Chapter 6
On the morn, while preparations were underway, Danai found a moment to ask Shamarig a question that had been niggling at her. “What happened to Alainn?”
Surprised, the harpist halted his making of journey food packets and looked down at her. “Why?”
“I was thinking that, well...” Danai stammered, not quite sure how to express her thoughts. “Well, he was a youngling of love and light and music. Despite what happened, somehow it seems he would have become someone among the Troich.”
He smiled. “A true thought. Alainn is my distant sire, father of my eleven forefathers. Even now, he is spoken of as the greatest of all the Troich Clarsairs. There was Ael magic in his music. Clarsach is his harp.”
Her eyes flew to the covered instrument, snuggled in its shadowed niche. “Then the face is Aelvina’s?”
Shamarig nodded. “As her son imagined her to be. None of the Troich had ever seen the Ael-maid, and although the alliance was established, commerce between the two folk has always remained uncommon. It is not known if Alainn garnered the image through converse with an Ael, but I think it unlikely.”
“A harp so old must have its own magic. Does that magic affect thy abilities?”
The dwarf frowned briefly. “Not in the way thee may think. The harp allows me to express my skill in that it grants the most beauty of music of any instrument among our folk, but it cannot mask a flaw. That is why one of the music trials at the Eisteddfod is a song done without any instrument. To ensure our voices are our own.” He gathered the food bundles and handed one down to her. “Thee asks more questions than I would expect from a youngling. Is such curiosity a way of thy folk?”
“No more or less than any other, I would guess,” Danai replied after a moment’s thought. “I tend to be a bit of a loner. Triasa—she’s my aunt—says I’m just shy and will grow out of it. But I do have more time to think.”
Tlarg, already loaded, stood beside the entry and stamped his boot with impatience. “Time to be on, time to be on! Have ye all refilled thy acorns with water, thy sacks with food? Good. Then let us away.” He clasped his brother’s wrists. “I will be back before Comhairle.”
As they exited the cave, each spryte bowed low before Shamarig, thanking him for his hospitality. Danai was last, and unexpectedly the dwarf bent down and gently clasped her arm, his hand engulfing her to the elbow. “Thee are much like an Ael-maid,” he murmured, a softness in his eyes. “Be wary maiden. There is a feeling in the Anam’s sending that disturbs me greatly, and it was sent to thee, I suspect. Thee will have much need of thy folk’s teachings. If ever thee feels a need for aid, cry thusly for my friends, the magpies.” He imitated the birds’ raucous squawk, startling the others. “Tell them to bring thy message, and I will do as I am able.”
Aaron frowned as he saw Shamarig holding Danai’s arm. He found himself irritated by such close contact and was glad when the dwarf released her.
Tlarg set a quick-march pace through the tunnels. “Sorry I am that we cannot stop to see some of the other marvels I mentioned,” he said during a brief watering stop. “But I would hope ye will perchance come again to visit an old Troich and I shall have a chance to make amends?”
“How would we reach thee?” Joson asked.
The dwarf grinned through his beard. “Strange may it seem, but above earth, our closest comrades be the birds.”
“The birds!” Aaron nearly stumbled in surprise. Airborne frolicking creatures did not seem the natural compliment to dirt-delving dwarves.
“Aye. A good tale that, and one to be saved for another visit with my brother. Needs not say that he tells it best. That squawk he gave was that of the magpie, and unless I miss my guess, he gave that knowledge to thee maiden if ever thee needs his aid.” Danai nodded. “For me, shriek like the mocking azure jays. Those noisy upstarts remind me of my youth, and while I count all the winged creatures as acquaintances, among the jay folk I have special friends who will search me out with thy messages.”
The tunnel, which ran fairly level, marched by many workings and caves. Dwarves would occasionally peer out to find the source of tramping boots, and Tlarg would give a cheery greeting. They stayed that night with Mandalak, and the sprytes were surprised at how closely the lady dwarves resembled their fellows, lacking only a beard.
