The Silver Sun (22 page)

“What of you?” cried Hal desperately. “I saw no such lust in your soul!"

“It is there, nevertheless,” Alan replied wistfully. “Even now I feel the stirrings of envy over that marvelous crown I saw you wear. I am not Mireldeyn. The blood of the elves does not run in my veins, except that bit I received from you."

“Your brother speaks words of great wisdom,” said a quiet voice. Adaoun stood before them; Adaoun, the elf-father, the patriarch. Alan stood fixed in wonder at the age in his youthful eyes, but Hal stumbled toward him with outstretched hands.

“Adaoun,” he appealed, “what is this Alan tells me? Am I not a man, like other men?"

“You know you are not, Mireldeyn,” Adaoun replied, placing a hand on Hal's head in calming benediction. “You have felt it from your earliest days. Now that the truth is finally within your grasp, do not seek to flee from it!"

Hal hurled himself onto his bed. He pummeled his pillow in anguished fury, then sank back, clenching his shaking hands. Finally he took a deep breath, set his jaw and sat up.

“Very well,” he stated, “I am not just a man; I am something different, something called—Mireldeyn. What does it mean?"

“We must eat before we talk,” Adaoun told him. “Elwyndas has had little for days, now, and is weak from fever. Put on your shirts, and we shall eat outside."

Alan was indeed white and trembling from just the slight exertion of standing. “I'm sorry,” Hal murmured to him. “I have been thinking only of myself."

“Never mind that,” Alan grumbled. “Just help me with this sling."

They put on the garments that were laid out for them. Alan was surprised to find that they were of a very soft, fine, lightweight wool, not at all like the coarse woolen garb he had known, brilliantly dyed in shades of sunshine, leaves, sky and water. Though innocent of any ornament, the clothing was so delicately stitched and brightly colored that they felt they were arrayed like kings; and indeed Adaoun himself wore no better. They pulled on their boots, but left their swords behind, wearing only their chain-link belts for girding.

They found Adaoun on a grassy hill which sloped down to a lake set like a jewel in the center of the valley. Lysse was there with one of her brothers, a golden-haired elf who seemed like a young man in his twenties except for the centuries of wisdom in his eyes. His name was Anwyl—“beloved one.” They sat on the ground to eat. On wooden plates were eggs and cheeses, honey, fine breads and a variety of fruits, some of them unknown to Hal in spite of all his lore. They drank milk from wooden noggins. It took Alan a while to realize that there was no meat. Remembering that Lysse would taste none of his, he suddenly understood why the elves’ feet were bare, and why their belts were of cord, not leather. “Of course,” he thought. “They do not kill animals, creatures who speak to them heart to heart."

From the talk, Alan gathered that Hal had arrived at this place not long before himself. “I scarcely know how I found the spiral path,” Hal explained. “I was drawn to it somehow, and though I could hardly hope to find you on it, Alan, yet I knew I must ascend. As I neared the top, I felt the presence of Anwyl, and I spoke to him, though I could not see him: ‘
Ir hoime, wilndas elwedeyn, ir selte, to nessa ilder daelen frith
.’ ['Come to me, friend of the old blood, talk to me, for the sake of the former days of peace.'] He leaped down from above. I was terrified that he would fall, but he landed squarely on the path. He seemed much moved."

“Indeed, I was as much disturbed in my mind as an elf is ever likely to be,” remarked Anwyl. “I asked him who he was, that spoke to me in the Old Language, and he answered me: ‘Hal, son of Gwynllian, heir of Torre, Taran, and the line of the Blessed Kings of Welas.’ Then I longed to kneel and swear fealty to him, for I knew he was Mireldeyn. But great weariness and distress weighted him, so I refrained, and led him hither."

“Greatly was my heart torn, Alan,” Hal said quietly, “between my joy and wonder at this place and my fear for you. I poured out my anguish to Adaoun, but scarcely had I finished when you arrived."

“I believe I was sent to bring him,” said Lysee. “There was no reason for me to go to the lower slopes, where those cowardly men fell upon me, except that I felt I must."

“What does it mean, Adaoun?” asked Hal. “I feel the threads of destiny all around me."

“Before I can tell you,” Adaoun replied, “I must know how much you understand."

“Where must I start?"

“At the Beginning."

