Two: Swords Crossed

“I need a new sword,” Dynyd complained after Veses had disarmed him for the third time in a row. “This one is too short for me now!”

The elf laughed. “A bad warrior blames his tools, Ter Dynyd, but you are right. Perhaps you should put off seeking a new one until after the ceremony, though.”

“Your bow still works, I presume?” asked Taial, eyeing the weapon that rested, unstrung, against an oak.

Dynyd nodded. “Of course. To the butts?”

Taial grinned. “To the butts.”

Dynyd’s bow was of Elvish make, as large as any an elf would use, but with much more spring, which allowed him to draw the string back the full length of the arrow. With Taial’s bow, he would not be able to bend it even half the distance.

They used the near target, three hundred feet, which was as easy as shooting pigs in a basket for Taial, but still quite a struggle for Dynyd. The problem was not the power – for he could propel an arrow all the way to the far target without too much trouble, but aim. He could hardly see the different circles on the target to aim at them, so he guessed.

“I’ll collect the arrows, don’t worry,” said Veses, smiling, once they had finished the round.

Dynyd scowled. The last time he had tried to collect the arrows from the target, he had cut himself on the shaft trying to pull the head free. Both Veses and Taial’s arrows were embedded too deeply in the wood for him to remove, but the two elves made the task look easy.

Veses soon returned the arrows to their owners – one of his own had broken – and announced, to nobody’s surprise, that Taial was the winner.

“Another round?” asked Taial, replacing the arrows in his quiver.

“And lose again? No,” said Dynyd, smiling.

“Well then. Let us walk awhile through the forest and talk some more about this ceremony of yours. We can eat on the way.”

They walked through the forest slowly, eating freshly baked bread and red apples, and Dynyd told his friends everything they wanted to know about human coming-of-age ceremonies he had been to as a child.

“It’s different for girls,” he admitted, in response to Taial’s question. “You know how humans are – they refuse to see females as equals. Noble girls will still have a ceremony, and some others, but most people will just celebrate with their family. The Quest is something only males do – a woman discovers herself when she is married, by working out how she can best serve her husband.”

Dynyd’s answer led to many questions about marriage, for only the Elf King and Queen were married in Kal’mara. It was quite pleasant for Dynyd to be answering questions for once, as they rested under the shade of an elm, for he was usually the one asking them. Both Taial and Veses had taken an interest in human affairs as soon as they had met Dynyd, but the human boy felt that there was much more to learn about Kal’mara than he could ever tell about Lorwynne.

“Some men take another wife after the death of their first,” Dynyd told the eager elves. “It isn’t that uncommon, actually. Some have been known to have three or even four wives! But women are expected to remain monogamous. If a widow tried to remarry, she could be tried and sentenced to death.”

Taial’s blue eyes were wide. “I cannot fathom how humans believe it is acceptable to marry more than one person! Are not most men overcome with grief at the death of their partner, so much so that they take their own life as well?”

Dynyd frowned. “Some are, but they are very few. Some noblewomen do, out of a sense of duty, I think, but even then it is quite uncommon. Besides, Scar will not allow anyone into his Realm who takes their life before his call.” As Taial and Veses looked confused, he explained, “The God of the Dead – Zihes.”

Taial nodded slowly. “Zihes accepts those who are victims of love – the actions that emotion drives us to can hardly be said to be our own. However, he who takes his life to ease his own suffering will find no rest in Zihes’ halls.”

“If elves are so strongly affected by love, how come they do not marry?” He could not believe he had never asked it before, but maybe, he reasoned with himself, now that he was growing up, he was beginning to think about such things more often.

It was Veses who answered. “We may love strongly, but we do not always love eternally. When we might live forever, we cannot promise to stay beside the one we love for that long – what if somebody else were to come along, who we found more attractive? We can fall out of love just as easily as we fall in.

“The King and Queen are promised to each other for eternity because it is their duty to be so, whether they remain in love for that time or not. Other elves do not dream of burdening themselves with such a vow. It is uncommon that we take another lover, but not so rare that we can ignore it. Whilst we are in love, we enjoy every second, and if it does not last, why then we enjoy the next romance that happens.”

