Greendaughter (Book 6) (14 page)

“And now we will likely get no evening meal,” Chyrie sighed, “and I am
very
hungry.”

Val chuckled.

“You have eaten five times today already,” he said. “Those young ones are more ravenous than a bear after his winter’s sleep. Come, we will find the place where their food is prepared and get our own meal.”

Rivkah had not shown them the kitchens, but the elves had only to follow their noses, reasoning correctly that if the lord ate hot food in the dining hall, the place where that food was prepared could not be too distant.

Valann and Chyrie, accustomed to preparing food and seeing it prepared over open fires, could never have imagined a place like the kitchens. The barrage on their senses—smells of numerous foods and smoke, the confusion of numbers of humans hurrying here and there, and the clamor of noises—almost made them retreat, but curiosity and hunger were stronger, and they marched boldly in.

Preparations for dinner were in progress, and at first the humans were too busy to notice their guests. When the first woman shrieked and dropped the bowl she had been carrying, however, all work stopped, and the humans stood staring in silence at this unexpected invasion.

“We would like food,” Valann said, a little uncertainly.

Several of the humans glanced worriedly at each other, and a few murmured together; finally one of the younger males nerved himself to come forward.

“Do you wish your dinner in your quarters?” he said very slowly and rather loudly, as if to make himself better understood.

“Why carry it so far?” Val asked, surprised. “We will eat here if there is a place for us.”

There was another moment of awkward silence, then hurriedly servants rushed to clear off space at the end of one of the tables, while others brought platters, goblets, and bowls. This time Val and Chyrie allowed the servants to pile up cushions for them to sit upon, for sitting on the table would have obviously taken up their work space.

“This is good food,” Chyrie said cheerfully, reaching for a second joint of fowl. “I admit it surprised me, how fine human food can be.” She looked dubiously, however, at the wine. “Have you any beer in this place?”

The young man who had spoken to them quickly poured tankards of cellar-cold beer, and the humans rather self-consciously returned to their work, not without frequent glances at the elves. By the time Valann and Chyrie had had their fill, the wary glances were occasionally interspersed with amused and even proud grins at the enthusiasm with which the elves attacked the food, and the uneasy servility had been replaced by a kind of jovial competition over whose preparations found the most favor with their guests.

As Valann and Chyrie expected, there was no invitation to join Rivkah and her teacher; Chyrie speculated that hopefully Rivkah’s teacher was being similarly neglected. They took advantage of their quiet evening to pay another visit to the bathing pool, and then took some wine—their own—and a couple of furs to the top of the watchtower Rivkah had shown them. They had been afraid that there might be night guards on the watchtower, but there were none; either they were all occupied elsewhere, or Sharl did not yet see the need for constant vigilance actually within the city.

They made themselves a comfortable seat on the wall in one of the cut-out niches, lining it with the soft fur, and settled there, one behind the other. From this height, the city seemed to sparkle with lights. The glow of fires in the streets and at hearths, torches, and lanterns all produced the illusion of a swarm of fireflies settling over the buildings.

“It is beautiful,” Valann admitted, wrapping warm arms around Chyrie. “Look, they have created their own forest—a forest of stone and light.”

Chyrie leaned back against him, enjoying, as always, the feeling of his hard chest against her back. The city
was
beautiful by moonlight, but it was a beauty that troubled her—a forest, yes, but of cold, dead stone. Fireflies, yes, but not living things. Despite the huge number of lives in this city, the city was a dead place feigning life.

“I do not want my children born here,” she murmured. “Not in this place. Please promise me that.”

“Yes, they must be born in the forest.” Valann kissed the back of her neck. “And you should be among our own people when your time comes upon you in any wise, although I fear no healer in the forest knows any more than I do about bringing two children at one birthing.”

Chyrie felt a gentle tug at her mind and looked toward the forest, recognizing Dusk’s touch. Her keen night vision picked out the approaching owl, and she gasped—-this was a great-grandfather owl, absolutely huge. There was no question of holding out her arm for this gigantic bird; Valann and Chyrie scrambled off the wall and stood back to give it room.

The ancient owl was so pale a gray as to be almost white. It did not land, but flapped ponderously down close to the top of the tower, dropped a packet, and rose laboriously again, this time making a circle of the city. Chyrie knew that in this darkness, there was little danger among the night-blind humans that one might try to shoot it, and doubtless Dusk wanted his own look at the human city.

“It is the map he promised,” Chyrie said, unfolding the skin. Many more clans had been marked from the preliminary map they had seen in Rowan’s hut.

Val was silent for a long moment.

“I have thought on this,” he said. “Do you think we are wise giving Sharl this map? From it he will know the location of each of the clans, something we have kept hidden even one clan from the other for so many centuries. He can guess our numbers as well. Should we trust the humans with this knowledge?”

