WayFarer (27 page)

****

Arillia’s laugh carried down the table to Elcon. He paused, mid-sentence, forgetting what he said to Shraen Enric, who waited in expectation. Torchlight bathed Arillia’s skin in a rosy light. A spark of amusement lit her eyes as she spoke to Gaerlic of Daeramor, across from her, and his laughter rang out in turn. Elcon sighed. He would have little success in ignoring Arillia with the corner of his eye catching her every movement.

Across the table Enric leaned forward. “You were saying, Lof Shraen?”

Elcon cast back, but could not discover the lost thread of conversation. “I’ve forgotten.” Arillia laughed again, and before he could prevent himself, he turned his head her direction. With an effort he pulled his attention from her.

Enric glanced toward Arillia then gave a smug smile. “More pressing matters claim your thoughts. A rose of Chaeradon may appeal far more than the roses of Torindan.”

Elcon could think of no response. If he didn’t want rumor to fly, he’d better be careful. Perhaps he should excuse himself. In truth, he longed for this tedious meal to finish so he could abandon his guests to the entertainments Tarrat, his new steward, had arranged. Jugglers, bards, and acrobats waited to regale them. He would not remain in the great hall longer than need be, for spending time near Arillia in the company of her suitors always made him restless. He rejected the idea that he might himself join their ranks. Even if he had not injured Arillia in a way that removed him forever from her consideration, how could he relinquish Aewen in such a way?

He started, for he’d failed to respond to another of Enric’s questions, and had forsaken their conversation. Arillia looked his way, and his gaze meshed with hers for several heartbeats before he could bring himself to look away. He stammered an apology to Enric and met a forgiving smile.

“Never mind. Your thoughts are where they should be in this season of new beginnings.”

Elcon gave a small smile. “I thank you for your grace, Enric. New beginnings can only come where there are endings.”

“That is so, Elcon, but even warm memories bring cold comfort in the dead of winter.”

A juggler on stilts drew their attention then, sparing Elcon the need to reply. He slipped away, leaving his guests to their own devices. As he arose, the weight of Arillia’s gaze followed him from the chamber. That she read his intent he had no doubt. She had always known him too well.

Weilton stood as if to follow him as well, but Elcon waved for him to remain. He wearied of guardians dogging his steps and refused to live in fear within the walls of Torindan. Besides, he carried a dagger on his belt.

He had meant to return to the quiet of his chambers but the splash of falling water carried him to the moonlit pool at the center of the garden.

A flutter of wings startled him, and a great bird lifted from the pool’s edge, its wings pale and gleaming. A passing kairoc, come to drink.

The ceremonial garb he wore was warm enough, but he shivered a little in the night wind, freshened by a lingering hint of winter. Trees tossed silvered heads and the pool’s surface rippled. He should not remain here long, not when comfort waited at his fireside.

The wild music of the night struck a responding melody within him. As he had done in the allerstaed, Elcon spread his arms and turned in a circle, his head back. He lowered his arms and breathed deeply of the chill air, which bore the scent of Early flowers. Clouds scuttled across the face of the moon and sent shadows racing over him. Talan and his wingabeast jumped in the changing light, as if they contended still.

He should encourage Arillia to wed. That pompous Gaerlic would offer for her, Elcon did not doubt. Arillia was everything Gaerlic could want in a raelein when he became shraen of Daeramor. She possessed every virtue expected of a maid. Her skill with a needle recommended her, as did the voice she lifted in song and her quiet manner. Arillia’s deportment held no lack, for she had long been trained into obedience by her mother, as befitted a daughter of Chaeradon’s lineage.

Elcon crossed his arms to warm himself. He did not really want Arillia to wed Gaerlic, but that was from selfishness. Yesterday in this garden with her he’d felt again a thread of attachment stretch between them. He’d felt it, and despite himself rejoiced in its strength. And now Arillia occupied his thoughts. Her face even pushed aside Aewen’s in his mind. As the realization struck, pain tore through him and he turned away from the fountain, leaving Talan to tame his wingabeast alone. He would not forget Aewen, nor would he betray the memory of the child they had lost.

Arillia walked toward the garden from the great hall, her maid trailing behind her. She looked beautiful, almost other-worldly in this light. Part of her hair wound about her head in a plait woven with jewels that winked like the stars above her. The remainder of her tresses flowed unbound in the wind.