Dynyd looked confused. “But love is the strongest emotion an elf can feel!” he protested. “Every elf says so! When an elf’s partner dies, he is usually so overcome by grief that he either destroys himself, or else does not speak or do anything much for several years.”

“When we are in love, it is the strongest emotion – except perhaps rage – but if we are still in a relationship with somebody whom we no longer love, we will not be so overwhelmed by the loss. We feel emotions more intensely than any other race, so sensitive are we to everything in the world, but only upon love do we feel compelled to act.”

Dynyd did not feel that Veses’ explanation had enlightened him at all. “But if you love so intently, how can you ever stop?”

Taial sighed. “When you have forever, Dynyd, you can grow bored. It’s as simple as that. Most don’t – most of us live forever, or until we die, with one partner only, happy as we can be. Some of us take many partners during our lives, loving each of them dearly.”

It seemed a little clearer now, though Dynyd was not sure he would ever really understand how somebody could get bored of love. He had never been in love himself, but from the descriptions the elves, and indeed, his father, had given, it was a wondrous thing.

“Please, will you object if we take our leave now?” Taial asked, standing up suddenly.

“Of course not,” Dynyd replied, checking the sun’s position in the sky. He still had an hour before nightfall, enough time to go hunting.

As Taial and Veses faded into the trees towards Ælhollow in the way that elves always did – a trick Dynyd still had not learnt – he set an arrow to his bow and stalked off in the opposite direction, away from the village.

Elves do not eat meat, save when they have no alternative food source, and whilst Rodran seemed quite happy to adopt this lifestyle, Dynyd was not. Since he had been old enough to hunt successfully, he had done so two or three times a week, supplementing his diet with meat. Some of the elves in Ælhollow knew that he went hunting, but they did not object, as long as he did not pollute the village or the streams with death, and he did not destroy all the local wildlife.

He crept through a willow grove, his soft leather elf-made boots almost silent over the grass, roots and leaves. He passed through the tendril-like branches, stooping slightly to stop the leaves rustling and announcing his presence, and stopped. Two deer stood only feet away, a doe and a young buck. He lowered his weapon, unwilling to kill either the baby or the mother it was still dependent on, and watched them, smiling.

The doe seemed to sense something was wrong – her head shot upright, and she bolted, the buck following. Dynyd carried on, away from the direction they had run, and soon came across more suitable game – a larger herd of deer. There were about six does, one adult stag, and another just growing its antlers. Without hesitation, Dynyd brought his bow up, and released the arrow.

With a gentle twang and an eerie whistle, the arrow sped towards the younger stag, and stuck in its side, just before its hind leg. The rest of the herd fled, their dainty feet pattering against the ground, and Dynyd sent another arrow into the stag’s head, releasing it from its pain. He rushed to its side as it fell, prepared a fire, which he lit with magic, and began to skin it.

 

“Have you finished everything?” Dynyd asked his father later, walking through the door of their oak treehouse and marvelling, as he always did, at the vast interior.

“Aye, we have,” Rodran replied. He looked at his son sharply. “Where have you been?”

“Hunting,” Dynyd replied, hanging his sword-belt beside the door.

Rodran sighed and rolled his eyes. “It’s your ceremony tomorrow – you’re going to have plenty to eat then. Did you really need to go today?”

Dynyd shrugged. “I needed something to take my mind off the ceremony – I wasn’t going to just sit around for two hours!”

Rodran laughed. “I suppose you’re right. What did you get?”

“A stag – he was just getting to the age where he’d have fought the other stag in the herd anyway, and I doubt he’d have survived that. The other one was big. I spelled the rest of it so it’ll still be fresh for a couple of days.”

“Well, you should probably get off to bed. We need to be up early tomorrow.”

Dynyd nodded and retired to his room. His father stared after him, a curious look on his face, then turned and pulled out his sword, Gäryl-til – swift-blade – and began to polish it.

Author's Note

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