Chyrie gazed worriedly at the map. The Wilding marker seemed very visible, very prominent on the map. She thought about how few the Wildings were, how vulnerable they were there at the edge of the forest, easily accessible, bounded by hostile clans who would slay them if they tried to flee deeper into the forest.

“It is too late for caution,” Chyrie said slowly. “Rowan did not conceal her map from the humans, and we ourselves showed her where to mark Wilding upon it. Now we can betray only out-kin. We must trust in the geas to protect us after this conflict, should these humans have an inclination to make use of this knowledge.”

“What you say is true. We will give him the map, but not at this moment.” Val rolled the skin again, and they resumed their cozy seat on the wall, watching the great owl turn back toward the dark blur of the forest.

Val rubbed his cheek against her short curls. “I know why you never let your hair grow, love.”

“Because it is cool and easy to care for.” Chyrie laughed, shaking her head so that her hair danced over Valann’s face. “Because I enjoy tickling your nose.”

“Because I am blessed with the kindest mate who ever took pity on a man embarrassed by his overabundant fur,” Val corrected. “But let it grow, love, if you wish, for in but a few months our kinfolk will be staring at our two children, and they would not see us if we were dyed blue.”

“What of one dyed every color the Mother Forest has ever created?” Chyrie teased, pushing up the sleeve of her tunic to display his latest rainbow-hued butterfly. “Am I not your silent boast of the extent of your gifts?”

“It is yours I envy,” Val said, in a tone so serious that it surprised Chyrie. “The wild blood in you is what first drew me to you, love. Sometimes through you I feel as though I touch the Mother Forest Herself.”

“Do you?” Chyrie turned to him and smiled. “At this moment I only wish you would touch me.”

Valann slid from their seat and lifted her carefully down to the waiting furs.

“Nothing”—he smiled back—“would please me more.”

Chapter Twelve

Cyrie shivered and stepped uneasily closer to Valann. She could never have imagined so many humans in one place. Massed together there in the marketplace, they looked like an army.

Sharl waited for the angry shouting to die down before he continued.

“These elves are only envoys,” he said. “There are whole clans in the forest who are joining us as allies. Other clans who refused are changing their minds. There are still some who do refuse, but we’ll work with the clans willing to help us. It is still my hope to forge a lasting peace with the elves, and it isn’t a vain hope. My journey through the forest, and these envoys at my side, they prove it.”

“They’ve killed many of us,” a man shouted, “including your own guard. Why should we trust them?”

“As I said, there are certain clans still hostile to us,” Sharl said. “They are angry at us, just as you would be angry if someone came onto your land and stole your livestock or trampled on your crops. The forest is their land, and when we hunt there, we are taking
their
livestock, the food from their children’s mouths. When we cut down the trees, we’re taking their shelter and their protection. They’ve only protected their land, just as I want to protect ours.”

A thoughtful murmur ran through the crowd, but another man stepped forward, and Chyrie recognized Romuel.

“If we can’t hunt or cut timber,” he shouted, “how will we survive? We need game and fruit to store against a siege. We need wood to build some of the fortifications, for our very homes, for fires. We can’t go on burning dung and river drift forever.”

“We’ll burn peat,” Sharl said. “I’ve had men cutting peat at the swamp’s edge for many months now. We’ve been burning it in the keep, and it burns well. Not hot enough for a forge, but wood doesn’t burn that hot, either. For that we’ll need black rock from the north, and I’ve already bargained for a large load to arrive within days. We’ll build your homes from stone, as we’ve been doing, and stone won’t burn down if our enemies shoot a fire arrow into it.”

“And what of food?” a woman called. “We can’t eat stone. If the city is besieged, we’ll starve, and now you say the elves are sending more mouths for us to feed.”

“The elves who shelter here will bring their own food,” Sharl answered. “There’s still good hunting on the plains west of the river, and there’s fish in the Brightwater. I’ve been told that the elves who come to us will earn their keep helping us to fish and hunt, those who can, and even standing as bowmen in battle. Some are healers, and others have other magic they will use on our behalf. Some have skills they will teach us. They’re a brave folk, and I’m proud to have them stand beside me.”

“And how do you know they won’t turn on us?” the woman demanded. “How do you know they won’t take our city themselves, once they have a foothold in it?”

Sharl chuckled.

“I’ll let them answer that themselves,” he said, pushing Valann and Chyrie forward.

Chyrie gaped, shocked to silence, but Valann faced the woman squarely.

“We have lived in the forest century upon century,” he said. “Had we wanted a stone city, we could have long ago built one. We do not wish to live here anymore than you wish to live in the water like a fish. And we will not turn on you because we do not wish to trade one enemy for another. We wish only to protect our people and keep our homes, even as you do. Even those clans who will not ally with humans would not harm any of you, if you would keep from their lands and leave them be.”

