A Lamp of Belief
What houses have remained Faithful, disdaining the Enemy, adding our small strength to the Elder war? Too few by far. The list grows ever shorter, and yet we endure. The price of our alliance is steep.
—Tharos son of Ildar
Dawn was made of freezing fog and stealthy sounds, tree branches groaning under fleecy coats growing heavier as melt tiptoed closer. I lunged into full wakefulness when Arneior moved upon our couch and had to rub at my eyes. Naciel leaned over us, her finger to her lips; the princess beckoned. We followed her out of the tent, stepping quietly between the huddled forms of Elder taking what rest they could.
It is not often those folk seek such surcease; sometimes they dream with their eyes open and ’tis good as mortal slumber. Only when driven to extremity—or when they wish it—do they do as tired mortals will.
Naciel did not quite limp but stepped very delicately indeed, and her bandaged feet bore loose slippers which did not match her torn skirts. Yet her beauty was unabated, every tear and tatter merely accenting its depth.
The camp was silent; shadows moved in the fog as the midnight watch returned for fire and a mouthful. The High-helm’s folk had lived in Laeliquaende for a long time but the Elder do not forget what they have suffered, and before any city of theirs was founded they well knew how to move swiftly over hill and through forest, how to guard their younglings while doing so, and how to confuse pursuit.
Tjorin was before a much smaller tent, perched upon a boulder with his knees drawn up, watching a campfire. Aelflame burned, the fire’s fingertips blue; I knew the seidhr of kindling it now, thanks to Aeredh.
Yesterday seemed dreamlike; I could not imagine another Elder city simply, entirely gone. I still felt a strong, slow heartbeat upon my cheek. And my upper arms remembered the feel of Eol’s fingers, too. It meant little; both Elder and captain were merely afraid of losing their captive alkuine.
And yet.
Naciel touched her husband’s shoulder as she passed, a brief tenderness I had to look away from. Arneior was busy attempting to keep watch in every direction, her leather-wrapped braids disarranged but the dark rings under her eyes erased. For all that, she moved a trifle stiffly, and I creaked like an old woman.
Idra’s pained expression on damp-chill mornings made much sense now, and I was probably wearing a variety of it.
The tent—stocks of them had been hidden along escape-routes, I later learned—was lit by a filigreed Elder lamp upon a small folding table, both cunningly and beautifully designed. A jug and two cups sat beside, and she poured us each a healthy measure. “How do you feel?” Her southron was marvelous clear now.
“Like I am made of wood, and the axe-mites have been at me,” Arn muttered, taking a cup with alacrity.
It was springwine clear and fierce, in some ways better than sleep. I had to lower my own goblet and gasp for air; I saw the princess’s gaze settle upon the iron casket.
Which I still carried. It did not seem right to lay it aside, and I had little enough left. The idea of losing aught else gave me an unsteady feeling no Elder draught could allay, but if she would take the cursed thing I would not gainsay her.
I might even express my thanks in song, could I but find the breath.
I finished my drink in more leisurely fashion; Naciel poured Arn another cupful. My shieldmaid saluted her, and set about sipping instead of quaffing.
“We must speak,” Taeron’s daughter said, finally.
“About this?” I set my cup—wooden, and smoothly elegant—down, and the iron box beside it, glad to be free of its bulk. “’Twas in your father’s tower, princess. I shall leave it in your care.”
“No.” Her mien grew passing grave though no less lovely. She had drawn her hair back; the golden flood rippled past her waist. “You do not even know what it holds, do you?”
“A jewel.” I sounded very calm, all things considered. “Made by Faevril, and wrested from the Enemy by an Elder princess and her Secondborn lover. It seems right such a thing should go to you—”
“And have Faevril’s sons seek to slay me for it?” She shook her head and glanced inquiringly at Arn, indicating the jug—but my shieldmaid did not wish for more. “No, my friend. I may call you that, may I not? You are my friend, Solveig daughter of Gwendelint?”
Why do you ask?“I met Faevril’s sons in Nithraen—Curiaen, and Caelgor. The latter offered his aid, though he had not time to render any.” I was not at all certain any help Caelgor the Fair offered would be to my liking, either. “And yes, Naciel daughter of Taeron, I am your friend; I do not know why you would ask as if you doubt my regard.”
