The Space Between (3 page)

She had fought with Palsamon the night
before her departure — he had spoken yet again of having children —
but out here, amongst the trees, everything seemed different. The
two of them had shared a cabin for 23 years, something almost
unheard of. Usually elf women selected a new man to share their bed
every week or even every night. They chose new, younger men all the
time as if any hint of age might pass on to them. Yet they tended
to the Ohoga tree almost as if it were a religion because its great
age gave it an aura that could not be ignored. For Meledrin, it was
the same with Palsamon. He was ten years her senior and could offer
so much more than a night of entertainment.

Meledrin's friends, Takande most
vociferously of all, suggested she find a new man to raise, if only
for a short time, above the ranks of the saveigni. Unattached men
were plentiful and should not be wasted. She spoke of Halbaden in
one breath and Suldon the next as if each was the answer to the
same prayer. They could not read or recite poetry, but they could
be used for physical pleasure and sent on their way afterwards.

Whispering a
Lesser Changing
, Meledrin
pushed her long auburn hair away from her face, tying it back with
a bright green ribbon as she continued to walk.

Despite the fact they sometimes fought,
Meledrin knew she would not turn Palsamon out. When she had spoken
of her need to spend time alone in the forest, he had understood —
more than Takande or anyone else. He understood that she needed
time to think and knew not to push for an answer on the spot.

Four days later she was still unsure if she
was ready to have children, but it was an idea she no longer
dreaded.

Her spirits were lifting with each step.

Some time after the sun had passed the
zenith and started its long journey toward the horizon, Meledrin
broke free of the tree cover for the first time that day and found
herself in a clearing barely twenty meters across. The grass was
lush, reaching almost to her waist. She looked up at the clear blue
of the sky, shading her eyes to watch a brown eagle drifting in
lazy circles. The sight of the bird's effortless grace lifted her
spirits further.

Meledrin whispered
another
Lesser Changing
, shadows to light. "Olin saso mo'koo."

So accustomed was she to
weaving her day around the ceremonies, the ceremonies around her
day, that she hardly noticed.
Ending
,
Lesser Questioning
,
Greater Action
. Those,
and a score of other minor rituals, divided each day into
controlled, manageable sections. Some of the elder elves needed to
say the words and weave the patterns both, but like many others,
Meledrin felt that the one or the other was enough. When her hands
were occupied, she spoke the words. When her mouth was busy, she
danced her hands.

Wading away from the protection of the
trees, she hardly left a trail at all. She crossed almost to the
other side, grass whispering around her, before coming across a
three-meter circle of grass that had been completely flattened. In
the middle of the circle, surrounded by chunks of wood and
shavings, was... Something.

At first she thought it was simply a log,
for stringy bark still clung to the outside, but upon closer
inspection she discovered it was actually a chest. It had been
carved from a single piece of wood, with a hinged lid and short,
bulbous legs. She flipped open the top to find the inside hollow,
though incomplete. The sides were rough, and the bottom was
littered with long yellow curls of timber shavings.

Why would someone carve a
chest in the forest?
Meledrin wondered,
shading her eyes and looking about.
And if
they felt the need to begin, why would they leave the task
unfinished?

There was no evidence of a camp in the area,
other than a small pile of food scraps. The condition of the wood
and leftovers suggested the area had been vacated two or three days
previously.

The trail the retreating
wood carver left was a wide swath of flattened grass. Arrow
nocked,
Beginning
on her tongue, Meledrin strode forward, too curious to let the
stranger slip away so easily. She followed the trail for the
remainder of the afternoon, occasionally stooping low to examine
the ground, but generally walking purposefully, with the dappled
sunlight on her cheek and a breeze coming in over her
shoulder.

With the coming of night she stopped by a
stream and ate fruit from her pack, content to sit under the stars.
The chatter of the stream kept her company through the
darkness.

Two hours after rising the next day,
Meledrin stepped into another clearing, this one at the top of a
low, rocky hill. A lush carpet of small, blue flowers mirrored the
sky. She pulled up short. On a flat stone near the middle of the
clearing, was a chair.

Meledrin quickly examined her surroundings.
Nobody was evident, so she continued forward slowly. She held her
bow half drawn, but no threat emerged.

The chair she stalked was a sturdy looking
affair, made from a slice from the end of a log, four straight
sticks as legs and three slats for the backrest. But beside it on
the stone were scattered the pieces of another chair and what might
have been part of a table. It was as if a dining setting had come
to the clearing to die. Or perhaps the chairs, the males of the
species, had come to do battle for the remains of a loved one.
There were no food scraps to be seen this time, but the scraps of
industry were much more numerous. Again, it all seemed to be a
couple of days old.

Meledrin took to the trail
again with a
Lesser Beginning
and followed as it swung to the west, back towards
the river and Grovely. The township was no more than twenty
kilometers distant. She quickened her pace. As the day wore on and
the trail failed to veer away, she started to run.

The carpenter led her home. On the way she
passed a half finished mallet lying in the path and another pile of
timber, stripped of bark but not yet starting to take shape.
Meledrin did not slow. She raced along the path, lungs burning,
legs aching, mind aswirl with possibilities.

She ran into the village
late in the afternoon, exhausted and wondering what she might find.
But all seemed to be as it had been when she left. Other residents
went about their business as if nothing was amiss. The quiet life
of Grovely went on. She jogged among the cabins, following the main
trail — a ribbon of brown on the velvet of the lawns. Eventually,
she collapsed under a tree on the edge of the common lawn that
fronted the Ceremonial Hall. Without the breath to speak an
Ending
, she danced her
hands in a lazy, perfunctory manner. A moment later, Delfrana
tottered through the rune carved Ancestors' Door and onto the porch
of the Hall.