“I’ve met with the leader of the elven alliance,” Sharl said. “She’s a wise leader and has dealt with me fairly and honestly, and I believe she will continue to do so.”

“And what if you fall?” a man shouted. “What will become of us then?”

“Then my lady will lead you,” Sharl said, “and after her, my heir.” He seized Rivkah’s hand and pulled her forward. “This very hour we will be wed on the steps of the keep. I will give you a High Lady, my people, and I will give you an heir. What will you give me? Will you give me the loyalty you swore when I brought you here?”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then a “Yes!” came from somewhere near the back of the crowd. Another joined it, and another. Slowly the cry built, as resolution replaced the doubt and anger on the people’s faces. Some joined hands; others lifted their children high, and finally most of the crowd were cheering. Valann and Chyrie hurriedly retreated to Sharl’s carriage before the humans swarmed upon Sharl and Rivkah, lifting them over their heads and carrying them, laughing, to a wagon full of hay and tossing them in. Dozens of humans clustered around the wagon, pulling it toward the keep.

(What an odd thing,)
Chyrie thought, frowning
. (Why should they not doubt him now, simply because he will mate Rivkah?)

(Because now he has a mate and child to protect,)
Valann told her.
(They see that he risks as much as they. A man alone may spend his life cheaply if he is foolhardy. You know that nothing fights more fiercely than a beast defending the young in its den.)

Because of the mass of people going before it, the carriage took longer to reach the keep and could not get through the crowd at the gate. The carriage driver shrugged and tied the horses at the wall, resigned.

“Now we will miss their mating,” Chyrie said disgustedly, “although we are in some part responsible for it. I cannot push through that crowd of humans, nor see over their towering heads.”

“Then we will find another way,” Valann said. “This wall was made to keep out large-footed humans, not nimble tree-climbing elves, and we can descend from one of the towers and go around the crowd.”

Valann was right; doffing their boots, the elves found ample fingerholds and toeholds on the stone block wall, and despite its height soon reached the top. Sharl and Rivkah were already on the steps of the keep with a strangely robed human male, presumably the priest, but the ceremony had not proceeded, as Sharl and Rivkah looked worriedly around them. At last Rivkah spotted the elves atop the wall and pointed, laughing.

“There you are!” Sharl shouted. “Come down and stand with us!”

Valann nudged Chyrie, pointing to the hay-filled wagon sitting just inside the wall not far away. Chyrie nodded delightedly, and they ran across the walkway to the appropriate spot. Valann leaped first, shouting with laughter as he bounced on the loose hay; then Chyrie followed, gasping with joy as, for once, she flew in her own body. The hay smelled sweet and fresh, but it was scratchy and managed to insinuate itself into her hair and clothing, and Chyrie brushed vainly at herself as Val pulled her around the crowd to Sharl and Rivkah’s side.

The human ceremony made little sense to the elves; while they understood the words the priest used, the usage itself was confusing. It was certainly like no mating ceremony Chyrie or Valann had ever seen.

(They speak much of lands and duties,)
Chyrie thought, scowling.
(Why do they say nothing of the joys of mating, the binding of spirits? Are they such grim folk that for them there is no pleasure in mating, only purpose?)

(It cannot be so joyless as all that,)
Val returned
, (or they would never mate. You can see that they are happy from their faces. Later you can ask Rivkah what pleasures are found in mating for the human folk. I wish only to get out of this press of humans. They smell unclean, and they look at us as we look at out-kin patrols, despite Sharl’s words.)

Sharl repeated his promises after the priest, then Rivkah. Chyrie turned to gaze at Valann, clasping his hand.

(Two hearts that beat as one,)
she thought, remembering the day of their mating, the smell of the sweet oils that had been rubbed into her skin and the flowers strewn about them
. (Two bodies, one spirit.)

(We are the seedlings of the Mother Forest,)
Val replied
. (Warm fain, rich soil, and ripe seed; the blessings of the Mother Forest on our mating.)

(May our children be many as the leaves of the tree,)
Chyrie thought, grinning as she touched her belly
. (May the sun shine bright upon them.)

The priest had finished his long list of stern reminders to Sharl and Rivkah of the many duties and responsibilities associated with their mating. He intoned some final blessing, and the people began to cheer and shout, startling Valann and Chyrie very much. Masses of humans rushed forward to embrace Sharl and Rivkah, and Val and Chyrie hurriedly retreated around them and inside the door of the keep, peering out cautiously around the sturdy wooden doors.

“I, too, do not enjoy such crowded gatherings,” a light voice said, startling them even more. They turned to confront a gray-haired human male, short and slight, a few wrinkles around his eyes and mouth betraying his age.

