard the welcome sound of water.
It’s like walking into a dream, Kellen thought in awe. All his previous misgivings were forgotten. He might not be able to live up to the Elves’ standards, but he could certainly appreciate them.
Canderil led them down the trail to the valley floor, as Kellen gazed about himself in wonder. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the faint sound of wind chimes, and it seemed the perfect enhancement to this place. The rich autumn light slanted down through the trees, sculpting shadows off the canyon walls in ways that Kellen somehow knew had been planned, as though the Elven designers had taken note of how the sun would strike every inch of the rock every hour of the day in every season of the year, and shaped it accordingly. Though he looked hard to find a flaw—something hasty, unfinished, out of place—he never did in all the time he spent in Sentarshadeen. Even the stones in the dry riverbed they crossed over seemed to each have been deliberately placed to make their surroundings more beautiful.
It almost seemed—though it was an odd word to use to describe a place where people obviously went about their daily lives, for Kellen saw a number of Elves as they passed, if only at a distance—holy. Holiness was a concept that Kellen only understood vaguely, and that in connection with the Priests of the Eternal Light. In Kellen’s limited experience, holiness seemed to involve long incomprehensible prayers, discomfort, and a great deal of incense. If that was holiness, then it could have nothing to do with Sentarshadeen. But the word still seemed right to him. The Elven city was a far holier place than the cold and forbidding Great Temple of the Light.
They followed a path—though to call it a path was unfair, as it was as wide as a street back in Armethalieh—that led up the cliff and stopped in front of one of the doors. Canderil set his stave into a bracket that seemed to be made for it, and went up the step to open the door. Idalia dismounted.
“We’re here,” she said.
Kellen slid off Shalkan’s back. The unicorn shook himself and took a few steps, sniffing the air.
“I’ll be back later. If you need me, just ask anyone. They’ll know where I am.” He trotted off quickly, leaving Kellen staring after him.
“There’s a unicorn herd here,” Idalia said, noting Kellen’s puzzled and slightly dismayed expression. “He’s gone to join them. Don’t worry about him; he probably hasn’t seen another unicorn aside from that family I healed a while back for moonturns, maybe years, and he’ll have a lot of socializing to do. Come on, help me get our things inside. We’re home, for now.”
Canderil helped them unload Prettyfoot and Coalwind, assisting them to get all of their belongings inside, then retrieved his stave and led the two animals away, leaving Kellen and Idalia standing among their bundles in the main room of the guesthouse.
“Home, sweet home,” Idalia said in an unreadable tone as she looked around the room.
“Idalia,” Kellen said hesitantly, “is this place yours? Have you been here before?”
Idalia took a deep breath, rousing herself from whatever she’d been thinking, and smiled. “No. Not here. And until a few minutes ago, this was a guesthouse. But it’s our home now. From the moment we took occupancy it ceased to be a guesthouse and will be regarded as ours. That’s why Canderil left so fast—Elves have very strict customs about who gets to go into private homes and who doesn’t. Now that it’s our home, no Elf will ever come in here uninvited—except children, of course: Elven children are so rare that they pretty much do as they please and are exempt from all custom and law. And there are all sorts of customs about who can invite who into whose house, and all that, of course, but being human, we won’t be expected to know them, much less be bound by them.”
“Good thing,” Kellen muttered darkly. He’d had his fill of rules of that sort back in Armethalieh!
“Why don’t you take a look around?” Idalia suggested. “There are two bedrooms; you can pick one, and then we can get our gear sorted out.”
Kellen decided to take her advice. He hadn’t gotten much chance to inspect the place before, since they’d been getting their things inside as quickly as possible, but now the need to hurry seemed to be over.
The Elven dwelling wasn’t large, but like everything else Kellen had seen here so far, it was perfect. The main room—where all of their gear was now—was large enough to be comfortable, but not big enough to seem grand. Its gently curved walls were painted a rich, warm, vibrant cream. Some of the furniture was built-in—long padded benches of carved and polished wood that ran along the walls, following the curve, a tall armoire that opened to reveal bookshelves and a desk—and other pieces stood arranged against the walls awaiting their need: a pair of comfortable-looking chairs, a stool. In one corner, a tall tile stove was set into the wall, ready to provide both warmth and a place to cook. Opening the doors and drawers of its intricate cabinet, Kellen discovered a teapot and cups; bowls and flatware. All but the eating utensils were of the luminous translucent Elvenware that commanded such astronomical prices in Armethalieh. Kellen held a piece up to the light. It glowed, taking fire from the sun, and its color took his breath away. Reluctantly, he set it back in its place and investigated further, turning up some large, flat, black disks, elaborately embossed with an intricate geometric pattern. He had to lift one and examine it closely before he figured out what it was. Charcoal. Even the fuel here was beautiful.
Kellen brushed his hands clean and turned away from the stove to pick up one of the pillows from the sitting benches. Each was covered in a different hand-loomed fabric and pattern, each somehow perfectly right for the room. The longer he looked, the more there was to see. He set the cushion down gently.