To observe protocol, he should murmur a greeting and offer her his arm, but indecision held him fast.

She ran to him on light feet, fetching against him with a gasping laugh.

“It’s windy out here!”

He put up a hand and patted hers, resting on his arm. “You should seek shelter. Did you tire of the entertainment?”

She smiled at him, and a dimple curved into her cheek. “Once you left it lost its appeal.”

Elcon pulled away from her a little. “I could not linger among a crowd this night. I—I sometimes need solitude.”

“I know you grieve.”

Her words cut through him. He eased his hands out of fists. “I know you mean well, Arillia, but you cannot drive the pain from me. I will always grieve for Aewen.”

Her eyes widened. “I—I’m sorry. I should not have followed you here.”

The sorrow in her voice tore at him, and his arms ached to comfort her. He didn’t trust himself to respond. In time, the silence told him she’d gone. He turned to call after her. “Wait.”

Arillia had already reached her maid, waiting on the path to the great hall. She paused and glanced back to him.

“Come back.” His voice croaked as if seldom used. He swallowed against a dry throat. “Please.”

She walked back to him, but he could see by the shuttered look on her face, she had withdrawn. That was well, despite the grief it caused him. “Will you forgive me? I should not have been rude to you. It’s just that you caught me ill prepared for politeness.”

She blinked away tears. “Elcon, really it’s all right. I intruded upon the solitude you so love. I—I forgot that we are—we are not as we were once. I am no longer part of the peace you seek.”

He wanted to kiss the sorrow from her face. He drew a breath. “You should wed.”

She looked down at her clasped her hands. “I shall never wed.”

Anger flared white-hot within him. “Have you taken leave of your senses? Of course you shall wed. What of Gaerlic?” He tried to stop himself from saying more. “Don’t tell me he doesn’t desire you.”

Her head came up. “What has my friendship with Gaerlic to do with you?”

“I think he might name your association with him as something other than friendship.” He despised the note of jealousy in his voice. “I’m certain he will ask for you.”

She flung out an arm. “Since you make my business your own, please know that he has already done so. But I’ll not take him, or any other.”

He scowled. “What nonsense is this?”

He’d never seen such a passionate look as the one now on her face. “I’ll not wed because the man I want loves another and won’t have me.”

He blinked. Before he could gather himself to respond, she ran from him. The tapping of her feet dwindled, and only windswept solitude remained.

25

Alliance

The gate screeched open and the yawning darkness of the tomb opened before Elcon as musty odors of earth and death wafted to him.

Weilton touched his arm. “Are you certain?”

Elcon felt certain of nothing, except that he would find peace in the tomb of his fathers where Aewen and her child rested. The thought of them trapped here while he enjoyed the comforts of life rent his heart.

Behind Weilton the beauty of a spring morning stood in contrast to the place of death within. Elcon heaved a sigh. “I must go on.”

Weilton lifted the lanthorn he held to light the entrance of the tomb. “You need not go alone.”

“I must.”

Without a word, Weilton passed the lanthorn to him. As the lanthorn swung beneath Elcon’s hand, shadows jumped within the tomb. He had to bend his head to enter, but once inside, there was room to stand. Dust stirred underfoot to float upward in motes the frail light caught. A sneeze took Elcon unaware, the sound muffling at once in dead air. The hair on the back of his neck rose, and he could not stop himself from staring into the darkness beyond the circle of light. He lifted the lanthorn high to still his qualms as much as to light his way. The floor was uneven here, its stones shifted by time. Burial chambers fanned on either side in a circular pattern, with the entrance hall behind him. Some of the rooms waited in emptiness. Boulders blocked the doors of crypts, the one containing the remains of his parents among them. He touched a hand to the stone blocking the entrance to Aewen’s tomb, where he would one day reside. He did not own the strength or the desire to move the stone.

Elcon leaned his forehead against the stone. “Aewen, forgive me for placing you here.” His voice fell without resonance.

A touch he recognized brushed his soul, and peace enveloped him. Somehow Shae reached through time and space to him. Her gentleness strengthened him, and then faded. He was alone again—a half-crazed shraen visiting his own tomb. The cold and damp of rough stone against his hands made him shiver, and he rubbed his palms together. Tears blurred his vision, and he stumbled out of the tomb to gasp draughts of fresh air as sunlight warmed his face.

“Lof Shraen, are you well?”

Elcon opened his mouth to reply to Weilton but then shut it again.

