Spellbreakers (23 page)

Because what made things more embarrassing for her was
that once you got past his strangeness, Ljung was a tremendously attractive
man. She didn’t know how old he was, but there was certainly nothing fatherly
about him.

He had a lithe but muscular physique, although it was
hard to notice it at first, because of his curious tatterdemalion clothing,
which mostly hung about him in a rather shapeless way, while making him
well-nigh invisible in the forest’s dappled greens. But if you watched him hard
enough as he moved around, the lines of his body could be guessed and puzzled
out bit by bit, the flatness of his stomach, his narrow waist, the width of his
shoulders. He was not heavily muscled, but rather wiry and sinewy, except
around his wide bowman shoulders, chest and upper arms.

Leal was fascinated by the way he moved, as if the
ground was a particularly delicate object to be trod upon with care.
Light-footed, that’s what he was. Not like a slight insubstantial creature, not
like a hopping bird, but like a supremely elegant desert horse, stepping
lightly on well sprung pasterns and small hard hooves. She didn’t know if all
elvers moved like that. Sometimes she hoped so, so that she could eventually
stop being so fascinated by him, a very inconvenient feeling. Sometimes she
hoped not. She hoped that it was something unique to him, that he would turn
out to be indeed as exceptional as he seemed to her now.

Sometimes at night she lay awake under her cloak and
blanket—the nights were getting colder—and the thought of his body haunted her
waking dreams. She could almost feel the slender sinewy curves of it under her
fingers. She was tormented by the thought of his skin. How would it feel?
Smooth and warm, like Daria’s, or rougher, cooler, like the wild forest animal
he was? The skin of his face was smooth except for a few lines around his
incredible eyes, and two slight creases that marked the corners of his mouth,
suggesting that he was usually more ready to smile than he appeared now.

Maybe he finds our company as worrying as I find his.

There was a dark shadow of beard and moustache on his
face. In the days they had traveled together since the fords of the Venta’a he
had never shaved, and the growing beard was another surprisingly attractive
thing. Leal craved to touch it, stroke it,
understand
its texture.

It was more than distracting to be around him.

It was downright troubling.

She had come on a high love quest. She needed a pure
heart, and all that. And if the quest succeeded, well, one day she’d go back to
Castel Argell, and be queen, whether she wanted it or not. It was not a
privilege. It was her responsibility.

She could not go and fall in love with this elver
hunter. It was complicated enough to be in love with Daria, but Daria had
always been part of her life, and always would be, she imagined. In the heart
of the castle it was easy to love a woman. Nobody paid much attention to what
women did in their private chambers between themselves. But, as Daria’s mother
had amply proved, a male lover and a commoner at
that,
would be a serious complication in one’s life.

Leal hated to think of it in those terms, but such was
her life. What choice did she have?

She could not talk of this to Daria, either. It would
hurt her to know she was obsessing about somebody else, first of all. And Daria
was already acting funny about him.
Sullen and moody.
Perhaps she sensed that Leal was growing too attracted to him. So she steeled
herself, trying hard not to fantasize about him as she rested in the whispering
darkness of the forest. But her fingers always betrayed her and traced dream
caresses on the long curves of his body.

****

On the fourth day after her frightful fall, Daria felt
almost herself again. Perhaps it was the slow walking working her muscles
loose, perhaps it was the horrible infusion that Ljung made her drink twice a
day, but on the fourth day she felt ready to get back into business. They could
not delay in the woods forever on account of her bruises.

Ljung considered appreciatively her energetic step,
but as usual he made no comment. Daria didn’t mind. She was getting used to his
quiet ways, and rather liked them. She rather liked all of him, in fact.

What Daria had not discussed with Leal was that at
some time during their second day with Ljung, his lips began to look to her
like they had been drawn by an artist with a gift for easily drafting the most
exquisite, flawless curves. They were shapely and smooth enough to be a woman’s
lips, but there was absolutely nothing effeminate in his face or demeanor.
Occasionally Daria surprised herself slowly stroking her upper lip with a
fingertip or the tip of her tongue, trying to imagine how it would feel to kiss
that forbidden and sumptuous mouth, or to be kissed by it, slow soft, tender
kisses on her bruised shoulder, healing the hurt away. When that happened she
mentally slapped her own face and pulled
herself
together by main force.

She had always been faithful to Leal, in deed and
thought.

It had not been a difficult virtue. She just had never
felt any inclination towards anybody else, man or woman. It was upsetting to
feel this growing attraction for a stranger.

What was worse, the attraction was obviously one way.
Aside from the considerate use of separate bushes Ljung seemed to make nothing
of their sex. He treated them like boys, with no particular courtesies or
favors, let alone gallantry. He expected them to handle their gear, saddle
their horse, climb steep paths without being helped up by a courteous hand all
the time, and he never did all those little silly thing that most men do around
girls. He was not at all uncaring, as he had shown at the fords, with the poor
horse, and with his tea and tactful short marches. He was helpful if help was needed
and asked for, but he didn’t
fuss
. He was usually somewhat somber, and
he could be quite cutting and sardonic at times, which made his rare and toothy
smiles the more delightful.

Daria discovered that in only two days of traveling
together she was becoming hungry for those smiles, like a young dog who
constantly spies the face of his master hoping for a nod of approval. This in
itself was so deeply embarrassing that she became occasionally tongue tied, or
cherry red, when he said something to her. To her certain knowledge no such
thing had ever, ever happened to her before. It was perfectly horrifying.