The next day their path began to bore downwards through the mountain side with no off-tunnels, and the scent of metal, edged with fire, sharpened. The sprytes’ leg muscles tightened as they braced against the steep descent.
“Phew,” gasped Joson after some time. “Why so steep a trail Tlarg?”
“We are in the belly of a cliff near the Meall Clarsair, and never were found any gems of worth in its guts. Old diggings have long since been filled, and this route is simply to bring our folk to the Well, and the lands outside. Why go roundabout when the direct trail is quickest?”
“Well, at least it’s helping you to lose weight Joson,” Aaron half laughed, half gasped. “I swear the Mentors won’t recognize you when we return. And won’t the maids be impressed?”
Just when their legs felt as if they could not hike any further, the tunnel abruptly ended. A rock face greeted them, fretted with sunlight from a small rune-like carving that pierced the stone, set at the height of a dwarf’s eyes. Tlarg peered through, then gently placed his hand on the rough-hewn wall and spoke a spell. The stone creaked open to reveal a narrow rocky ledge fringed with swaying tree branches, swathed in warm late-day sunshine.
“Tlarg, are all the tunnels sealed shut?” Danai asked, blinking at the brightness.
“Most are, where there be too easy an access.” Tlarg shielded his eyes and stepped gingerly into the light. “At the higher reaches we often leave them open. For all that we are now creatures under earth, we still love the Mother’s realm.”
When their eyes had adjusted to the light, the sprytes beheld the vale of Shamarig’s song.
On the far side a waterfall thundered down a weathered gray cliff, darkening its flanks with spray. A wide creek roiled away from the pile of broken stone at its base, weaving off on a course that flowed southeast from the valley’s northern-most end. Rowan and holly dotted the vale’s hem with bursts of ivory and gold blossoms, and the meadow was filled with flowers of every hue. Purple milkwort, yellow primrose, and pink wild thyme shared the grass with white and yellow daisies. Flashes of birds colored the air, while snatches of their melodies bounced from tree branch to meadow. A gentle breeze wafted the sweet fragrance of sun-warmed grass and flowers around them.
“There be the Well of Truth,” pointed Tlarg, drawing their attention to what looked like a pile of white stones off to the near side of the falls. “And here must I bid ye farewell. Remember that eventide comes early to this vale, what with the high-cliffed mountains. Seek ye out a safe place—and sooner than when we first met.” He chuckled.
Impulsively, Danai jumped forward to hug the dwarf’s knee, startling a smile to his face. The other sprytes did likewise. “There’s no way to say thanks,” Danai said. “Thee saved our lives and more.”
“Danai speaks for us all Tlarg,” Aaron agreed. “Granted we are only small sprytes, not yet even winged, but if thee ever needs our help, thee knows from where each of us hails, and thee can send a message by thy jays.”
Clasping their wrists and wishing them good tellings from the Well, Tlarg stepped back into the darkness. The stone swung shut with a faint click. Had they not known where to look, the small rune would have appeared as nothing more than the handiwork of wind and water.
“Let’s go,” Joson urged. “That grass down there is taller than us, and we need to reach the Well.”
“And just how are we to get down?” Tatia knelt and peered over the edge. “Maybe dwarves can jump down from here, but I have no burning desire to break my neck.”
“It’s easy! We’ll use spinners.” Aaron whooped with glee, glad to be out in sunshine and open air. He ran over to one of the trees whose branches overspanned the ledge—a tall maple loaded down with wide-winged seed pods. “Grab one of these and down we’ll go!” He seized a pod as large as himself and snapped it free, leaving the long stem intact. Then, giving a cheerful shout, he flung himself over the edge, the stem wrapped tightly around both hands. The upward rush of air caught the pod’s wings, and it began to spin rapidly, flinging Aaron’s legs every which way. He landed with a soft thump in the long grass near the tree’s roots. “It’s fun,” he yelled up through cupped hands. “Try it!”
“I don’t think so,” Tatia said. “But the tree is a good idea.” Jumping lightly onto an oak branch, she dodged among the dark green leaves until reaching the fissured gray bark. Its many hand and toeholds made it easy to scramble down, and Joson followed close behind her. Neither noticed Danai take a deep breath, then walk over and snap off a seed pod.
