Not all who wander are lost. (Crown Quest Part III)
“The first contact we have had with your people in months and it is a request for war? A request for more bloodshed? Is there nothing else your kind can think of?”
“…apparently not.” Marie’s sotto voce remark was dry and all but silent, but the woman’s eyes snapped toward her none the less. They moved quickly enough as Shahriel moved forward to place a hand on Maetremo’s arms, pleading silently though Maetremo ignored the plea. The woman’s eyes did not …soften, nor did her stance lessen in it’s abrasive quality when she looked on the platinum haired sidhe, but curiosity rose in her at the touching.
“Did you really expect our kind to be walking in here shaking hands and breaking bread and telling stories or did you want the truth? Did you want me to fill you with falsehoods? Did you want me to fill you with lies? Or did you want the truth?” Maetremo’s mouth was set in a hard line, his anger showing clearly.
“No, but with negotiations, there is usually more than simply a warrior barging his way in and exclaiming that a people he is no Tribe of, he would like them to come to war, to shed blood for him and his kind. Not ours. His.”
Goddess grant me the grace to set this aright. Shahriel prayed silently as he stepped forward and spoke aloud for the first time since entering the Nunnehis’ village.
“May I speak, please?”
The large Gwydion sighed in irritation as he endeavored valiantly to contain it. “Whatever.”
Shahriel stepped forward, continuing his silent prayers to Brigid for words to warm the hearts before him. He opened his hands and held them at his sides to show his lack of violent intent and weaponry, watching as a man much alike to White River stepped away from the tree where he had hidden. The man lowered his bow marginally, but his posture and expression were clearly as aggravated as his kinswoman who now watched Shahriel with open curiosity.
“I see you, White River of the Canotili, true blood of the people. I am called Shahriel the Morning Star, of the Scathach.”
He paused, swallowing heavily as he lowered his arms fully and gathered himself to say the words in his heart, hoping that they would be enough to sway these people.
“I come in peace, to speak with you of past wrongs and grievances, and to tell you of a war that comes without the bringing of my people. To speak to you of debts owed and a future that is green. I bring with me Pebon Kinlon, who knows the people's ways better than I do, and my sister, Marie the Evenstar of the Eiluned. We will share what we have with you, in peace, if you will hear us in peace.”
The Nunnehi woman stilled slightly, though her posture and expression revealed nothing of her intentions nor emotions, but perhaps his words had won through to ears that would hear them.
“Debts owed.... all that you say and the Unity behind you speaks is an issue more meant for the Elders of our tribe and not meant from the snows of these trying times. We will give you our hospitality this night, but know that we are wary of your kind. There is much distrust. I will be open with such.”
Nor should it be any other way, but I am gladdened that I am heard, at last.
“I offer you the trust of coming to you, unarmed. My life is bared to you and placed in your hands.”
The Nunnehi woman nodded in response to him, two other warriors appearing behind the three Sidhe as she spoke. “Then come with us Morning Star. We have much to say.”
White River lead them through the village to a large hut, dug deep and well into the ground. As they walked, they could hear the trees sigh with music at their passing, and Shahriel noticed that all the people seemed comfortable barefoot, their abnormally long toes unaffected in the snow. Marie smiled gently to their brawny escort and went back to studying their surroundings, murmuring a quiet remark to Maetremo that earned her an sullen, reproachful look before he too turned to examining their surroundings. As they approached, Shahriel noticed a pile of glowing coals, numerous noisemakers lining the walls, and a silent old man who sat in contemplative meditation within. The area around the hut was warm, and the other warriors remained outside while White River ventured within to speak to the Elder.
And now the true trial is upon me. Just a little more, Brigid…I’ll give your hope to them and to the Kithain, if it’s in my hands. Help me and bless me, bright lady.
The Elder opened his eyes, the dim light of the coals enough to show the predatory green glint as he listened to White River and nodded after a moment. “Let them in. They have a purpose deeper than is showing. I would speak with them.”
Maetremo removed his shoes and ducked to enter the low hut without waiting for the others, settling cross-legged to the floor to one side of the fire and watching the Elder in silence. Marie and Shahriel followed him within, moving to allow White River to pass them and seat herself near the door, unobtrusive but attentive of the Elder. Shahriel knelt quietly, following Maetremo’s lead in this though Marie remained standing to wait to be invited to be seated in a fashion more apropos to a western court, but he could not blame her for choosing to err on the side of caution. The Elder glanced toward her curiously and she knelt smoothly, abeyante, resting her hands in her lap with a quiet aplomb.
