Varlarsaga Volume 1 - Escape

Chapter 8 - Mossfelli Valley

‘Noble stranger!’

A voice was gently calling him, rousing him up from the depths of sleep.

‘Noble stranger, awake!

Sun is risen, birds are winging; singing for the daybreak.

Voles are stirring; dew is glistening.

Harken now, leaves float on the tree-lined lake.

Wind is murmuring, are you listening?

Noble stranger, on your brow is light of dawning.

Raise your eyes for morning's sake.’

Corin opened his eyes and there, perched at the foot of his pallet sat a cross-legged fellow, a pixie by the look and size of him.

He was russet clad and had big brown eyes set well apart in a rosy face. Atop his tousled, ruddy hair was a peaked cap of mossy green that tilted in a jaunty fashion, giving him at once a comical, woodland appearance; though his movements were more of urgency.

‘Who are you?’ asked Corin, wiping the sleep away and sitting up.

‘My name is Dalen Lefa. In the Pecht, which is my tongue, it means, Leaf Treeheart. I am to be your guide and companion. But come,’ he hurried on, ‘much awaits us, and there are sights for you to see.’

The pixie leapt off the bed and scampered to the doorway.

‘Be as swift as you can,’ he flung back as he turned, beaming. ‘Your garb has been cleaned of travel stain and lies there ready for you to don.’ He gestured to the bundle of Corin's clothes as he darted out.

Corin smiled to himself whilst he pulled on the worn boots that had taken him on such a far journey, then gazed about puzzled, searching for the cat given him by Morgan the day before. Bim was nowhere to be seen, and he was just about to begin a search under bed and bench when the door flew open and in shot Dalen again.

‘0 la! You are dressed, Noble Stranger,’ chirped the pixie. ‘Very good. Follow me now, for we are expected soon.’ And with that, off he went at a goodly rate, so that Corin had to stretch out to catch the nimble fellow.

Soon they were both together, Corin striding to match Dalen's bird-like steps, down a long corridor where arch and passage led to halls and galleries.

The pair passed others as they walked: red headed Pechts who flitted in and out of doorways like sparrows, taller elves who smiled and watched after them. And shy folk, garbed all in browns and greens and yellows, their hooded faces hidden as they bowed like so many fluttering autumn leaves. The music of many tongues blended: some deeper, others with the sound and rhythm of wind through the long grasses of meadows or treetops in summertime.

Corin had sight of many faces: sea elves gowned in blues and greens, eyes bright and searching. Elloræ of the forests, their beautiful features reminding him of Elvra's, and the stray glimpse of those beneath their cowls; their skin nut brown, eyes averted in rounded heads where straw locks curled from shadowed bonnets.

‘Who are those folk?’ Corin whispered, bending to catch Dalen's ear, when they had passed them by.

‘They have many names,’ laughed the pixie. ‘Fenoderee, they would say. We Pechts call them Booca.’ He danced a trip and turned about without losing step.

‘The Elloræ, elves, name them Browneeth; Brownies, you might say. They are now few in all of Elfame, and are wary always, even more so than we Pechtkin. The Booca come from Elvermore mostly, though some dwelt in the groves of Vernoriath. They are the guardians and keepers of bees and the Adari. Birds. And they love all flowers and trees, tending them where they grow: from the fields of Gramen Trum's lofty shoulders to Daw Nolar, Niniath and Narvel glade. They were here, this night past, though you did not see them. Still, that is their way; they come bearing berry baskets and mellis wine, but never are forward. The Booca prefer to stay unseen and watch, and after, to vanish. Then again,’ Dalen grinned, ‘you did not see me either.’

Corin and the pixie reached an archway of tall, fluted pillars and passing beyond, stepped into the bright sunlight of morning.

Before them was an open courtyard, white cobbled, wherein stood a fine horse, his creamy coat rippling as he stamped the stones. A saddle studded in shining silver, he bore, and a bridle of linked chain to match. And both stirrup and shoe upon the animal gleamed argent. Mist spouted from the creature's nostrils, showering in clouds over proud head and tossing mane.