“Forgive me,” the man said, breaking into a sunny smile. “I am Loren, a friend of Rivkah’s.”

“Her teacher?” Chyrie eyed the man with new respect, seeing nothing to distinguish him from other humans. “We are honored ….Grandfather,” she said a little hesitantly. The human word did not carry quite the same connotations as its elven equivalent. “I am Chyrie, and my mate is Valann.”

“And I’m Loren. Oh, I said that already, didn’t I?” He grinned even more widely. “Rivkah promised to introduce me to the two of you, but things as they stand, I thought I’d leave her be and simply introduce myself, and ask if you might care to dine with me this evening. I imagine the happy bride and groom will be—ah—dining privately, and likely supping in their quarters as well.”

“The first night we were mated”—Val chuckled—“we forgot to eat entirely.”

“For two days,” Chyrie added.

Loren laughed delightedly.

“You are so wonderfully different from the elves near Cielman,” he said. “Come, let us leave this joyful crowd to themselves.”

“Only a moment,” Val said. “We must wish them well.”

It meant another difficult push through the crowd, but Val and Chyrie finally managed to make their way back to Sharl and Rivkah.

“May your joy go deep as the roots of the Mother Forest,”

Val said, nodding to Sharl and Rivkah.

“May your children be many as the leaves of Her trees,” Chyrie finished. She pulled Rivkah down for a hug. “My heart sings for you,” she whispered into the human woman’s ear.

Loren was still waiting for them, and he escorted them back up to his own quarters. Unlike Val and Chyrie’s spacious room, his quarters were divided into three rooms: a sitting room, a sleeping room, and a sort of study. Servants appeared, laying a hearty supper in the sitting room, and Loren fussed over the meal until Val and Chyrie felt amusedly at ease with him.

“I would have come south with Rivkah and Lord Sharl,” Loren chattered, “but they were traveling fast, and an old crow like me would only have slowed them down. Besides, when you reach my age, you want to travel a little more comfortably. And of course there were the other mages to bring, too. So tell me,” he said, switching to heavily accented and rather clumsy Olvenic, “have my studies proved worthwhile?”

“I believe the elves you have met speak a slightly different tongue than we, Grandfather,” Valann said diplomatically. “Perhaps it would be wisest for us to converse in the human tongue for your convenience.”

“How very kind of you.” Loren beamed at them. “You know, I’m really quite sorry the elves hereabouts aren’t on better terms with the city. It’s a terrible pity. There was an elven village only a few leagues from Cielman, but they were so very aloof, you know, we never saw them except through our merchants, and even they weren’t allowed into the city itself; they had to set up stalls outside the walls and do their trade there. Hardly profitable. I was so hoping the elves here would be more friendly. I wanted so very much to learn about elven magic, you know. And now I hear that the humans and elves hereabouts don’t get along at all. But you’re rather different from the northern elves, you know,” he continued thoughtfully. “Rather—if you don’t mind my saying—smaller, really.”

“We are Wilding,” Valann told him. “Wildings are small in stature. Many other clans are taller, much taller, and colored differently. There will be elves from many clans coming here soon.”

“Wilding. How interesting, how very interesting.” Loren smiled. “And I don’t suppose either of you are mages, or Rivkah would have told me.”

Valann and Chyrie exchanged glances.

“We have few ‘mages’ as the humans mean,” Chyrie said slowly. “Valann is a healer and I am a beast-speaker, and those are gifts given to few elves, but there are many such gifts. Our Gifted Ones are those who have been given many such gifts, or whose gifts are exceptionally strong. I have seen Gifted Ones who are likely what you would consider ‘mages,’ but I think they are somewhat different. I cannot explain it, I fear.”

 “Do you suppose any of these elven mages might come to the city?” Loren asked wistfully.

“I do not doubt it,” Valann said. “Many clans will be sending females with child to the city. I know that the Gifted One of the Dawn’s Edges, a healer, will arrive soon, and surely there will be others.”

“How wonderful, how very wonderful,” Loren said delightedly. “But tell me, my lovely Chyrie, whatever is a ‘beast-speaker’?”

“The Mother Forest has blessed me with the ability to touch the minds of Her creatures,” Chyrie said. “It is an especially useful gift for sending messages over long distances. Even the youngest-minded beast can carry a message in thought to another beast-speaker, and follow simple commands if they choose to do so.”

“How marvelous!” Loren exclaimed. “And can you do that with any animal you like?”

Chyrie raised her eyebrows.

“If there are beasts I cannot touch, I do not know,” she said. “I have never met such a creature.”

“Well, let’s see, shall we?” Loren peeped into his pockets as if searching for something. “Weeka? Where are you hiding, Weeka, my pet? Come out, little one, and say hello to my new friends. Aha, there you are!”