"Meledrin," the old woman said. "Meledrin,
you look as though you have seen a spirit of the dead." She came
down a couple of steps. "It is not seemly for a Warder to perspire
in that manner. Get you where you cannot be seen."

"Delfrana, High Warder, someone is here."
Meledrin tried to catch her breath. "I have followed a trail from
out in the forest. It led directly here."

"We are aware of the stranger." Delfrana
waved her walking stick. "Now go, before a saveigni sees you."

"You know?"

"Yes. Two nights past, while we were
sleeping, someone completed the restoration of the dock. Last night
the fence around the sheep enclosure was renovated as well." The
old woman waved her stick again. "Go and wash, Meledrin.
Quickly."

Meledrin nodded and climbed slowly to her
feet. Her legs were aching. Her shirt and breeches were clinging to
her skin.

"Oh, if a man should see you now," Delfrana
hissed. She spun about and returned to the Hall. Meledrin plucked
at her clothes to stop them from clinging and hurried away.

In her cabin, Palsamon was waiting.

"I heard you had returned," he said,
offering her a flask of cool water. "Larawin passed by not long
ago. She informed me that she saw you running towards the
Ceremonial Hall." There was more water in a cauldron over the fire,
and Palsamon added more even as Meledrin drank. He went outside to
the well for one more bucketful then maneuvered the bathing tub
into the middle of the room. "The water will be a good while yet.
Why don't you rinse off first, while I prepare some food."

Meledrin nodded; her lover
knew everything she needed.
How could I
return him to the cabins of the saveigni?

When the shutters were closed tight, she
stripped off her odorous clothes and crossed to the cauldron.

"What do you know of the stranger?" Meledrin
asked. Like all elves, she was tall and thin with slightly angular
features, large eyes, and pale skin. She did not think she was
particularly beautiful with only her unusual copper colored hair
setting her apart, but Palsamon was watching her avidly. Dipping a
cloth into the water, she started to wipe away the grime of the
forest.

The man shrugged, not taking his eyes off
her though he was slicing fruit. "He is a large man. Or woman I
suppose, though the latter is unlikely."

"Why and why?" Water sluiced down over her
body and disappeared between the floorboards.

"Why is he large? Because of the size of the
tracks his boots left. Bigger than anyone I know." Palsamon was
mixing fruit in a bowl, but still he watched. "Why is he a man?
Because he was able to repair the dock on his own in a single
night. The quartet of us who started the task expected to be
working for another day. There was much heavy lifting
involved."

"So, we have a large man wandering around
Grovely mending things at random? In the forest he was making
things. At least, he started to. Nothing seemed to be completed,
however." Discarding the cloth, she collected a brush to remove the
tangles from her hair.

"Making things?"

"Indeed." She enjoyed the way he looked at
her but was pleased to know he was listening as well. "A chest, a
table and chairs, a mallet. All half complete."

"How good were these items?"

"The quality of workmanship appeared first
rate. The craftsman merely possessed no perseverance, apparently.
What is being done?"

"Not a great deal. He does not seem
dangerous."

"I would still like to be certain."

Palsamon shrugged. "You might want to get
dressed before you take it up with Delfrana. I believe I'll just
stay here and watch your dinner and your bath water." With the
fruit salad finished, he sat down by the table. "Of course, if we
are going to all this effort of making you a bath, we could get you
really sweaty to make sure it is worth while."

"Palsamon!" Meledrin gaped at him for a
moment before remembering herself.

"Yes?" he asked innocently. "I was merely
thinking that we require more fire wood. I am sure you are aware of
the location of the axe."

Why is it that he can play
the child and I cannot? Is it a thing of men? Or of age? Or
something else entirely?
Meledrin was not
certain, but she tried to join in the spirit. In a moment of
audaciousness, she crossed the room to take a seat on the
Palsamon's lap.

He kissed her softly, running a hand along
her thigh, over her hip, and up to her breast. Though the sun was
still visible outside, Meledrin returned the kiss.

* * *

Meledrin awoke to the sound of banging. Dawn
had just started to spill through the window at the far end of the
room, painting vivid stripes across Palsamon's muscled chest. She
disentangled herself from his arms and sat up. The sound continued
— a slow, rhythmic knocking.

"Wake up." She nudged his shoulder. "Wake
up."

His eyes slowly opened and he smiled as he
looked at her body. "Not again. I'm exhausted."

"Listen, you fool." Meledrin climbed over
Palsamon and slipped into a long white dress that emphasized her
hair. Then she quickly pulled on a pair of soft shoes and tied her
hair back with a ribbon — it really needed to be brushed, but she
did not have the time. She had her bow and was out the door while
Palsamon was still lacing his boots. The sound was coming from the
old smoking shed, out near where Faldorin's Path began. Meledrin
quickly made her way in that direction.

There was nobody ahead of her, but she was
pleased to see that others were stirring in the buildings
behind.

A few moments later she saw a man kneeling
in front of the shed. He was extremely short, but broader than any
elf, and solid. He wore only stained, cloth breeches and large,
heavy, leather boots. He worked methodically, hammering a long nail
into a loose board on the wall. His broad, bare back was to her,
muscles flexing with each powerful, precise stroke.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Hello," Meledrin said softly.

The hammer paused, then descended one final
time. The man turned to look at her. A beard, curly and unkempt,
covered his face. Short dark hair was plastered down with sweat, on
both his chest and head. He was younger than she had first thought
— he had seen perhaps 25 summers — but his dark, brown eyes seemed
like those of a child. A strange contraption of gears and metal had
been strapped to his arm in place of his left hand.

The stranger stared for a moment, looking
Meledrin up and down. Four nails were clenched between his teeth.
"Whistler," he mumbled, "you're the tallest dwarf I've ever seen."
Then, "Sorry, did I wake you?" He smiled crookedly.