‘Can you sit a horse, Noble Stranger?’ asked Dalen as he reached up on tiptoe to catch hold of the reins.

‘That I surely can,’ answered Corin. ‘But tell me, Dalen Treeheart, where we are bound?’

The pixie only chuckled as Corin mounted and drew Dalen up before him. ‘You shall see, it would not do to spoil the surprise,’ was all that the little fellow would say.

Then, at his direction, the great white horse turned its head and cantered off through a gateway where tall doors stood away on either side.

Beyond, they entered a tree-lined lane bordered by a riot of wildflowers in every colour imaginable, and soon were galloping along between high hedges, the wind in their faces and the sun splashing the road ahead.

‘If you will not tell me our destination,’ cried Corin, ‘perhaps instead you will tell me the name of our noble steed?’

‘He is Cornarian, Running-Silver,’ laughed the pixie, ‘and Silval Birdwing is his master. But for today Cornarian will take us as far as we need to go. Give him free rein now, for he well knows the way and is eager to come there.’

So they raced along down the winding lane until they crossed a stone bridge that spanned a purling brook. It was beautiful there; birds were everywhere in the trees and on the golden waters. Throstles sang and robins flickered through the leafy canopy.

Bees hummed a drowsy refrain.

Butterflies; swallow-tailed and silver hued, mingled with Purple Emperors and moths whose wings were transparent to the filtered light. In the glade, small deer turned their heads to watch with gentle, curious eyes. Flowers bloomed on the banks, and a mist seemed to shroud the furthest reaches of the greenwoods.

Here they turned from the lane, which meandered on toward undulating hills, and followed a path that wound between reedy banks and overhanging willows. Squirrels ceased their nut gathering to sit and stare as they passed, and the sweet air seemed filled with an enchantment that wafted about Corin as he wondered at the tranquil scene.

Cornarian paced on for a time, whilst Dalen's head bobbed this way and that, his eyes wide with eager anticipation. Then, faint at first, there came the sound of singing; rising slowly through the chatter of water drifting on the warm, morning breeze.

Rounding a sudden bend of the stream, the trio emerged from the swaying trees and came out onto a rise where the path ran quickly down to a greensward strewn about with wild flowers. Beside it, falling helter-skelter over white, washed pebbles, tumbled a creamy torrent that broadened into wide ripples on the surface of a placid lakelet.

There, kneeling in a circle amongst the green grass, maidens lifted their voices in song. Birds round them fluttered, like blossoms from the sky. Sun splashed every rosy cheek, and Corin, unspeaking, could only watch, entranced.

When the elf maidens spied them, they fell to silence, and for moments none made to move. The great branches of the trees hovered about the clearing; somehow comforting. Grebes were in the shallows by the rustling reeds. Frogs on the lily pads blinked at the darting horseflies. A speckled fawn, unhindered, drank at the water's edge.

‘The sun is risen and you are come. Glad welcome bid we sir. Here, unhorse and taste a draught of meadow dew.’

A lady, lithe and graceful, stood from the circle and held forth an acorn-shaped goblet. Corin saw at once that it was Alluin, daughter of the king and queen, and again he was struck by her loveliness. This time she was clad in a snowy gown that brushed the grass where she walked. Her skin was the colour of cream, and her cheeks, that of the rose. Her unbound hair, besprinkled with bluebells, fell about her face; wherein, set like twin jewels shone deep green eyes. Around her slender waist she wore a ribbon of palest mauve, and upon her offering hand, bore she a ring that held a bright, sunlit stone.

About her feet, her five companions remained: dressed alike in white, woven garlands in their laps or spread amongst cloths of bright yellow, strewn with loaves and bowls of honey, baskets of fruits, vessels and cups brim with golden liquids and crimson.

Corin dismounted, and Dalen, leaping lightly down, led Cornarian away to the edge of the clearing where the horse grazed at will, by some silver limes.

‘I am honoured by your kindness and company Lady,’ said Corin as he joined the group. ‘Indeed this is a most pleasant surprise, since Dalen Treeheart would give no word of our destination.’