“Lunasa guard me, I must be crazy,” she breathed, then launched herself off the ledge. The world spun crazily about, and she clung to the stem for dear life. In a moment, the wild ride was over, her rump colliding with firm ground.
“Good for you Danai!” Aaron grinned, helping her to her feet. “You may feel dizzy for a few moments. Good thing it’s been a while since we ate. For sure don’t try to walk in a straight line.”
“Dizzy isn’t quite the way I’d put it,” Danai said, trying to ignore her still-spinning stomach. The other two reached the oak’s roots then hurried over to join them.
“You’re both sun-touched,” Tatia snapped. “Whatever gave you such a madcap idea?”
“Ah, the fellows do it all the time up by Bubble Falls,” Aaron shrugged. “Couple of lads have broken an arm or leg if the stem gets away from them but it sure is fun!”
“If you say so.” Joson looked dubiously at his friend. “But we had better get going. The Well is still a ways off.”
The wind-brushed grasses sighed high over their heads as they struck out towards the falls, relying on its steady thunder as a guide. The breeze did not reach below the green-tasseled grass tops, and the humid air smelled of ripe grass and moist earth. Aaron wiped sweat away from his eyes. “I have a new appreciation of the need for wings. You’re awful quiet Danai.”
She flushed. “Just thinking about Curbarig and Aelvina. So what if they were of different folk? The whole thing just seems so sad and stupid. I mean three died because of her father’s false pride. If folk are in love with each other, then let them alone,” she added with some heat.
“Easier said than done,” Joson disagreed, dodging around a large pebble. “Can you imagine how our elders would react if we came toddling home and announced we were seriously in love with a dwarf or Ael? I know my kinfolk would throw fits.”
“I don’t see how we could be involved with other folk anyway,” Tatia said. “I mean, when you get down to the, um, physical issues, there’s not much that could happen.”
Joson looked pained, but Aaron just chuckled. “Always the realist in such matters, huh?”
“But seriously,” Danai insisted, determined not to let the conversation turn banal. “What if it did happen? Why would it be so wrong? Love is love.”
“Yes and no.” Joson paused to catch his breath. “I know the bards and skalds sing tales of love as if it were the highest of achievements. Talk about it sometimes like it’s an altered state or something. But the fact is, love doesn’t work alone, unless you go off and live apart from your dell. You have to live among your folk, socialize, follow the rules if you’re to eat and survive. An absolute disregard for the framework on which we build our lives can only lead to trouble.” He shook his head sadly. “Even a love like theirs that achieved bard legend couldn’t transcend those rules. Maybe for a brief, wonderful while, but reality has a nasty habit of taking the heavy hand in the end.”
“Maybe. But sometimes it does transcend in that it redefines those rules. After that tragedy, at least the Ael and dwarves were willing to associate.”
“In word, but not much in deed from what Shamarig told us. So what did really change?”
Ahead, Aaron scrambled up the side of a rough reddish stone whose top protruded above the grass, and peered around, shading his eyes for a better view. “Hey! We made good time. Looks like just a short march. We need to bear a little to the right though, or we’ll pass the Well and wind up near the base of the falls. Can you see the cliff face from there if you look up?”
“I can,” Joson shouted back.
“Good. Then take a bearing. See that long blackish streak, about midway? We need to aim for the very end of that.” He almost tumbled down the rock face with excitement. “We’re nearly there!” His enthusiasm bubbled through them, and they hurried through a thicket of daisy leaves. A dumbledore buzzed loudly over their heads for a moment, its wings providing a welcome fanning of air. Ahead, the light seemed to brighten. Pushing through a barrier of flower stems, they stepped into a ring of close-sheared grass that surrounded the Well.
Despite its proximity to the falls, the ring seemed shrouded by calming silence. The Well sat off-center, closer to the cliff face, its stones weathered to mellow ivory, flowers competing for toeholds among its nooks. Flutterbies danced along air currents, brilliant spots of color; nearby a robin trilled, another answered.
