Chapter 12

Returning to the river they turned north and again followed upstream along its bank. For some time they rode before ahead they saw the place where the winding Tyalume came to make its contribution to the mighty flow of the Telere. Another mile or so past this point they saw that the Telere had become a much gentler watercourse and just a little further upstream they found the river easily fordable. Crossing to the other side they now began their two hundred mile journey along the banks of the Tyalume toward Eastgate on the edge of Pilinon.
      Behind them the westering sun told that the day was rushing toward its end. When nightfall came they set up camp not far from the river bank. For dinner they ate the rest of the salted meat which had been brought from Aglathrad, and then Alatar again brewed some of the relaxing lossara tea. As they sat round the fire sipping the hot beverage they spoke of the adventures and mishaps they already had experienced in Arvalla only a third of the way through the great forest.
      ‘It is a strange place,’ said Talen: ‘strange and beautiful. I never would have imagined that such a place existed.’
      ‘I’m glad that a place like this does exist in the world,’ said Dannadar.
      ‘It exists for now,’ said Raavan. ‘But much that is fair in the world stands to be lost if the enemy in Tath is not overcome. Under the rule of an industrious Deathlord, Arvalla soon would be transformed into another Druadaneth. The Dryads, the Unicorns, and the Elves: it is they that provide the living force of the wood. If they were to depart from Entira I am afraid the magic of this place would depart with them. There is an old adage which says that when a Unicorn dies a part of the forest dies also. There is much truth in that statement.’
      ‘What we have not seen so far are any Elves,’ noted Dannadar. ‘I mean, no real Elves.’
      ‘The Elves of western Arvalla are a bit strange,’ said Raavan. ‘They are very reclusive, almost animal-like. But they are the ones that are closest to the forest and to its inhabitants.’
      ‘None more so than the Nymphs,’ added Alatar with a subtle smile.
      ‘What are Nymphs?’ asked Falco.
      ‘A Nymph is an Elven maiden who marries a stag and gives birth to a Cervaur—a sort of half Elf, half deer,’ answered Raavan.
      ‘There is such a thing?’ asked Falco.
      ‘O, yes,’ replied Raavan.
      ‘What about Dryads: do they marry stags, too?’ asked Dannadar.
      ‘No,’ answered Raavan: ‘Dryads marry trees.’
      ‘Trees?’ said Falco doubtfully.
      ‘Yes,’ replied Raavan. ‘But Dryads are not Elves. No one knows exactly what they are, but they are not Elves.
      ‘Not anymore, at least,’ said Alatar. ‘Who knows what blood may be in their ancestry?’
      ‘That’s true,’ agreed Raavan.
      ‘Anyway,’ said Alatar, ‘there is one other creature of the forest which we have not yet seen.’
      ‘Which is that?’ asked Dannadar.
      ‘The Jack-in-the-green,’ replied the man.
      Raavan laughed heartily at this. ‘And we’re not likely to, either,’ he said with a smug smile.
      ‘What is a Jack-in-the-green?’ asked Talen.
      ‘The Jack-in-the-green,’ corrected Raavan. ‘According to folklore, it is the Jack-in-the-green who in spring tells the flowers to bloom and the trees to leaf.’
      ‘Sounds like Jack Rustle,’ said Dannadar. ‘That’s what we call him in Laurelindor. If Jack sleeps overlong during winter then the spring will come late that year, so the people put food out for him in hopes that he will not lose sleep foraging for himself.’
      ‘Really?’ said Burak.
      ‘Yes,’ replied Dannadar, ‘many farmers follow the tradition of carving out a pumpkin and filling it with apples and pears and then placing the pumpkin in plain view out in a field so Jack can find it. They call them Jack Lanterns , because long ago people used to make a torch from the stem so Jack could see his way in the dark, just in case he got hungry at night. They don’t do that anymore, though. At least, not in Ferndale.’