‘I know that well enough,’ Alluin replied, drawing Corin down beside her and giving into his hand the cup. ‘For I asked him not to. The eyes see more along the way, when the place bound for is unknown. Besides,’ she smiled, ‘Mossfelli glade is reward for patience, yes?’

Corin took a sip of the cool liquid, and was at once surprised and delighted by the sharp, lemony tang. ‘Indeed,’ he nodded, ‘never have I seen a better, more peaceful place, and certainly never in such fair company as I now find myself.’

Alluin laughed, and the others joined in gaily. ‘Oh you are a winsome fellow. I knew it would be a merry deed to bring you here.’ She lifted her own cup, ‘Now partake of this early meal here before us, and after we shall walk and take speech amongst the trees.’

Time drifted slowly there; or so it seemed to Corin as he ate and drank of the elvish fare, and listened to the voices of the maidens. Dalen had wandered off into the woods to gather flowers and herbs, Cornarian plodding, browsing behind the tiny pixie.

‘What is the song these sweet maidens croon?’ inquired Corin, regarding the princess as she worked a flimsy thread that sparkled like dewy spider-filament into a delicate shawl.

‘The song is simple and ancient,’ she replied without lifting her eyes from her task. ‘It speaks of the Trysting-places: high hills, forests and dells where those First-come to Elfame gathered, long before halls were raised or towers built. And still, long after, we who followed meet where we may to make the songs and dance as They did, beneath the moon. The words, in your tongue are rendered so,

Hasten and come to Niniath,

by the lakes of Silavar and Donivorl.

To Calimer and Darrath come, where lie the mounds

of Govisond and the hills of Feldolrath.

There flows the mighty Almithon.

To Sarandor and Belderond of Elvermore,

in Vernor and Narvel groves the trees are singing

of memories: the fallen leaves are filled with them

in Daw Nolar.

And we are as the fallen leaves of Elfame...’

Alluin put aside her weaving and gazed across the waters before her. ‘Beyond the Lomaflow, do your eyes catch a distant gleaming?'

‘Why yes,’ answered Corin, staring hard in the direction of her uplifted hand. ‘It appears to me like stars, shining through the light of day; four risen stars above the southern tree-line.’

The princess smiled as Corin turned to her, a question unspoken on his lips.

‘Stars, yes,’ she said, as if to herself. ‘Your sight is well matched to your perception.’ Bidding her maidens stay, Alluin rose. ‘Come,’ she said directly to Corin, ‘walk with me by the water.’

Together, they went to the banks and watched as golden fish flashed beneath the surface.

‘Away, beyond this pool of Loma, the stream passes on, leaving these woods, and winds through meadow land until it reaches the forest of Elvermore.’ The elvish princess bent to touch her fingers to the pool, and as she so did, fish gathered about the ripples; drawn, it seemed to Corin, by enchantment. ‘Elvermore is the home of my mother Goldal, before her Queening to Elberl, he who sired me. It would be a loss and a pity if you were never to see that part of Elfame's beauty. I shall take you there, ere many days pass, and Silval Birdwing will come with us, both he and Elvra; for they have not trod those paths since before setting out on their long voyages.’

There was a far-off look in her eyes as Alluin turned, the west sun glowing upon her hair. ‘I hope that, in time to come, you will remember with fondness the glory of this isle. Yet be warned. Do not speak too loudly to those of mortal realms. I deem that there will be some who scoff at such tales, if that which our valiant sea-wanderers have perceived in their travels be true. For I am told that it seems a quality of men to busy themselves with themselves, taking small heed of the earth, our Varlar, and all else that is, or dwells therein.’

The elvish princess stooped to pluck a tiny flower of pink and white from the bank at her feet, and holding it up as if to prove her point, went on; ‘So doing, men miss the simple truths that abound. These things have little meaning for they who will look to their own, not beyond. They will never hear the sound of the stream whilst mending the pail; never know the voice of the dove, drowned by their own voices. How could mortals taste of the earth's bounty when only intent upon the confusion and haste of their domination?’

Corin could only stand in silence before her, unable to answer. For though he felt he understood, he could not speak on behalf of those faraway in the land he had longed to escape. Perhaps he was too worn, too caught up in his own strivings, so that shame over-washed him. And not only for himself, but for those of Ravenmoor.