“I am Moon of the Fallen. I welcome you.”
“I see you, Moon of the Fallen, true blood of the people. I am called Shahriel the Morning Star, of the Scathach. My companions are Pebon Kinlon, whose people come from further east, and my sister, Marie the Evenstar of the Eiluned.”
He paused, glancing over at Maetremo and Marie, one studying the markings inside the hut intensely and murmuring to himself in Algonquin, the other smiling good-naturedly at the Elder and holding her peace in deference to her brother. Shahriel noticed, as his eyes adjusted, that the man’s skin was slightly greenish like a Ghille Dhu’s, filing the observation away for future reference.
“The Dream sings of many things, her voice weakened by the chill of the season. I would speak to you of the past, and the debts that are owed, as well as of the green future that I hope is the wish of both our peoples.”
The Elder simply nodded, gesturing for him to continue. “Speak then as you will. We are listening.”
“The cold has set in, and the Winter has finally come. The wheel of seasons slows, grinding to a halt. There are threats to all people in this, as well as older threats that return from far away lands to subjugate all peoples before them. Fomorians. These things, you have Seen them?” Such a quiet question, to say so much of his observation of his surroundings, but if the Elder was at all perturbed at the insight in his young supplicant he showed it not, merely nodding again before speaking.
“Mine are the peoples of the trees. We have seen much that has come to these lands, heard tales from the Nations beyond that of the Canotili. We know of what you speak, but these are angry spirits, those who have come over on the ships long ago when the land was still young. We have heard their song of hunting, and we curse their steps as many times we have yours. They are poisoned. We sense the song of the water in them. It is twisted now and they are not as they once were.”
The Prince sighed, his lips thinning as he nodded, lowering his head a fraction in acknowledgement of shame. Hope began to rise again as he realized that these peoples did not wish to cling to pacts or agreements of old, as other peoples had further to the east. When next he spoke, his voice was filled with the warmth of his hope, reaching through it to any who would hear him.
“I seek to make right what was wronged. I am a creature made of balance, existing in two worlds as no other before me in living memory. I would ask to know what things are within my power to do, to make right what was wronged. For your people, and for mine.”
“…apparently not.” Marie’s sotto voce remark was dry and all but silent, but the woman’s eyes snapped toward her none the less. They moved quickly enough as Shahriel moved forward to place a hand on Maetremo’s arms, pleading silently though Maetremo ignored the plea. The woman’s eyes did not …soften, nor did her stance lessen in it’s abrasive quality when she looked on the platinum haired sidhe, but curiosity rose in her at the touching.
“Did you really expect our kind to be walking in here shaking hands and breaking bread and telling stories or did you want the truth? Did you want me to fill you with falsehoods? Did you want me to fill you with lies? Or did you want the truth?” Maetremo’s mouth was set in a hard line, his anger showing clearly.
“No, but with negotiations, there is usually more than simply a warrior barging his way in and exclaiming that a people he is no Tribe of, he would like them to come to war, to shed blood for him and his kind. Not ours. His.”
Goddess grant me the grace to set this aright. Shahriel prayed silently as he stepped forward and spoke aloud for the first time since entering the Nunnehis’ village.
“May I speak, please?”
The large Gwydion sighed in irritation as he endeavored valiantly to contain it. “Whatever.”
Shahriel stepped forward, continuing his silent prayers to Brigid for words to warm the hearts before him. He opened his hands and held them at his sides to show his lack of violent intent and weaponry, watching as a man much alike to White River stepped away from the tree where he had hidden. The man lowered his bow marginally, but his posture and expression were clearly as aggravated as his kinswoman who now watched Shahriel with open curiosity.
“I see you, White River of the Canotili, true blood of the people. I am called Shahriel the Morning Star, of the Scathach.”
He paused, swallowing heavily as he lowered his arms fully and gathered himself to say the words in his heart, hoping that they would be enough to sway these people.
“I come in peace, to speak with you of past wrongs and grievances, and to tell you of a war that comes without the bringing of my people. To speak to you of debts owed and a future that is green. I bring with me Pebon Kinlon, who knows the people's ways better than I do, and my sister, Marie the Evenstar of the Eiluned. We will share what we have with you, in peace, if you will hear us in peace.”