The Well reminded Danai of a waiting elder, seated on a stone, content to linger in the warm sunshine enjoying a moment when past and future dissolved into now. They had journeyed seven days to ask it their questions. She realized she feared what it might say, and she exhaled slowly past the knot in her stomach.
“Now what?” Tatia whispered, giving voice to the question uppermost in their minds. She was oddly pale, her pearl skin dulled almost to gray.
“I guess we’d better get it over with.” Aaron’s bright smile couldn’t quite mask the quaver in his voice. “Come on!” He strode forward, shoulders flung back, eyes fixed on the Well.
How brave he is, Danai thought, hastening into step behind him. He might be the pod joker, but underneath that cynical exterior, she had seen much to admire.
The Well loomed, framed by the sky-reaching backdrop of the craggy gray cliff. They halted under a clump of violets, the deep purple blossoms nodding in the breeze, providing richly scented shadows.
“I’ll go first.” Aaron took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, then approached the Well. They watched him as he suddenly knelt before it, almost disappearing in the grass, then stood and reached out slowly to touch the white stones. His lips moved. Then he stiffened, mouth slightly open, eyes staring, a golden statue. After a few moments he gulped for breath as if coming up from under water, then bowed. His face wore a puzzled expression as he walked back to their violet clump. They waited for him to speak.
“It’s...it’s...no, you’re going to have to feel it for yourself. I can’t describe it. And I’ve not got a clue what the Well meant.” He paused, frowning. “It said, ‘Aaron, laugh not, mock not, die not.’ It just doesn’t make any sense. What has that got to do with my future?” He gestured curtly at Joson. “You’d better go ahead. Remember what Tlarg told us about finding a safe place early.”
Joson proceeded, and likewise returned with a confused expression. “I asked if I was destined for anything great among our folk. The Well said, ‘Joson, you will stand with the three to fight fire, and give near your all.’ And I thought Aaron’s reply was strange.”
“Try bizarre.” Aaron shook his head. “It answers in kryptics.”
Danai held back, and with a slight sneer, Tatia advanced, soon retracing her steps, a contented smile lighting her eyes. “Yes, I asked about my Chosen One. It said, ‘Tatia, through the doings of another, as a child shall you find a life beyond your imaginings.’ That sounds pretty plain to me.”
They all looked at Danai. Trembling, she urged her feet to move, finally reaching the spot where the others had stood. The Well engulfed her, shutting out the sight of everything else.
The silence deepened, until all she could hear was a ringing in her ears. She felt an overwhelming urge to kneel and did, honoring those from whom the Well had sprung, then arose, panting softly, afraid to touch it. Her arm felt as if it carried a great weight. She placed her palm on the sun-warmed stones.
The ringing vanished. The silence was absolute, waiting, waiting. For her to speak. “Will I be of any use to my folk?” But that’s not what I meant to ask, she thought. The words seemed to vibrate in the air before her. She waited, cocooned in the silence.
A soft sigh eddied about her face, and she stiffened as a shimmering vibration emanated from the stones, the ground, the very air about her.
“Danai of silver.
You shall sacrifice your self to fire.
See all stamped by misled desire.
Rake ashes of lives.
Know winter of bitterness; survive.
Then triad the realm with folks’ dreams.”
The two voices, female intertwined with male, dissipated, replaced by the everyday muddle of meadow sounds. Shaking her head, Danai staggered back a step. “What do you mean?” she cried out. The Well sat in silence. She turned, making her way gradually back to her waiting podmates. Joson and Aaron reached out a comforting arm simultaneously. She repeated the kryptic verse. “It makes no sense. None at all. Did we waste our time?”
“I don’t think so,” Aaron answered. “We’re supposed to repeat this stuff to the Mentors when we get back, so maybe we’re not meant to understand it. At least not clearly.” Joson nodded in agreement, but Tatia laughed them off.
“Well, I did.”