It would have been easier if they had been at home, in
the busy castle, or traveling in a larger group, but as it was, there was no
escaping her growing obsession. She was either alone with her own thoughts, her
very
undisciplined thoughts, or with Leal, feeling
guilty for her treacherous feelings and unable to talk freely, because all she
wanted to talk about was him. Or she was with both of them, feeling caught
between two fires. And now and then she would find herself alone with
him,
which was blissful and excruciating in equal amounts. She had never felt so
flustered in her life. She just could not avoid thinking of him. There was no
escape.

She had never been attracted to anyone but Leal, and
Leal had always returned the feeling freely and openly. She had never hungered
for someone she could not have, and she was discovering the painful fact that a
frustrated attraction can quickly become obsessively intense. She had seen
girls lusting after boys before and had always despised all the vapors, the
flurry of spirits, the giggling and whispering in corners, all the agitation
and commotion. She had never realized that the
flurries
, as she was
beginning to think of them, were
both genuine
,
agonizing, and relentless.
 
She felt as
rowdy as a mare in heat. There was a large part of her that was slipping her
own control, and for Daria, who had always prided herself on being, against all
odds, firmly in charge of her own
life,
this was very,
very scary.

****

The
 
fourth
day since the fords, Ljung set out early to climb a
rocky, barren knoll in the forest and get his bearings. He always knew pretty
well where he was in relation to Elverhjem, and the two main rivers of the
Elverlaen, but that day he wanted to get to a specific camp for the night, and
wanted to make doubly sure of his position. Daria was doing better, but she
could do with some more nursing than she could get in the forest. She was a
tough
girl, that
was for sure. He approved of how she
had walked four days in silence, despite her appalling tumble.

He had expected complaints and protests from the two
girls, now that they were both going on foot, but in fact no such thing had
occurred. He was surprised, pleasantly.

In fact the two girls had thrown Ljung from the start.

When Daria had stood in front of him, bloody faced and
cat-fierce, it had been all that he could do not to cry out, and make a sign to
ward off ghosts.

It was as if Naya’s last moments, those last terrible
moments, had passed in front of his eyes once more. It had been a struggle to
will himself calm enough to talk to the two girls and not shoot them both
through the heart on the spot.

But as they talked and moved around, slowly that terrible
bloody image had faded. When Daria had washed her face and the two girls had
sat quietly with him, side by side, older memories had come back.

Each of them had something of Naya, his own sweet
Naya, not the fury of the last day, about her. Leal had the same seriousness
and focus, relieved by the same irresistible, nose-wrinkling smile. Daria had
the same prowess, pride and bravado, and the same hidden diffidence. Together,
they brought Naya back with a physically painful clarity.

Naya ... he hadn’t thought of her in a long time, now,
although somewhere, just under the surface of his thinking mind, she was always
there, of course.

He had never thought to see her face again except in
dreams, nightmares and slowly fading memories, and now, with those two girls
around, it was as if she was back, living and real, breathing and smiling,
walking beside him and looking at him from every direction. He had had to walk
away, the first night, making a muttered excuse, just so that he could stand
alone for a few minutes in the darkness and pull himself together. He had never
imagined he would cry for Naya again.

The next day the first piercing edge of pain had been
blunted somewhat, and he had been able to see them for themselves, and not just
as startling echoes of
her
.

They were remarkable creatures, even without that
echo.

Like most human beings they seemed to lack some subtle
yet fundamental element of balance, a certain elastic connection to the forces
of gravity, but they were both agile and athletic young creatures. To an
elver’s eyes they had the same bizarre combination of grace and awkwardness
that a long-legged foal or young fawn has, as if they were always on the edge
of a tumble and yet always still miraculously on their feet. One could spend
hours watching them go around, wondering how they did it.He had known many
humans in his life, and he knew that especially in the western kingdoms they
mostly kept their women at home, while the men did almost all the traveling,
hunting, and fighting. It was not at all usual to meet human women on the
forest roads, let alone two coming from so far away. Ljung could only admire
their resourcefulness and courage.

He
had never had a proper dwelling place, or much of a
family. Even Elverhjem was not his home. When he had traveled to the Elverlaen
from the immense, distant Itaanvaelta’a, the boundless land in the east where
so many elvers had been living a more or less solitary, roaming existence, he
had found help and comfort from his loss, but never a true home. Perhaps it was
too late for that. Sleeping under the stars, without a roof, without a
particular place to go tomorrow, was his natural state of being.

It was different for these two, especially for Leal.
They were born and raised between stone walls. They might have been terrified
of the murmuring immensity of the forest at night, but they had embraced this
wandering life without too many qualms.

Nonetheless, they were edgy, almost anxious, something
he had first attributed to the strangeness of their surroundings and the
weighty nature of their quest, but that, to his amusement and surprise, turned
out to be mostly because of
him
.

He had quickly become aware that both girls were somewhat
awestruck with him, but whether that was something to feel flattered about or
just a result of the fact that neither of them had ever seen an elver before,
he could not say. It was partly diverting and partly exasperating to see their
rapt faces every time he moved, or smiled, or just happened to look at them.
There was a sort of innocence about them, although he was absolutely sure that
they were lovers.

That innocence was in itself fascinating, or maybe
once more it was the memory of Naya that made it so. She had been like that,
too, at the beginning. She had been so young. They had both been so young.

Elver women, as a rule, were their own mistresses.
They could mate and marry as they pleased, and they were more likely to choose
their own lovers than the other way round. Traditionally they were the keepers
of hearth and gardens, sure, but they could just as well choose to hunt, if
they so wished, and live in the wild with male companions, whether or not they
were their lovers or husbands. Ljung could tell that for these two girls being
out in the forest alone with a man was as exceptional as it was for him to be
out here with them.