      ‘No, not in Dunnoch, either,’ confirmed Talen, ‘though I’ve heard they still do it on occasion down in Cunningston or Dundergavel or some place like that.’
      ‘But it’s really just an excuse to make pumpkin pies,’ said Raavan.
      ‘Naturally!’ agreed Dannadar.
      ‘Then, the people of Arvalla also do not believe in this Jack-in-the-green?’ asked Burak.
      Raavan shrugged his shoulders. ‘They believe more in the lady Celandine, who it is said causes little yellow flowers to grow in perfusion wherever she places her bare feet. Meandering trails of bright yellow she leaves behind as she wanders through the forest. I myself have seen such trails.’
      ‘Really?’ said Talen.
      ‘Were they made by this lady Celandine?’ asked Burak.
      ‘I do not know how they came to be,’ answered Raavan. ‘But I know of at least one other so-called myth which turned out to be quite true, much to the woe of those involved.
      ‘The Jack Lanterns which Dannadar described can be found also in some parts of Koronandor, where they are used for quite a different purpose. It was said that on the night before Hallow’s Day a headless horseman would roam the countryside in search of a noddle to replace the one which he had lost in battle against the Antlered King. People so feared losing their crown to the grim rider that they would place a pumpkin on their porch with the careful likeness of a face carved into it, in hopes that if the rider came to their house he might accept the pumpkin as a replacement for his lost noodle. Inside the hollowed pumpkin they would place a candle to give it the same warmth as a human head.
      ‘Each Hallow’s Eve he would return to claim a new pate, sometimes taking two or more if he found the first one a poor fit. Then for a long time he did not come, and after two generations the legend of the horseman was relegated to the status of myth and people became lax about setting out their pumpkins. Others turned the practise into a pageant of sorts by carving grewsome and often wildly exaggerated faces into them, so that they no longer could be mistaken by any for a real noggin.
      ‘Then some number of years ago the horseman returned, and this time he brought with him a large bag into which he collected as many heads as he could fit, so that he would have spares for the coming year. Every Hallow’s Eve he would come again, so that people knew once more that the legend of the horseman was indeed quite real. To this day, people are still losing their heads over the matter.’
      ‘I shouldn’t wonder,’ said Dannadar with a shiver.
       
       
      That night Talen dreamed that he awoke in the middle of the night while the others were asleep and wandered into the woods at the beck of a sweet voice singing in a strange, melodious tongue. Coming to a stream he saw that beyond it a beautiful maiden danced carefree through the wood, her golden hair floating on a tropical breeze. She was clothed only in a silver moonglow which followed wherever she went. About her head fluttered tiny butterflies and at her feet it seemed that silvery flowers sprung up at every step. Suddenly the thought came to him that he knew her name, yet the word would not come to his tongue though he felt compelled to call out to her. Presently a snowy white owl came down to perch in a low branch above the maiden. It watched Talen with staring eyes. Then turning to the lady it uttered a soft hoot and nodded toward the watching Elfling, whereupon the maiden gazed also in his direction. Seeing him she laughed gaily, and then with a smile of pure innocence she pointed behind the sleepy watcher. The Elfling stood transfixed, for now a feeling of cold dread came over him as he saw out the corner of his eye that a massive black shaped loomed up imposing behind him. Turning slowly he saw that there stood towering above him a great horseman with a long blade of black steel that glinted in the night. The horseman had no head.
       
       
      When in the morning he awoke Talen rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stumbled over to the fire to pour his tea. Sipping the hot beverage at the edge of camp he looked about in vain for a train of flowers wandering amid the undergrowth, but he saw none, and though he did notice heavy hoof prints in the earth he was fairly certain they had been made by their own steeds.