“Indeed I do not. I could not, after what you have done.” Naciel’s mouth drew down at either corner and her expression grew even more grave, if that were possible.
I thought I knew why and crossed my arms, palms cupping my elbows. “Your city.” I could not speak very loudly; the weight was in my throat again, and perhaps my voice had not fully recovered from smoke or battlesong. “Your home—your father, too. The Enemy’s servants were chasing us, perhaps we led them to—”
“Oh, no. Do you think that traitor cousin of mine did his work so swiftly, only beginning it upon your arrival?” The Silverfoot’s dark gaze kindled, and a glimpse of that knifelike edge turned her beauty sharp again, though no less weary. “No, I had my suspicions of his wanderings in the far hills of our valley for more than a few mortal years. He was careful, and clever, and after all none believed my father’s own kin would traffic with the Enemy. You may rest assured we were betrayed by our own, not by any doing of yours.”
I could not decide if it was mere politeness or an honest estimation of Maedroth’s treachery, for I knew Taeron’s daughter possessed a kind heart. “Are you so certain?”
“Oh, aye.” Her mouth pulled down bitterly once more, but even that grimace did not alter her loveliness. “I warned my father, but he would not listen, thinking his sister’s son merely prey to an… an unwholesome affection, and struggling against it. So I made ever more secret preparations, without his knowledge or my cousin’s—” It was almost a silent snarl; she clearly could not bring herself to say Maedroth’s name. “And I ensured supplies over and above those already laid by; I held my peace, thinking my sire would see reason before ’twas too late. Even the Blessed warned him. Do not over-cherish the things of your own making, Ulimo said, not once but thrice. Our fall was also of our own making.” She gazed at the lamp upon the table, her hands tense amid ragged skirts. “As always.”
If she meant comfort, it was of a bleak variety indeed. “Nevertheless, I am sorry.” And uneasy, for Tjorin had mentioned Ulimo as well—the great blue-robed lord of the deeps we Secondborn also name Njord, whose daughters sometimes sun themselves upon rocks, singing so sweetly mortal sea-travelers are drawn to wreck by the sound.
“And I.” Naciel moved restlessly, wincing as she shifted her weight. Her feet pained her still that morning—I still did not know what she had done, hearing the tale shortly afterward, but I suspected the dimensions of her bravery well enough. “Yet I am about to ask even more of you, weary and troubled as you are. You should have found shelter and care among us, not this.”
“We have.” There was no denying it. “You have been kind to us, Naciel. You and Tjorin both.”
“Have we?” She took a deep breath, looking past me at the drawn tent-flap. I had the sudden, uncomfortable idea that Tjorin was standing guard instead of merely warming himself as all mortals like to upon a chill morn. “There is summat I would ask of you, Solveig of Dun Rithell. I have no right; you have done more for me than any other. I owe you—both of you—my very life, not to mention my husband’s, and more. It is not meet that I should beg for aught else, yet I do.”
Arneior’s gaze rose over her goblet-rim, met with mine. The same look had often passed between Aeredh and Eol during our travels, or Tjorin and Naciel in Waterstone; I was ever glad of my shieldmaid, though at that moment the joy was sharp as a blade.
“Enough.” Arn set her wooden goblet down. “Let us hear what you would have us do, princess. We are allies to the House of Naras, and have proved our faith to you and your husband besides. Say it, and be done.”
“Even if it is something…” Naciel’s bright eyes half-closed, her head slightly averted as her chin dipped and a bright sheaf of her beautiful hair fell over her shoulder.
She looked, of all things, ashamed.
“My Solveig would never turn away from a friend in need,” Arn said, and the certainty shining in her features shamed me, because I also suspected what Taeron’s daughter meant to ask.
I could be wrong. Please, let me be.“Say what you will, Naciel. Faithless is the one who turns away from a troubled ally.” The proverb did not quite sting my tongue… but it did threaten to catch upon a rock in my throat.
“Very well.” She faced me again, her shoulders pushed back; straight and slim the princess of Laeliquaende was, though footsore and heart-aching from many losses. “Only my father could open the tower. But the Freed Jewel rests within that casket, and I am the one who knows the secret of its opening. I would unlock it, and have you take up what Lithielle won at such cost.”