“It’s a little stunning when you see it all for the first time,” Idalia said quietly.
“Yeah,” Kellen said weakly. This wasn’t getting him any closer to picking out a bedroom, either.
There were three doors leading off the main room. He chose one at random and opened it.
He’d found the bathroom.
The fixtures were similar to what he might have found back in Armethalieh, save for the fact that they were made of colored ceramic instead of wood, metal, or stone, and seemed to be built into the walls and floor. Kellen inspected the washbasin curiously. There was no ewer, and no place to set one, either. Where did the washing-water come from? And why was there a stopper in the bottom of the bowl?
He pulled out the plug, revealing a hole. No answers there. Set into the wall above the basin were two small wheels. Curious, Kellen turned one.
Water began to spill into the basin through holes in the rim. Kellen yelped and jumped back, startled, then dipped his fingers in the riling water. Fresh enough to drink … and the other wheel produced water as hot as if it had just come fr
om a kettle.
Kellen turned them both off, and regarded the washing bowl in awe. Not even Armethalieh’s magic could provide a washbowl that filled with hot or cold water on command and emptied itself besides—and the best thing was, he suspected it was all done without an ounce of magic!
Upon inspection, the small hip-bath proved to fill and empty the same way. He could take a bath—a hot bath—anytime he wanted to, without having to haul water or trouble any servants.
Or use magic to heat the water.
And best of all, the necessary also sluiced itself clean with water after each use. No more midnight treks to the outhouse. No more close-stools or thundermugs, a feature of even the most exalted houses in Armethalieh. Everything here was clean and civilized.
Kellen frowned, trying to figure out what the fundamental difference was. In Armethalieh, it was easy to be comfortable if you had magic and wealth, but your comfort was purchased at the cost of others’ discomfort. But in Sentarshadeen, from what he’d seen so far, everyone could live like the High Mages, and nobody had to suffer for it.
He hoped it was true.
He went back into the main room. He didn’t know how long he’d spent in the water closet, but Idalia was gazing at him with an amused expression on her face. Kellen blushed. Of course, this was all familiar to her from her previous time among the Elves, but it was still all new to him.
“I’ll take that one,” Kellen said hastily, pointing at a door at random. He gathered up as much of his gear as he could manage and shuffled awkwardly toward it, just managing to get the tips of his fingers onto the door latch and toe the door open.
The ceiling here was lower, the room done in shades of browns and greens. There was a large window on one wall, with a deep window seat before it. Facing it, built into the wall, its contours designed to harmonize with the shape of the window, was a tall clothes-chest. Between the chest and the window was a bed, with another bench for sitting at its foot. Tucked beside the door was a small desk and stool. There were lanterns in niches around the walls. If he had studied the ways to design a room for years, he could never have come up with an arrangement so harmonious, and so—ah, that word again!—perfectly suited to inducing relaxation.
Kellen dropped his burden on the bed. He’d meant to go right back out for another load, but the view outside his window drew him toward it. He walked over and opened the glass-paned shutters. From here he could see out into the canyon, almost as if he were hanging in space. Though the opposite wall of the canyon must be as filled with dwelling-places as this one was, somehow they did not draw the eye; his mind insisted that he was looking out on unspoiled paradise.
This must be how the Wildwood looked to Idalia, Kellen thought with a flash of insight. No wonder she’d been happy there, Kellen realized. It was her place.
He didn’t think Sentarshadeen was where he belonged—it was too soon to tell, anyway—but it was so beautiful it could make you think you belonged here, no matter where your true place was. And maybe it could help you understand other people better. Because I suppose Armethalieh looks this way to some people, too, Kellen admitted grudgingly, if only to himself.
His reverie was interrupted by the sound of voices—two voices—from the room outside.
“I see you, Idalia,” a man’s voice said.
“I see you, Jermayan,” Idalia answered.
Kellen went to the door of the bedroom and looked out. There was an Elf standing in the doorway of the house.
Like the woods-guards, Jermayan was dressed in earth tones, but it was clear that his garments were not meant to blend in to an autumn forest. He wore low boots of russet velvet over snug moss-green leggings embroidered with twining vines in russet and gold. His long hair was held back by a tubular weave of dull gold silk ribbons, and he wore a sheer tunic in palest russet oversewn with bands of velvet of a green so dark it was nearly black.
There was a long pause.
“Will you deny me the comfort of your hearth, Idalia?” Jermayan said at last.
Kellen saw Idalia bite back a sharp retort. “If you think you will find comfort in entering this house, Jermayan, then enter it by all means,” she said ungraciously.
Jermayan stepped carefully over the threshold. He took a step toward Idalia, holding out his hand.
Idalia stepped back, refusing the gesture. She kept her face as blank as she could, but Kellen could tell she was both surprised and unhappy to see Jermayan. Why? Kellen was confused. Did he and Idalia have enemies here, too?