They cleared away the breakfast and settled back against trees. Lysse brought pillows for Alan, and he lay at her side. The air was not hot, though it was almost midsummer, but mild as springtime.

“Before there was time,” Hal began, “there was the One."

“And what is the One?” Adaoun asked.

Alan understood, as he seemed to understand everything now, that the One was an essence and emanation neither good nor evil, neither female nor male nor yet a sexless spirit, but all of each of these. There was a word for such essence in the Old Language; it was called Aene. But he could not have explained it in the language of Isle.

“The One is sun and moon, dawn and dusk, hawk and hunted,” Hal averred.

“Ay,” Adaoun agreed softly, “Star Son and Moon Mother, Fatherking and Sacred Son, Black Virgin and snowy Babe and russet rowan Lady of All Trees; they are all in Aene. Even the crescent-horned god is in Aene. But man has made his worship a divided thing, to his sorrow."

“At the Beginning of Time,” Hal went on, “the One sang out earth and sky, days and seasons, and all the plants and beasts. And Aene loved that song. You were in it, Adaoun, and your mate Elveyn. You loved peace and beauty, and lived alongside the beasts. Progeny came to you."

“Anwyl here was among the first."

“What was it like, Adaoun, in those Beginning days?"

“Ah, Mireldeyn, it was beautiful, so beautiful,” Adaoun sighed. “Great birds flew in the air, and little ones made music in every tree. Life was abundant; nowhere was there desolation, for even the deserts bloomed. Many wonderful creatures have since vanished from the earth; shining dragons and playful sea-beasts.... But of all creatures that walked upon earth, the noblest were the horses, and their kin, the unicorns. And of all creatures that soared the sky, the noblest were the eagles."

Adaoun rose to his feet and, putting fingers to his teeth, blew a piercing whistle. From the distance came a musical cry like that of a great bird. Then around the curve of a hill swept a herd of great horses, clean-limbed stallions and long-legged mares, such lovely horses as Alan had seen only two of before.... One of these, Arundel, ran at the fore, his silver-gray flanks flashing in the sun. But ahead of him, and the leader of all, sped a blazing white steed who stood shoulders above the rest, and from his sides rose a shimmering pair of golden wings. His fetlocks also shone golden, and as he and his herd reached the shore of the lake, a white and golden image sparkled below him in the midnight blue of the water. The steed raised his head; Alan was stunned by the flash of his deep eyes. The winged stallion shrilled an eerie whistling scream, and from the skies overhead came reply. Great golden birds appeared, led by one whose aureate wings were almost as broad as those of the stallion below. For a moment they formed a brilliant tableau, the white and the gold mirrored in he blue of the unfathomable lake. Then, like the last flashing beams from a westward sun, they were gone, and the thunder of hooves faded in the distance.

“Dweller in the Eagle Valley,” breathed Alan. “Did Arundel come from here?"

Hal seemed unable to answer, but Adaoun was quick to reply. “While he was still a colt, Arundel was called away from here, as Asfala was a few years later. But, Mireldeyn, how did you know?"

“Many times I have seen this place, Adaoun, in dreams and waking visions. But I hardly dared hope I could ever find it."

“Have you also seen the past, Mireldeyn?"

“I have seen one who may be Elveyn. She has rippling hair of dark gold and wears a garment of deep, stormy purple. I see her on rocky sea cliffs, facing the gray water."

“Ay,” said Adaoun, “she always loved the sea. When men overran the earth and forgot the Ancient Tongue, it was she who showed us how to sail away from them in ships."

“Why was man put on earth?” Hal asked bitterly. “He has turned it into a desolation of strife and bloodshed. Was it not better, the way it was?"

“Too good! Nothing ever chanced; and Time, which had just begun, was likely to pool itself into eternity. Moreover, the One was lonely still. We elves could not satisfy Aene's craving: we know only mindfelt love. We choose our mates with judgment; we are quiet, patient and reasoned. We do not shout or laugh for joy, nor do we weep."

Alan glanced up at Lysse, startled. Her smoky green eyes were as deep as the mountain lake, as intense as the brilliant gem that hung about her neck. She smiled down at him, and Alan wondered at that smile.

“So the One made man,” Adaoun went on, “a being could feel the strength, and passion of Aene's love.... But the wisdom which counters passion could not be man's. Only in Aene are wisdom and love complete, together, and this is one of the great Mysteries."