      Breaking camp they continued their trek along the northern bank of the winding Tyalume. Although the character of the forest continued to change imperceptibly as they travelled from west to east its sublime beauty persisted wherever they went. Briefly they left the rowans and white birches behind to pass through a grove of towering eldergreen , a coniferous tree more common, Raavan informed them, in the Vinyanan Mountains to the north and beyond in Narveru Forest. Here they encountered enormous woodpeckers with red-tufted heads whirring by with many a kik-kik-kik-kik among the giant boles. Squirrels too, they saw, with exceptionally long bodies and bushy tales, and the acrobatics which they performed high in the trees was very entertaining to the riders below.
      When the company emerged from the eldergreens they found themselves surrounded by ash and hickory and maple trees, but also there were several new types of tree which the Elflings could not identify till Raavan named them. There was the linyar , exceptionally tall and thin with leathery grey bark and long, droopy leaves. There was the eruil , similar to the linyar but with a bark that was streaked silver and white, and leaves that were broad and silvery on the underside. And finally there was the athandir , a large, sturdy tree with white boughs and leaves that ranged from golden yellow to bright orange. The latter soon began to dominate, with only an occasional eruil appearing or a lonely linyar , but rarely anything else.
      Now the path took them back to the bank of the river, and this they followed for quite some time till at noon they reached a deep tributary flowing slowly into the Tyalume from the north. Raavan remembered this gentle watercourse as being the ‘Vorohallo, or somesuch,’ but what mattered to them more than its name was the fact that it now barred their way east, for although it was not very wide it was far too deep to ford.
      And so they were taken by the Vorohallo on a northerly detour, but as the bright athandir trees continued to surround them and as the pleasant sun shone down from on high they found it very difficult to grumble (convincingly, at least) about the way. Again they began to notice that the forest seemed to have been painted about them with a dreamy brush, as the warm air and the scent of wildflowers made them all desire to climb down from their steeds and take a nap in the lush grasses at the water’s edge, where the yellow primrose and the pink phlox nodded in the sun.
      Suddenly beneath drooping eyelids Talen saw some ways ahead an enormous white bird—a swan—floating contentedly on the tranquil water. Forcing his eyes to open wider he watched the bird turn and paddle slowly around the bend toward which they now leisurely rode. Though the swan appeared to be quite a bit larger than a man, so sleepy was he that it did not occur to him that there was anything out of the ordinary about the gigantic fowl.
      Now all the company began to hear voices: high, melodious voices which sang and laughed and through their singing and laughing began to make the company feel very light-hearted and care-free.
      ‘Elves,’ said Raavan knowingly.
      ‘Finally!’ said Dannadar.
      Now as they rounded the bend they saw that Raavan was in no way mistaken, for before them was a party of merry Elves and not a few of the giant swans as well. The Elves were variously lounging on the bank, swimming in the water, and wading in the shallows. Some of them sat upon the backs of the gigantic white birds, lazily dangling a fishing rod over the water while humming softly to themselves.
      What the Elflings found most striking were the children, for they were remarkably similar in appearance to Elflings, though their eyes were slightly more tilted and their hair shone uniformly golden in the sun. The smaller children splashed in the shallows while the older ones swam out in the main river. The river was at this point quite narrow, so that one could easily converse in a loud voice with someone standing upon the opposite bank.
      There also were young swans of varying sizes. The smaller birds dabbled in tiny groups with one another, while the adolescents had gathered together with the Elf children for a game of duck-duck-goose . Presently a very young cygnet paddled up to the party where they watched from the bank just downriver.
      ‘Hello,’ said the swan in a cheerful voice.
      The companions were quite stunned—all except for Raavan, of course.
      ‘Did that bird just say what I think it said?’ asked Dannadar abstractedly.
      ‘Yes,’ replied Raavan. ‘The Elves of Arvalla are very clever. Very clever indeed.’
      ‘Raavan!’ shouted an Elf who lazed upon the back of one of the larger swans. ‘We have not seen you in many moons!’
      ‘Your beard looks whiter,’ shouted another.