The perfume of the single bloom rose and lingered between them, captured on Alluin's fingertips. ‘Nay,’ she said, ‘do not carry blame where none was lain. You are not rebuked by me, nor all mortals from whence you came. I have not such right, for mine are but thoughts and guesses. And it is not for me to dwell longer on that told me by others.’

‘It would appear that I do not see beyond myself and what has befallen me; here come amongst wondrous folk in a wondrous land,’ he replied, finding his voice. ‘But I am confused and mystified. I do not even know what is to become of me.’

‘Have no care to that,’ answered Alluin with a skip and a laugh. ‘Here you are safe with the Elloræ of Elfame, for a time more. But look,’ she hurried on, ‘away yonder there I spy a creature waiting to greet us after his wanderings in the woods. He will be thirsting for a sip of cream no doubt.’

Corin followed her gaze and there, sure enough, was the little cat Bim; emerging from the shadows of the trees.

By the time Alluin and Corin returned to the circle of her maidens, Bim was already lapping at a large sea-shell in their midst.

‘How ever did Bim come to be here?’ asked Corin, delighted and puzzled.

‘Ah! He was with us long ere you arrived,’ answered one of the ring. ‘Bim heard us singing beneath the stars as we passed, this night gone, and followed; for though you are now his master, yet does he love to frolic in the moonlight.’

Corin found himself laughing, whilst Bim licked at his shiny black paws, for he was relieved at finding that the cat had come to no harm. Then a thought struck him. ‘Tell me how it is that you know I am his master?’

It was the turn of Alluin and her maidens to laugh, and it was as a tinkling of summer rain in a running brook. ‘Why Bim told us, of course. How else should we know?’ said another of the circle, and all smiling shyly, they turned to their weaving.

A time longer, Corin walked in silence beside the princess Alluin, daughter of Elberl and Goldal, king and queen of Elfame. And he found comfort in that silence and in her company. It was as if there was no need to speak: as if all thoughts passed, one to another, without words. He watched and admired the elvish lady where she danced ahead, her quick, small feet flashing beneath the hem of her kirtle. Yet too, he was much confounded; since there seemed a great deal that he did not understand.

At length, Dalen returned from his ramblings bearing bunches of blooms in his short arms, Cornarian looming behind: his saddle heaped with herbs and rushes.

‘It is nigh that we should take our leave, Noble Stranger, for the day is almost ended,’ squeaked the pixie. ‘And I was bade return you to our halls ere nightfall. There an evening meal awaits, and I must tend Cornarian.’

With a start, Corin saw that the whole day had indeed passed; though it seemed only fleeting moments. In wonderment, he turned to Alluin and her maidens, saying, ‘Will you not come with us?'

She met his gaze with her piercing, green eyes. ‘We shall linger here awhile longer till the moon: then by His beams will we dance in the fields of Feldolrath away by the far hills.’ The princess lifted her hand, coming closer to Corin. So close, almost, that he near stepped back. ‘We will meet again soon, to journey the green paths of Elvermore as I have said. But for now we must part. Go with Treeheart and noble steed, until we are together next. ‘

Before Corin could say more, Bim sprang to his shoulder, almost like a tame bird.

When he, Dalen and the cat were mounted upon Cornarian's stout back, the princess bade her maidens arise. ‘Farewell Stranger,’ they called as one, whilst the horse broke into a sharp canter.

‘Farewell,’ cried Corin over his shoulder.

When they gained the rise, he turned to look back, but the glade, bathed in pale light, was empty. They took their way at a slower pace then, whilst the sun sank beneath the level of the trees in the east. In the purple twilight a mist arose, to hang over the murmuring Lomaflow. Birds settled to roost at the coming of eve; squirrels went scampering to their dreys.

Cornarian's hoof-beats muffled amidst the heaped pine needles, giving a curious dream-like quality to the journey. Then they reached the roadway and turning there, crossed the stone bridge. Bim rubbed against Corin's neck, purring contentedly as they jogged along.

‘Not far to go now,’ chattered Dalen.

Chapter 9