“Have you found what you sought?”

Weilton swung around. “Emmerich! You startled me.”

As Emmerich stepped from behind Weilton, Elcon shook his head in response to his question. “Perhaps I never will.”

“The dead cannot absolve the living.”

“Must you always speak to me of grace?”

Emmerich smiled. “I will speak of it until you understand.”

Elcon squinted with the effort of memory. “Let’s see... Grace cannot be earned by might, nor can it be won by guile. It must be received in the same way a child takes a crust of bread from a parent’s hand.”

“You remember my words at least, but you have yet to learn their meaning.”

Elcon frowned. “How can you know that?”

“If you understood, you would not seek within a tomb that which you cannot capture or earn.”

“Both my wife and child lie dead because of me. I carry a weight of guilt that leaves me no peace.”

“You are not responsible for everything that has gone wrong in your life and with your people, but neither are you blameless. The greatest and most noble challenge you face is accepting grace by another’s merits and not your own. In that you will find peace.”

Elcon shifted, and the sun’s rays pierced his eyes, so that he raised a hand to shield them. “If Aewen in death cannot grant me absolution, where can I find it?”

“Lof Yuel’s grace sprang fully formed from your sorrow. You have only to accept it and to forgive yourself. For if Lof Yuel forgives you, how can you hold yourself guilty?”

Elcon turned away.

“Consider my words with care, and remember the decision you make affects others.”

“What do you mean?”

“Arillia waits to learn if you will allow yourself to live again. She loves you.”

Elcon did not ask how Emmerich knew such a thing. He had learned not to question, even when Emmerich asked Elcon to do what seemed too difficult. “I am not certain I can do what you ask this time.”

Weilton caught up to Elcon on the path. “Lof Shraen…”

With a roar, Elcon pushed Weilton away. “Leave…me…alone.”

Hurt reflected in Weilton’s eyes. “As you say.”

Elcon went on alone to the gatehouse, where he climbed the steps to the battlements. He put his hands against the rough stone parapet and squinted into the distance. The landscape beyond the castle and its motte today were bathed in sunlight, but in his mind he still saw fields littered with bodies, sons of Rivenn flung into a mass grave, and pools of blood not yet drunk by thirsty ground.

His selfishness had contributed to the death of many, and he would never forget that. Still, if he did not let go of the grief he’d caused and accept the grace from Lof Yuel that Emmerich described, he would never be able to bring joy and healing to his kingdom.

****

Arillia walked with her maid beneath twisted strongwoods, their leaves just breaking from pale green buds.

“Arillia,” Elcon’s low tones must have carried, for she turned back to him. The truth Emmerich had revealed shone from her face. Elcon crossed the distance between them and took her small hands in his. “I’ve been a fool.” She opened her mouth as if to protest, but he squeezed her hands. “Let me have my say, for I find this most difficult.”

The corners of Arillia’s mouth curved upward in the beginning of a smile but her face held a wary expression. “Speak then, Elcon, and I will listen.”

“I regret that I’ve made you suffer, Arillia. I let fear blind me to what I should have seen—that you love me still.”

Her chin quivered as her eyes shone with tears. “I think you should get to your point, Elcon, if you have one.”

“Wait. Arillia, I—I love you, too. Even after all that’s happened, will you marry me?”

She laughed even as her tears fell. “I do love you, Elcon, and I want no one else. I’ll marry you.”

Elcon held her. As Early flowers unfurled and flitlings chattered, they forged an alliance founded on tears and grace.

Author’s Note

Consequences follow when we reject God, but He delivers us when we repent and turn to Him. Elcon represents those who fear change and resist following Jesus, despite witnesses to the truth and the pricks of conscience. Elcon loses everything he builds in his own strength, but when he seeks and humbles himself before the DawnKing, he finds deliverance. Aewen stands in allegory as his own plans and desires, which, although appealing, require the compromise of his integrity. Aewen’s death represents the natural outcome of our own pursuits outside God’s will, with its fruit (her child) falling into the hands of another. It follows, then, that Elcon’s marriage to Arillia, symbolizing God’s plan for him, can only come after Aewen’s death and Elcon’s repentance. Elcon says goodbye to Aewen at her tomb in a poignant portrayal of relinquishment. Afterwards, he is able to accept the grace Emmerich offers him. In choosing to live in forgiveness, Elcon frees himself to marry Arillia and embrace life.