      ‘But your face is wry as ever,’ shouted a third. ‘Come lose your cares with us! The water is fine—and we promise we won’t let our swans bite you!’
      ‘No, thank-you,’ said Raavan with a smile. Presently he addressed the first Elf who had called him by name.
      ‘It is nice to see you, Quelindor,’ said the wizard.
      The Elf approached the shore on his feathery mount. ‘It is good to see you,’ said the tan-skinned Elf who like the others wore only a loin cloth.
      ‘And how is Valastar?’ asked the wizard. ‘And Fáethilín?’
      ‘They are expecting you,’ said the Elf, stepping ashore. ‘We’ve had word of your coming.’
      ‘Really?’ said Talen with surprise.
      ‘I will take you to them now,’ said Quelindor.
      ‘Very well,’ said Raavan.
      At the wizard’s suggestion the Elflings stayed with the swimming party while Raavan and Alatar were led into the forest by Quelindor. Burak stayed with the Elflings also, for he was not adverse to taking a cool bath on a hot day.
      Soon the Elflings and the Dwarf had stripped to their underclothes and were venturing into the water. The Elflings were in fact very fond of swimming and soon they were playing and splashing about just the same as the others. Joining the older Elf children they played many games including spout and run, under-dunk, skipjack, ducks and drakes, and several others of which they had never even heard. When a leathery inflated ball was brought forth their opportunities for amusement only increased.
      A particularly enjoyable sport involved the formation of several teams which then competed for possession of the ball. The Elflings formed their own three-person team with Falco as their leader, for the Elfling was proving to be very competitive at nearly all the games that were played. It was just as the contest was starting to heat up that Falco and Talen both made a leap for the ball as it sailed over their heads toward a nearby opponent. Falco just barely caught the ball in his fingertips, but he came down on top of Talen, who was hit rather hard in the head and forced momentarily underwater. The Elfling remained face-down when he came up.
      ‘Talen!’ shouted Falco as he tried desperately to lift the Elfling out of the water, but Talen’s body was limp and he did not appear to be breathing. The others who were nearby struggled to help, but none could stand in the deep water and they were not near the bank.
      Suddenly an enormous yellow beak came down and snatched Talen’s limp body by his underclothes and lifted him into the air. The swan paddled toward the shore holding the Elfling aloft and then dropped him onto the grassy bank. Two Elves who were there on the bank expertly lifted the Elfling and shook him upside-down till coughing and sputtering he awoke. Soon he was on the bank regaining his composure as the Elves went promptly back to their pleasantries, unphased by what very likely was a common enough occurrence at the river’s edge.
      ‘Are you all right?’ asked Falco.
      ‘Yes, I think so,’ said Talen. ‘I just inhaled some water. I think you elbowed me good, though. I’m going to have a lump on my head by evening.’
      ‘Sorry about that,’ said Falco. ‘It really was not intentional. I’m just glad you didn’t drown.’
      ‘No worries,’ replied Talen.
      For the remainder of the afternoon Talen lay on the back of the swan who had saved him, watching the others as they played somewhat gentler games in the river. It was an enormously enjoyable time for them all, and one that the Elflings would remember for a long time to come.
      Around five or six o’clock the entire party came ashore and retreated into the woods. Baskets containing the day’s catch were carried back with them to their village in the woods where fires had already been stoked in preparation for dinner.
      As the Elves prepared the meal the Elflings and the Dwarf sat together at one of several long, wooden tables in the centre of the briefest of clearings. Around them stood the silvery eruil trees and among those were the Elves’ quaint huts, very cleverly fashioned from red cedar and thatched with thick, yellow rushes. Ivy grew in abundance around and on top of the huts, bestowing on them a charming, homely quality that reminded the Elflings of the pleasant week they had spent in the cabin in western Arvalla.