“You think,” Joson returned sourly. “Let’s go find a bower site. Haven’t you noticed how the shadows are already half way across the vale?” He pointed towards a fallen tree, partially visible on the ring’s eastern edge, with clumps of thick-boled ferns hugging its sides. “That may be a good spot. Although I’m not too keen on fallen trees just now.”
Taking a wide loop around the Well, they approached the tree with caution in case something else was already using it. Behind them the shadows continued their own march, initiating the eventide melody of cricket thrumming and bird warbles. Aaron thunked on the tree and was rewarded with a hollow boom. “Been down a while. Let’s look for a squirrel nest hole, but stay together. Nice place for snakes, this. Make a quick snack of us if we look into their eyes.”
Cool green light filtered through the canopy of ferns as they paced along the trunk’s side, dodging around hillocks of decaying bark and wood fragments. “Hold on!” Aaron pointed at his feet, which were sinking into the mushy soil. “We had better go back. It’s looking real muddy up ahead, and I don’t fancy a mud-bath right now.” There was a soft sucking noise as he yanked his feet free.
They had more luck in the other direction, finding a knothole that widened into a comfortable hollow. A rank smell told them it had been used by some creature, but the dried grasses were dusty and undisturbed. Aaron grinned. “Saves us from having to dig out a bower.”
“Maybe,” Tatia wrinkled her nose. “But I am not sleeping on those smelly grasses. Come on Danai. Let’s gather some fresh ones.” They left the fellows behind to clean out the debris, and returned with large armfuls of fresh grass shoots and a few sweet-scented flower petals. By the time all was complete, gloaming had cloaked the vale. The now-still air was redolent with flowers’ sweet fragrance, and here and there a shimmer of nightwings flickered. Above, the first star glittered as the last fingers of sunlight dragged forth the night. They sat a little way from the tree’s trunk.
“See how Pyre Tor flames,” Joson said, craning his neck to look at the peak.
“Ugh. When you think about what it really is...” Danai shuddered.
“Was. The Ael died in that spellcasting. Served him right too. Don’t feel sympathy for him, Danai,” Aaron said.
Tatia was studying the Well thoughtfully; it glowed softly in the darkness. “Do you think the rest of the pod has been here already?”
“Now there’s a good question!” Aaron glanced about. “I guess we wouldn’t see any signs of them. This is not the sort of place you leave stuff lying around in. But you figure we took a bit of a shortcut, so maybe we’re first.”
“That’s assuming everybody started from the same point.” Joson yawned. “Remember, we got lead off in different directions. It’s anyone’s guess. The real question is what path we’re taking back. Going underground, we don’t have a trail to follow back. Got any ideas? And let’s get back inside. Stargazing is fine—but not in this strange place.”
Inside, they continued to discuss their return journey. “We pretty much traveled west-northwest,” Aaron said. “So we can head in reverse. I thought I saw a bit of a trail when I was on that high rock.”
“We could summon the jays and go back with Tlarg,” Danai ventured.
“Comhairle, remember?” Joson shook his head. “But calling the birds is a good idea. They may be able to give us directions.” He chuckled. “If I’ve learned nothing else from this journey, it’s to always look for landmarks. You’ve got to know where to begin and where to end. What happens in the middle is the adventure.”
* * *
Danai rolled over, trying to get comfortable, wishing she could fall asleep like the others. As she lay there, she noticed the entry seemed to be gradually brightening, until it became a rough-edged silvery circle. The light beckoned, and she rose and slipped out of the hollow, unaware of Aaron’s golden gaze.
Outside, a cool breeze lapped against her cheeks. Comforting night sounds dappled the air. A distant owl hooted. Cricket song tangled with bullfrog croaks. The rumble of the falls had softened. She found the lack of silence reassuring; any hunter’s presence would have cast a pall of quiet. Above, Lunasa showed only as a thin crescent. Yet before her, the Well was shimmering with its own light, waves of silver and pearl iridescence lapping across the stones, seeming to ebb and flow to a silent music. Curious, she took a step forward.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Aaron perched on the entry’s rim, smiling down. “Come on, let’s go take a look.” He leaped lightly to the ground, caught her hand, and pulled her towards the Well. As they walked through the ring, Danai felt a shiver of energy course through her feet, spiraling up her spine and spreading with the warmth of goldenvine dew. A thrum of harp music vibrated inside her mind, a sense of joyful eagerness. And something more.
