The Phoenix Unchained (49 page)

“That’s good,” Harrier said cautiously.

Elunyerin seemed to stifle a sigh. “Greatfather will know what to do,” she said to Rilphanifel. “He has known many humans.” She turned and walked off.

“It would be fortunate did you choose to follow us,” Rilphanifel observed, as if speaking to the empty air. He turned and followed Elunyerin up the trail.

Tiercel looked at Harrier. “Um, I guess they
are
Elves,” he said, and hurried after the pair.

NEITHER of the two Elves gave any further indication that they noticed Tiercel or Harrier’s presence, though Tiercel noticed that for all their pretend-obliviousness, they were careful to remain in sight. Dressed as they were, it would have been easy for them to vanish among the trees, so obviously remaining visible was a deliberate choice.

Unfortunately, as Tiercel realized, he didn’t know as much about Elves as he’d thought he did. After the Great Flowering, Elves and Men had lived closely-connected for a century or two, as Elves had taught Men their ways and Men—so Tiercel realized now—had
slowly given up the High Magick. Then the Elves had withdrawn Eastward in the wake of the Great Flowering’s spread across what had once been the Scoured Lands, and after their departure, Men had claimed the ancient Elven cities for their own. All that remained in the West was the memory of the Elves as being kind, powerful, mysterious, warlike, obsessed with perfection and beauty, and a very ancient race. One that, apparently, didn’t want to talk to them.

Another hour’s walk—at a brisk pace, this time—brought them to the far edge of the forest. Imperceptibly, as they had walked through the forest, the path they had been on had become broader and more well-established, until by the time they left the forest it was edged with large round white stones and wide enough for Tiercel and Harrier to walk upon it side-by-side. At the edge of the forest, the trailhead was marked with two smooth posts of the same white stone that edged the path. Beyond that lay, not a meadow, but a park: the grass was short-trimmed and velvet smooth, and not intermixed with wildflowers as the meadow with the Doorway had been.

Tiercel hadn’t realized how dark it was under the forest canopy until they stepped out from its shelter. While they’d been beneath the trees it had gone from dawn to mid-morning, and shapes and colors were bright and sharp in the afternoon sunlight. He blinked in the sudden vividness.

“Do you think we’re supposed to walk on it?” Harrier asked uneasily, staring at the grass.

“
They
are,” Tiercel replied, shrugging. The two of them followed the Elves.

“HERE we are, brother, in the midst of Karahelanderialigor, about to arrive at our Greatfather’s house,” Elunyerin observed.

“Indeed, sister, that is so. And we shall arrive soon upon our doorstep. And were there anyone accompanying us—but alas, there is not, for no one has seen us—we would offer them the hospitality of our father’s home and hearth. It is indeed sad that no one accompanies us,” Rilphanifel answered, gazing off into space.

“Most sad,” Elunyerin agreed. “I see you, and you see me, and that is as it should be. For the rest . . .”

“I see you, Rilphanifel. I see you, Elunyerin,” Tiercel said, finally getting the idea. “Ah . . . do you see me?”

Both Elves stopped and turned around. They regarded each other for a moment, then looked back at him. “That is very bold speech on such short acquaintance,” Rilphanifel said to his sister. “It is possible that there might be cause for reflection on the advisability of leaving foundlings in the forest.”

“Equally, one might contemplate the notion that there are more races in the land than Elves, and they are not all alike. Indeed, we do see you,” Elunyerin said, answering Tiercel at last.

They waited expectantly.

“My name is Tiercel Rolfort. This is Harrier Gillain.”

To Tiercel’s surprise, Harrier bowed—well, anyone who spent half their life on the Armethaliehan docks would be used to dealing with foreign ways and customs—at least, once he got over sulking about them. “I see you,” Harrier said.

Both Elves seemed relieved.

“We greet you once again and this time in full measure, Tiercel and Harrier, in the name of Leaf and Star, and welcome you to the lands beyond the Veil. Stay as long as you will, and when you go, go with joy. I am Rilphanifel and this is Elunyerin. We have come to escort you to the House of Malkirinath, jewel of the city of Karahelanderialigor, where Tiercel has long been awaited, and where his friend is welcome.”

“Okay,” Tiercel said slowly. He really wasn’t sure how he felt about having been “long awaited,” especially by Elves, but now that he was here there really didn’t seem to be a lot of point in making a fuss.

“Nice to know I’m welcome,” Harrier muttered.