“I can imagine what happened, though I was not there,” Hal muttered. “First we began to kill the animals —"

“That is your nature,” Adaoun interrupted. “The fox kills the pheasant and the marten slays the mouse and men hunt the fleet red deer; they are all in Aene. But alas, I believe that is why man fell away from the Old Language; it would be a hard thing to kill a creature which speaks with you soul to soul."

“I know,” said Hal wryly, “for I have done so, many a time. And then, I suppose, we began to kill each other. Is that also in Aene?"

Adaoun sighed. “As the wolf is in the Forest, Mireldeyn, or as the old sow slays her farrows—but not often. It seems to me that the great wheel is wobbling off of balance. There is need of more love in your world.” Adaoun paused significantly. “Say also, Mireldeyn, that man began to kill the elves."

“I had hoped not to say so,” Hal faltered, stricken.

“A few of us. My son Freca was the first.... Because we do not know the love that burns in the heart, men called us cold and evil, and ran from us, or stoned us and laughed, or hunted us ruthlessly, according to their whim; for men are above all creatures of passion. The One had made them mortal so that they might know to the fullest every passion of living, joy and sorrow and the begetting of progeny. This was forbidden to my children, lest they in their immortality overrun the earth. But in spite of death, men grew more and more numerous, so that even in the wilderness we could not avoid them. At last, at Elveyn's advice, we built ships and started across the sea in search of a new place.

“Six times since then have we sailed, and we call this our Seventh Age. Sometimes we have found peace, but always it has collapsed in war as a blight of man's greed has spread across the earth. Five hundred turnings ago we came to this Welas and withdrew to this mountaintop, as we had learned to do, for we knew war would not be long in following us. As indeed it was not. But fast Veran came.

“He sailed up the Gleaming River, out of the west, a dark man, but with a glow about him like ancient gold. The tribal chieftains bickered and brawled across the marches between their wooden towers, as they had always done, but Veran cowed them with a glance and the power of his grip. Within a season all of Welas hailed him as King. Then he came straightway to this mountain, and no fear of us was in his heart. That was marvel enough, but something chanced which we had never known before. One of my daughters, she whom we named Claefe, the dove, clave to Veran and chose to go with him as his wife, committing herself to a mortal death. We rejoiced in their love, though we mourned her going from us. Lysse was begot to replace her in our number. But Veran had to lead Welas against the invaders from the East. While he was gone, Claefe died in childbirth, as a mortal woman will. Then overweening grief seized my Elveyn, so that she went to the sea cliffs and hurled herself into the gray salt waters she loved so well.

“It was then, Mireldeyn, that I first heard of you. For with the death of my mate and the coming of war's blight yet once again, I cried out to the One in great pain and despair of mind. And Aene came to me here, in this valley, walking on earth in a cloak of flesh, as often is Aene's wont, whether seer, sage, youth or prophet, mother, maiden or ancient hag. But I knew the Song-maker at once, for we have met before.

“Elwestrand awaited us, Aene said, the western land from which Veran had come, where there were folk with whom we could live in harmony and whom my children could take to mate—they who have been celibate these thousands of years. And in the fulfillment of this prophecy, the One said, elves and men would join and a new creature arise, the best of each. But first the Age must be fulfilled in this Isle, the farthest outpost of the Middle World. For if the blight of war which has followed us so long is not stopped here it will follow us yet, to the unicorn fields of the west. The Wheel teeters in its rounds, Mireldeyn. Not even the One can foresee how it will go.

“But Aene foretold that at this time, when the blight of the Easterners had reached even to Welas, a youth from the world of men would come to us, a descendant of the line of Veran, heir to the throne of Isle by a right far greater than that of birth. The blood of the elves would run strong in his veins. He would find us and speak to us in the Language of Eld, which no one learns unblessed. He would arm himself only with friendship and unensorcelled steel, for the Easterners have made magic an accursed thing. He would know all mortal joy and sorrow, but not mortal greed and pride; an elf's vision, an elf's thirst for knowledge, and an elf's keenness of mind would all be his. And we would call him Mireldeyn, the elf-man, for he would be neither fully elf nor fully man, but the best of each. You are he, Hal, son of Gwynllian, heir of Torre and of Taran and of the Blessed Kings of Welas, for you have fulfilled all that was said, and more."