The Nunnehi woman stilled slightly, though her posture and expression revealed nothing of her intentions nor emotions, but perhaps his words had won through to ears that would hear them.
“Debts owed.... all that you say and the Unity behind you speaks is an issue more meant for the Elders of our tribe and not meant from the snows of these trying times. We will give you our hospitality this night, but know that we are wary of your kind. There is much distrust. I will be open with such.”
Nor should it be any other way, but I am gladdened that I am heard, at last.
“I offer you the trust of coming to you, unarmed. My life is bared to you and placed in your hands.”
The Nunnehi woman nodded in response to him, two other warriors appearing behind the three Sidhe as she spoke. “Then come with us Morning Star. We have much to say.”
White River lead them through the village to a large hut, dug deep and well into the ground. As they walked, they could hear the trees sigh with music at their passing, and Shahriel noticed that all the people seemed comfortable barefoot, their abnormally long toes unaffected in the snow. Marie smiled gently to their brawny escort and went back to studying their surroundings, murmuring a quiet remark to Maetremo that earned her an sullen, reproachful look before he too turned to examining their surroundings. As they approached, Shahriel noticed a pile of glowing coals, numerous noisemakers lining the walls, and a silent old man who sat in contemplative meditation within. The area around the hut was warm, and the other warriors remained outside while White River ventured within to speak to the Elder.
And now the true trial is upon me. Just a little more, Brigid…I’ll give your hope to them and to the Kithain, if it’s in my hands. Help me and bless me, bright lady.
The Elder opened his eyes, the dim light of the coals enough to show the predatory green glint as he listened to White River and nodded after a moment. “Let them in. They have a purpose deeper than is showing. I would speak with them.”
Maetremo removed his shoes and ducked to enter the low hut without waiting for the others, settling cross-legged to the floor to one side of the fire and watching the Elder in silence. Marie and Shahriel followed him within, moving to allow White River to pass them and seat herself near the door, unobtrusive but attentive of the Elder. Shahriel knelt quietly, following Maetremo’s lead in this though Marie remained standing to wait to be invited to be seated in a fashion more apropos to a western court, but he could not blame her for choosing to err on the side of caution. The Elder glanced toward her curiously and she knelt smoothly, abeyante, resting her hands in her lap with a quiet aplomb.
“I am Moon of the Fallen. I welcome you.”
“I see you, Moon of the Fallen, true blood of the people. I am called Shahriel the Morning Star, of the Scathach. My companions are Pebon Kinlon, whose people come from further east, and my sister, Marie the Evenstar of the Eiluned.”
He paused, glancing over at Maetremo and Marie, one studying the markings inside the hut intensely and murmuring to himself in Algonquin, the other smiling good-naturedly at the Elder and holding her peace in deference to her brother. Shahriel noticed, as his eyes adjusted, that the man’s skin was slightly greenish like a Ghille Dhu’s, filing the observation away for future reference.
“The Dream sings of many things, her voice weakened by the chill of the season. I would speak to you of the past, and the debts that are owed, as well as of the green future that I hope is the wish of both our peoples.”
The Elder simply nodded, gesturing for him to continue. “Speak then as you will. We are listening.”
“The cold has set in, and the Winter has finally come. The wheel of seasons slows, grinding to a halt. There are threats to all people in this, as well as older threats that return from far away lands to subjugate all peoples before them. Fomorians. These things, you have Seen them?” Such a quiet question, to say so much of his observation of his surroundings, but if the Elder was at all perturbed at the insight in his young supplicant he showed it not, merely nodding again before speaking.
“Mine are the peoples of the trees. We have seen much that has come to these lands, heard tales from the Nations beyond that of the Canotili. We know of what you speak, but these are angry spirits, those who have come over on the ships long ago when the land was still young. We have heard their song of hunting, and we curse their steps as many times we have yours. They are poisoned. We sense the song of the water in them. It is twisted now and they are not as they once were.”
The Prince sighed, his lips thinning as he nodded, lowering his head a fraction in acknowledgement of shame. Hope began to rise again as he realized that these peoples did not wish to cling to pacts or agreements of old, as other peoples had further to the east. When next he spoke, his voice was filled with the warmth of his hope, reaching through it to any who would hear him.
“I seek to make right what was wronged. I am a creature made of balance, existing in two worlds as no other before me in living memory. I would ask to know what things are within my power to do, to make right what was wronged. For your people, and for mine.”