“Come,” Elunyerin said, beckoning them onward.

A few minutes later Tiercel realized not only that he was looking at a house, but that he’d been looking at a house for quite some time.

Elunyerin and Rilphanifel had said they were taking the two of them to a city, but he’d seen no signs of one. The first thing he’d seen that looked man-made—or Elvenmade—was what he was staring at now, and for the longest time, his mind had insisted on telling him that it was not a house at all, but a copse of trees. Then suddenly everything had somehow shifted right before his eyes: trees had become pillars, random boulders had become foundation stones, and between one heartbeat and the next he was staring at a house, and could not imagine how he had ever seen anything else. The house was built on a low rise of ground, and rose up out of the earth as if it were an extension of the forms of the earth. The wood of its walls was silvered with time, and the low sloping planes of its roof was thick with moss. While the houses of the Nine Cities were straightforward and up-and-down, this house seemed to . . . swirl, as if it were somehow in motion, like a drift of leaves caught by the wind.

For all its size—and the house was not small—it had an airiness to it. The walls were pierced by long windows that echoed the shapes of the trunks of trees. They sparkled with light—and had added to the original illusion, Tiercel imagined, that this had been a grove of trees and not a house, but no matter how hard he tried,
now, he could not un-see the house and see the trees again. The whole illusion—however it had been created—was disturbing in a way he couldn’t quite articulate to himself. Things should be able to appear and disappear this way in twilight and fog, his mind told him, not on a clear summer morning. But the house had appeared before his eyes where a grove of trees had been only moments before, and now he could not decide whether the trees had ever been there at all.

“Harrier, do you see that house?” he asked, pointing.

“Sure,” Harrier said after a moment, sounding puzzled.

“Did you see it before?”

“Before when?” Harrier asked, and Tiercel gave up. It was a house. It had always been a house.

“BE welcome in the House of Malkirinath, in our home and at our hearth,” Elunyerin said, stopping and encouraging them to step in front of her.

The house had a deep portico—it was hard to see it until you got right up close to the house itself—and the actual door of the house stood in a pleasant shade. The door was made of a single slab of wood as pale as bone, delicately and elaborately carved with a swirling pattern of dragons in flight, and Tiercel would have liked a chance to look at it longer, but it was opened almost immediately.

The Elf who opened it looked enough like Elunyerin and Rilphanifel to be yet another twin, though she was dressed far more formally, in a gown, underskirt, and long sleeveless embroidered overvest in three harmonizing shades of blue. Her hair, as long as theirs, was coiled neatly at the nape of her neck by a number of small enameled pins, and long sapphire drops swung from her ears.

Harrier cleared his throat nervously.

“I see you, Elunyerin. I see you, Rilphanifel,” the woman said.

“We see you, Farabiael,” Rilphanifel answered. “Here are Tiercel and Harrier, travelers from beyond the Veil, guests of this house.”

“I see you, Tiercel. I see you, Harrier.”

“I see you, Farabiael. I thank you for permitting me to enter here,” Harrier said, bowing.
On his best manners
, Tiercel thought in relief.

“I see you, Farabiael,” Tiercel echoed.

“Come, then, and be welcome in the name of Leaf and Star,” Farabiael said, stepping aside to allow them to enter, “Be welcome at our hearth and in our home. I do wonder that you have made it here alive, having been hurried through the Doorwood without thought for food or rest by these foolish children.”

Both boys stopped just inside the door of the house staring at each other. They’d thought they were used to the ways of Elves, but apparently they were not.

“It is quite true,” Farabiael continued, “that though I raised them myself, there are many who believe they were left in the Flower Forest to be raised by Fauns, though no one would be so uncivilized as to mention the fact. Nor do I feel that either Ancaladar or their Greatmother has formed their characters in the fashion that would have been seen when the Nine Cities lay in the West.”

Though none of the three Elves had what Tiercel would actually consider an expression on their faces, he really had the impression that Farabiael was scolding Elunyerin and Rilphanifel and that they were more than a little embarrassed about it. He didn’t think their behavior had been out of line, though. Humans and Elves had lived apart for centuries. He and Harrier must be as strange to them as they were to him.

“Despite this, I am certain that now they will wish to conduct you to a place where you may bathe and rest and eat and garb yourselves
in more suitable clothing before you are asked to consider matters further. You will rejoice to know that the teas of summer are exceptionally fine this year.”

“Thank you,” Tiercel said.

“Come,” Elunyerin said.