      As Burak polished his armour and Talen and Falco wondered at the loveliness of the lush forest and the Elves’ quaint village within it Quelindor came and applied a salve to a scrape that Dannadar had taken on his foot in the shallows of the river. He informed them that Raavan and Alatar still were in the company of the Elven chieftain, but that they would see them soon as they joined the entire host for dinner. For now the other Elves went about their business in the village while the fish were baked over the fires. In the canopy high above a small flock of toucans squawked noisily and fed on bite-sized yellow fruits. An ermine hopped about among an ivy patch nearby.
      After a time the Elves came and sat at the tables as the fish were taken from the fires and placed in large wooden bowls. There also were bowls of a mashed cahava -like root, and there were fruits aplenty. Sweet wine was brought forth as the chieftain and his wife appeared and took their places at the head of one of the long tables not far from where the Elflings sat. With the Elven leaders sat Raavan, while Alatar took a seat between Talen and Burak.
      The Elflings ate heartily, for they had worked up quite an appetite playing in the river. Though the food was prepared simply and without any spices or seasonings it was relished by all, even the Elves. Of course no victuals, no matter how prepared, can match the freshness of viands which have just been plucked from nature an hour ago and cooked over an open fire in a forest. This is nowhere more true than in a magical forest inhabited by Elves and Unicorns, Dryads and Naiads, and Sylphs and Faeries and Wood Nymphs, and all the other things there are to take hold of your imagination while you dine with Wood Elves out in the open air on a summer’s eve.
      After dinner the Elves brought out their instruments and began to play, with at first just one or two of them trading off simple, sprightly melodies on their reed pipes. Then others joined in with a variety of stringed instruments and also flutes and piccolos and oboes and clarinets, all crafted from a varied assortment of woodland materials and all of them possessing rich, vibrant tones.
      As the darkness descended onto the forest the fire was stoked up higher and now all the Elves climbed into the trees or danced round the blaze, all except for the chieftain Valastar and his enchantingly beautiful wife Fáethilín who instead sat in silence with the companions while they listened.
      Long into the night the Elves played. The music was unlike anything Talen had heard before. On and on it went, one great, long song that never seemed to have an end but always meandered on to some new theme, picking up where one idea left off and transposing it, inverting it, modulating or otherwise transforming it into something entirely new and exotic.
      Turning his head this way and that Talen could hear that the music came to his ears from all directions, even from directly above, and yet the whole ensemble seemed to be moving and shifting as the music took on a life of its own, dancing through the shadows about him with its many voices rising and falling both in synchrony and in syncopation.
      Now he closed his eyes and the music took him to strange and distant lands where creatures walked with dancing gait across surreal landscapes and sang with beautiful voices about pleasure and bliss and glee, and also occasionally of sadness and grief, but always with hope, and virtue.
      The last thing Talen remembered before drifting off to sleep was seeing Fáethilín standing before the fire, singing melodies of exquisite beauty in the fair Elvish tongue:

      Lhonna suilio
      Tha lhochben lemb gwn
      Odhelf ith rist lossenn
      Ith rae
      Ith rae
       
      Remminio lhochben
      Pgenedin sil tren
      Brond tannui al lossenn
      Ith nae
      Ith nae
       
      Araew annei!
      Araew annei!
      Tir-nennath taithia Tor-Vy
       
      Araew annei!
      Araew annei!
      Odhelf ith rist lossenn
      Tor-Vy
       
      Though he could not understand the words Talen was certain that he knew the meaning: Sleep, relax, dream, and be content...
      Content he was, and so sleep he did.
       
       
      When he awoke the next morning Talen found that he was lying comfortably on the soft, leafy, forest floor. Nearby were Falco and Burak, both still snoring contentedly.
      Raavan and Alatar soon appeared in the company of several Elves, and they were leading their steeds. Waking the others Raavan bid them take their breakfast and prepare to get under way, for they had many miles to travel still before they left the forest. Of course, not all of them were eager to leave Arvalla behind, yet all knew that the importance of their quest had not waned even if the pleasures of the wood helped to remove it from their minds.