Oh, sheepshit.Once or twice Idra had remarked that there was no greater curse for a volva than being right, and that was the moment I understood what my teacher had meant. The knowledge, like all gained in such circumstances, was bitter as spring herbs. “You know I cannot use the thing—even one of Faevril’s minor toys threatened to boil me from the inside. I am Secondborn, Naciel, and—”
“I do not think it has a use, my friend. Please, listen.” Her hands were before her now, and it was the first time I saw an Elder’s fingers twist together so hard they turned bloodless, like Astrid when she feared a particular task but must perform it anyway.
Had I not done the same more than once upon the winter solstice, dreading failure? I subsided, yet I felt that anxiety once more—distinct from the terror of a shattered city and draugr, a far more familiar and entirely unlikable companion.
And I felt the iron box’s quivering in my arms as well, though it rested innocent and demure upon the table.
“Indeed Faevril never used the Jewels, only wore them.” Now the princess spoke almost eagerly, with the speed of one who must impart much before they are interrupted. “But an alkuine made them, and only he knew their secrets. You are the only other of that kind I have ever heard of, Solveig—the only other Aeredh has, or my father, and Odynn’s ravens brought him news of the wide world for hundreds of mortal years. To have you appear now, while the Enemy is resurgent and taking our kingdoms after a long watchful peace… Aeredh believes it means something. He believes the Blessed have sent you for this very purpose, and he is not one to trust lightly, nor to say such a thing without gravest proof.” The light in her eyes intensified; Naciel of Laeliquaende’s own belief shone like the filigreed lamp.
I did not need weirding to see it. “What if I attempt the thing inside that casket and it kills me, princess? What then?”
“It will not.” And she sounded so sure, but Taeron’s daughter had no seidhr save the share granted to every Elder as a matter of course.
For all their beauty and their power, we sometimes do what they cannot.
She pressed onward. “And if another alkuine holds Lithielle’s Jewel, Faevril’s sons may somehow be brought to reason, or at least alliance. We have little chance against the Black Land, but what there is lies in our leaguer, not our division. So Aeredh says, and I agree.” Naciel took a deep breath, and her knotted hands now pressed into her middle. “Please, Solveig. Bjornwulf was a Secondborn like you; Tjorin is one as well. Take up what the first won, and help me save the second.”
Arneior made a restless movement, but I was still, and my seidhrsharpened. “Ah,” I heard myself say, in the peculiar tone of a volva speaking truth that is not quite prophecy but close enough. “You do not wish your child born fatherless.”
Arneior cocked her head, examining the Elder woman afresh. One bearing new life is sacred to all, and shieldmaids will protect them hardly less assiduously than an oathbound charge. Naciel was not showing yet, but I knew my guess correct when the princess’s gaze met mine, holding for a long moment.
Knowing herself holding such a fragile treasure, she had still drawn the Enemy’s forces from our hiding-place. Her bravery shamed me all the more deeply, for I did not share it.
“I have so little time left with Tjorin, after all. He is mortal.” Naciel’s mouth crumpled; for a lone moment an ageless Elder looked younger than my sister. “And afterward the Enemy will pursue both dam and foal until he achieves our extinction, for he hated my father—and my husband’s too, no less than he feared them. You are our only hope.”
My mouth opened and I drew breath, but the words died unsaid. I was, for once, struck utterly speechless.
Her brittle self-possession returned, Naciel turned to the table. Her strong, slim fingers flickered upon the lid of the casket. She made no attempt to hide the trick of its opening, and fool that I was, I could not look away. A volva watches such things in order to learn, it is as natural as breathing and as inevitable as sunset.
There was a click, a soft sound like a sleeping child’s sigh, and a smaller rectangle upon the deep-carven iron lid lifted. It did not open completely, but the tent’s fabric walls rippled uneasily.
“I cannot force you,” she continued. “I can only ask, and I have no right to. Yet I do, my young friend. I have no choice.”
With that, the daughter of Taeron nodded at my shieldmaid, and passed by us half-limping with a sweet brush of torn, silken skirts. The door-flap moved, the sound of a winter dawn and soft Elder voices slipping through, and we were left to our own devices.