Chapter 3

Part 1

Chapter 3

Awakening. Grass beneath him, scratching his neck. Then as always, the memories, the sadness, the despair, the pain. Weeping, weeping like a child. And why not? There was no one to see or to care.

But somehow it was not as bad this morning, and he forced it away with less effort. He sat up and rubbed the sleep-sand and tears from his eyes, and looked around. Perhaps it was this beautiful, magical seeming place, this little high meadow with the tiny brook and the perfect view of the valley below. It seemed to bring him a small measure of serenity, somehow.

He rose and crossed to the brook to wash, then checked his wire snares. Four of the simple traps held prey; three squirrels and a small rabbit, and in each case the snares had functioned perfectly, bringing death to the small animals almost instantly by breaking their necks. He was glad to see that; it made it easier when he respectfully apologized to their spirits for their deaths in a brief prayer.

Having done that, he moved all ten snares and reset them, then cleaned his prey on a flat rock by the brook.

After assembling a shallow bronze pan and three iron rods into a small tripod brazier and building a tiny fire in it, he roasted and ate his catch one by one.

He reflected that it was rare to harvest such a bounty. Generally, only one of the snares caught anything on every second morning, and the meat was only a supplement to his general diet of roots, leaves, berries and nuts. Those were plentiful here as well. Perhaps he would stay here, until a pair of weeks before the snows should fall.

Then he realized that it was the first time he had consciously thought about the days ahead since… Since he left Shinosa Valley.

Clamping down hard on his thoughts, he fiercely concentrated on the sensations of the moment; the taste and texture of the food he was eating, the heat of the fire on his face, the morning sun. In this way he managed to avoid weeping again.

Having finished eating everything but the cleaned skins and bones, he took those with him when he walked a hundred meters to visit the forest, and buried them with his spoor.

He returned to wash in the brook, then cleaned and disassembled the brazier and stowed it in the log.

He sat on the log to admire the view for a while before he set out to gather plants.

A voice called from over by the path, giving him a violent startle.

“Hello the camp!” was called, and it sounded like an old woman.

“Uh… Yes?” he stammered.

Yazadril, standing by the path, almost lost his train of thought. What a voice! Even raised a bit to call out, it was the deepest, lowest, richest voice he had ever heard! And its fundamental resonant frequency was exactly in tune with the power field!

He gave himself a shake to recall himself to the business at hand, and called out again in the Trade Common language. “I generally sit where you are, of mornings, and meditate while contemplating the view. May I join you? I have some very tasty apple pastry I would share, and some good bumbleberry wine as well.”

“Uh, sure.”

Yazadril walked into the clearing, whistling a happy tune as he retrieved the pastry and wine from his trail bag. The huge human was standing and staring at him strangely, then suddenly dropped to his hands and knees and bowed his head.

“Now now, no need for all that!” Yazadril told him in surprise. “I doubt you’ve seen one of The High People before, but you’ve nothing to fear from me!”

Slowly, the human’s startlingly bright dark blue eyes rose to look him up and down, taking in the fine doeskin boots, the loose satin breeches colored the same green as the grass, the silk shirt in the same gray as the rock of the mountain, the stout brown woolen cloak and matching trail bag. His gaze settled for a moment on gracefully pointed ears peeking through shining gray hair, before meeting Yazadril’s ancient eyes with a puzzled look.

“You… You’re not a god?” he finally asked, his voice rumbling even deeper and lower now that he spoke quietly.

“A god?! No no, don’t be silly!” Yazadril laughed as he sat on the log and spread his treats beside him. “I imagine your people would refer to me as a mountain elf. Why would you think me a god? I admit the beard gives me a somewhat dignified air, but…”

“You’re glowing.”

“Am I? How very interesting! But it is no sign of divinity, I tell you that for certain!

“I am Yazadril of The High People of The Nine Valleys. Here, have some pastry.”

“Thank you. I’m called Markee, from… Shinosa Valley.” The huge human said as he sat a respectful distance down the log.

Suddenly he was struggling to contain his tears.

“Ahh, Markee, anyone could see that you bear a great grief.” Yazadril gently told him. “There is no cure for that except time, and living a good life. But I could lessen your pain a little, for a while, if you’d like.”

“Yes. Please help me.” Markee quietly sobbed as his eyes closed, and his tears spilled from them.

Yazadril hummed a short note and cast a mild Tranquility upon him. It passed through Markee like he didn’t exist, and dispersed beyond him a moment later.

“Oh yes. I’d forgotten about that.” Yazadril muttered in chagrin. He concentrated hard while humming a discordant air, and with great effort managed to bring himself and his intensified spell out of synchronicity with Markee, at least enough that the spell would adhere to the human a bit when the old wizard shoved it into him.

The effort left him gasping and shaking, and Markee quickly reached down to gently steady his shoulder, or he’d have fallen off the log. “I’m… I’m all right. Just give me a moment to catch my breath.” the old elf gasped.

“I… Thank you. My sadness seems more… distant, now.” Markee mused. “Like it was a year older than it is.”

“You’re welcome. That was my intent.” Yazadril nodded as he regained his composure, and poured them each a goblet of wine. “It should last a few days. Perhaps a week.”

“You’re a wizard!” Markee stated in soft amazement.

“Yes, I am.” Yazadril nodded again, and took a deep drink. “That’s why I seem to glow to you, I suspect. You can see my power.”

“How is that possible?! That I can see that?” Markee asked in confusion.

“I’m not sure. Tell me, if you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?”

Markee was surprised at the question, and considered his answer carefully. “I’ll tell you, if you tell me how old you are first.” he eventually replied.

“Fair enough. I’m eight thousand, four hundred and seventy-six years old. I am the eldest of my people, by a wide margin.”

Markee gaped, and Yazadril sighed.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you that, but you asked, and I’m a bit vain about it. I admit to some pride at having fought off the great darkness for so long, though of course it’s simply good luck, for the most part.” Yazadril grinned, combing his beard out with his fingertips. “Now, will you keep your part of the bargain? Will you tell me your age?”

“I’m sixteen.” Markee stated, still gaping. “You’re really that old? That’s… I mean, what you must have seen! You must know everything by now!”