      They found Dannadar lecturing the Elves on the proper brewing of tea. This the Elves found highly entertaining, and they laughed quite merrily throughout his exhaustive and highly detailed oration.
      Soon the party had eaten and had taken their tea and now they were ready to ride out. Valastar and the lovely Fáethilín saw them off as they rode back to the eastern bank of the Vorohallo. As they rounded a corner Talen looked back for one last glimpse of the soft beauty of Fáethilín’s face. Though he would see her never again in the sunlit world, always that image would remain with him, and thenceforth it would be the standard against which he would measure the beauty of all things.
      They continued their trek north in search of a ford. An hour later they found a suitable place and had crossed over. South they now rode toward the Tyalume, passing by the great swans which floated nigh to the Elven village. The party waved to them as they passed. Some of the fowl honked or nodded their heads, but one small cygnet swam toward the bank to call out: ‘Goodbye! Goodbye! Goodbye!’ Though it broke their hearts to say good-bye to these marvellous creatures, they did so, and soon they had left them far behind.
      They reached the Tyalume around mid-morn and proceeded easterly along its north bank. Soon the river began to wind once again, first south, then east, then north, but always progressing more or less easterly. Because they had lost half a day of travel with the Elves Raavan insisted that they quicken their pace as much as practicable. Fortunately, a wide path followed along the river’s edge for much of the way, allowing them to trot along rather quickly. Because of this they did indeed make good time, and when finally they camped that evening Raavan was quite pleased with their progress.
      After supper Talen felt inspired to play his fife, for he had not done so for some time and he wished to explore several of the Elven melodies which he had heard along the Vorohallo before they faded from his memory. While he played softly the others spoke.
      ‘Are Valastar’s people going to join in the fight against Silgoth?’ asked Falco.
      ‘It is unlikely,’ answered Raavan. ‘The Elves in this part of the forest are very adverse to any sort of violence. I think they would not know how to make war even if they wanted to do so. It is not in their nature.’
      Burak snorted. ‘What are they going to do if the war comes to them? Climb into the trees and hope the enemy just goes away?’
      ‘They’ll return to Sulunerea,’ said Raavan. ‘And they won’t wait for the enemy to get here. They do keep an ear to the ground. They know much about what goes on in the world outside of Arvalla, even if they don’t wish to have any part in it.’
      ‘That’s ridiculous,’ argued the Dwarf.
      ‘You have to understand that Elves see the world very differently,’ explained Raavan. ‘Many of them have been here longer even than I. Some can remember a time when nearly all of Entira was one great forest, before the sons of man came and began to change the land to suit their own tastes. Men brought war, disease, and destruction to a land that previously did not know these things. And soon after man arrived there came the ancient orders of sorcerers, the Gothians and the Nosturians. Then came the Úvar worshippers, followed by the terrible Glarwaith, and of course then there were the Deathlords and all their varied spawn.’
      ‘Men could not have brought all those things to Entira,’ said Burak.
      ‘They didn’t,’ said Raavan, ‘but that’s not the point.’
      ‘As you say,’ said Burak. ‘But it does seem that we wasted half a day yesterday for nothing.’
      ‘It wasn’t a total waste,’ said Raavan. ‘Conferring with Valastar never is. I learned much that I did not know. As I said before: Valastar knows much about the goings on outside his little domain, even if he does little to directly influence the world about him.’
      ‘Right—he’ll use you for that purpose instead,’ said Falco.
      ‘Yes, he’ll use us instead,’ said Raavan. ‘That is his way. But he does wish us the best of luck, even if he won’t be going with us to protest at Silgoth’s door.’
      Burak snorted again. ‘Luck, you say. I’d rather have a legion of his best archers.’
      ‘I don’t know about that,’ countered Raavan. ‘It’s not ordinary luck we’re talking about—it’s Elven luck. And I’ll take Elven luck any day.’