Aaron tightened his grip.
“Aaron, wait,” she gasped softly. “Not yet. Please.”
He halted, pivoted, and closed the gap between them. “Why not?” he whispered, staring into her glowing emerald eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re so exciting, so different from any of the maids I’ve ever been with. I’ve been wondering what it would be like to kiss you ever since that moment you dug into the foxfire. Now I’ll find out.” He lowered his lips to hers, his arms sliding about her waist.
Danai closed her eyes, savoring the sweetness of her first real kiss, the fullness of Aaron’s lips, the firm strength of his body. The insistent energy coursing through her intensified, and her legs felt as if they were melting. As the kiss ended, she opened her eyes, a small smile quirking the corner of her mouth.
“Disappointed?” he murmured.
“Oh no!” She giggled, surprising herself. “I’ve always wondered what it was really like, and it’s much better than I imagined.”
“You’re not telling me this is the first time you’ve been kissed,” demanded Aaron in astonishment, receiving his answer from her suddenly downcast eyes. His arms tightened, and he kissed her again. About them a swirling tracery of light gathered, but they were only aware of each other.
Danai finally pulled away, feeling giddy and strangely heated. “Aaron, look at the Well!” Even as she spoke, a swelling opalescent bubble engulfed them, expanding to the ring’s edge. It played across their bodies, flickers of light dancing across their faces, tugging them slowly, irrevocably closer to the Well. Danai knew she should feel fear, but felt only a sense of anticipation. Aaron’s face reflected a matching eagerness. The light pulsed through them in tingling bursts of energy, making it hard to breathe.
At the foot of the Well, they turned towards each other. Danai felt more than herself, as if another were filling her body with an unbearable brightness of desire, of need, of joy, of long-denied love. She reached for Aaron, murmuring his name. He opened his arms in wide embrace, then gathered her to himself, engulfed with an unfamiliar intensity of feeling fueled by well-known desire.
“Danai?” he whispered raggedly.
“Aaron,” she assented.
* * *
Lunasa had traveled beyond the vale’s western rim when Danai’s eyes opened, aware of her body as never before. The duality she had sensed in the tumult of passion had subsided, and she was left to indulge in the warm aftermath of her first coupling. Aaron stirred, and she reached out to touch him, then hesitated, loathe to end the moment.
A deep note thrummed from the now-dimly glowing Well. Aaron’s eyes opened, and he rolled over to face her, propping his head on his hand. There was a surprising shyness to his smile. “It’s never been like that. No honest, I’m not just saying that. Look, yes, I’ve been with my share of maidens, but this was something different. It was more than just a physical thing. I...I felt as if I were a part of your heart, your spirit. As if I’d known you forever, yet had met you for the first time. I know, I know. It sounds sun-touched.” He reached out to stroke her cheek. “Am I making any sense?”
“Yes and no, I guess. You are the first, so I have nothing to compare.” She blushed at his surprise. “But did I feel one with you? Yes. As if we were more than ourselves yet as new as the dawn.” She stretched languorously. “I am new at this, you know. Is it reasonable to request seconds?” He chuckled and reached for her.
* * *
The hollow seemed musty after the freshness of the vale. They crept in, returning to their original sleeping places. Danai would have preferred to cuddle next to him, but reality was intruding. Already a niggle at the back of her mind whispered they had broken a major Order of the Rites—no coupling—and it dispelled the lingering sense of pleasure. And she had frowned upon Tatia for lusting after Aaron! How was she herself any better? Would the Mentors know? Worse yet, what about Triasa? Sleep was once again long in coming, and her dreams were riddled with a ring of Mentors screeching as she and Aaron mated under the glaring face of Lunasa.
* * * * *