Jermayan lowered his hand. “You have not changed your mind? When I heard you had come to Sentarshadeen, I hoped …”
“I came because I had no choice,” Idalia interrupted harshly. “I would have chosen another destination if I’d known you were here. Why couldn’t you have stayed in Ondoladeshiron?”
Kellen felt as if he were watching a game of shuttlecock—or a fencing match. He looked from Idalia’s face, everything but her eyes completely expressionless, but her eyes holding a tempest of strong feelings—to the Elf’s, his face holding such longing that it hurt.
“Memories of you were there,” Jermayan said simply. “Idalia, my—”
“No!” Idalia raised her hand, and there was such pain in her eyes that Kellen winced. “No more, Jermayan. We are not going to talk about this ever again.”
No, Kellen realized. Not enemies. And he had all the answers he ever wanted about why Idalia hadn’t wanted to stay with the Elves. Jermayan was in love with her. That much was plain. And Kellen was pretty sure Idalia loved him back, and didn’t want to. That just made things more confusing.
“I will respect your wishes,” Jermayan said softly. “But I had thought—I had hoped—you had changed your mind. Fare you well, Idalia.”
Jermayan turned and left. Gracefully.
Kellen hesitated for a moment, then came out.
Idalia rounded on him. “Get a good earful?” she asked dangerously. Her eyes glittered with anger, but behind the anger was a welter of such powerful emotions that Kellen could hardly believe it was the Idalia—calm, restrained Idalia—he had thought he knew standing before him.
“Well, neither one of you was keeping your voices down.” He wasn’t quite sure how to react to this new creature facing him. “You want to tell me what’s going on with this Jermayan? I think I’ve got a right to know—I am your brother, after all,” Kellen reminded her. He only realized how pompous and hateful the words sounded when it was too late to take them back.
But she didn’t tender him the set-down that his stupid demand deserved. “I met Jermayan in Ondoladeshiron just after I turned back from being a Silver Eagle. I fell in love with him then. He thinks he loves me. And he’s going to have to get over it, because it can’t go anywhere, and I told him so at the time,” Idalia said, her voice painfully flat.
“But—” Kellen protested, unable to understand why she should be saying anything of the sort. If she loved Jermayan, and the Elf loved her, then what was stopping them? “But, Idalia—”
“Think, Kellen,” she interrupted him. “In another fifty or sixty years, I’ll die. Jermayan will live for another nine centuries—and Elves mate for life. Do you think I’m going to condemn him to live what amounts to his entire life alone after I’m dead? What kind of love would that be? It isn’t fair, and I won’t do it!”
Her eyes filled abruptly with tears, and she turned away and ran into the other bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Kellen crept up to the door and listened. He thought he could hear Idalia weeping on the other side. But Idalia never cries.
And she never thought she’d have to see Jermayan again, either, another part of Kellen said.
He wasn’t sure what to do. What he did know was that there wasn’t anything he could do or say to comfort her—or to change her mind, either.
And he was pretty sure she’d rather he wasn’t around when she came out, so that they could both pretend that the last few minutes had never happened. So h
ow could he arrange that?
After a moment’s reflection it occurred to Kellen that this would be a good time to get out and take a look around the rest of the Elven city. Nobody’d said that wouldn’t be a good idea, and he thought he’d like to know a good deal more about Sentarshadeen and the folks who lived here, before he managed to make any more stupid mistakes.
And I’d really like to get away from Idalia so she can—
He stopped himself just as he was thinking “get over it.” She wasn’t going to get over it. She wasn’t ever going to “get over it.” But he could take himself off so she could pretend she could. So this would be a good time to get out and see the sights. There were several hours of light left.
And who better to tell him about Sentarshadeen than the people who—so Idalia said—were exempt from all local customs? He wondered how hard it would be to find a kid around here.
Taking a last look around the disorder of the common room, Kellen went out, closing the front door carefully, and very quietly, behind him.
HE went back down the cliff footpath, to wander the twisting paths along the cliffside among the small houses. This time he saw a number of adult Elves going about their business (all of them ignored him, very politely), but he had no intention of approaching any of them. He was looking for someone quite different.
Idalia said there weren’t a lot of Elf-kids. If I were a kid, and I didn’t have anybody to play with, where would I go?
He’d been walking for about half an hour, Kellen judged, mostly upstream along the riverbed—there was a trickle along the very bottom of the bed, mostly for decoration, he guessed—when he saw the boy.
The Elf-child was playing by himself down in the muddiest part of the streambed, and just like any other child, mud had gotten all over his skin and his clothes. His black hair was cut short, just brushing his shoulders, and Kellen was amused to see that there seemed to be mud there too. In fact, with a little work, the kid could probably get the rocks dirty. He was concentrating intently on something between his feet. Kellen saw something flicker on the surface of the water, passing him where he stood—a tiny boat made of folded colored paper.
The Obsidian Mountain Trilogy Page 46
