[Part Five of the Tale of Redbird. Click on the link on the right and scroll down for earlier posts. Enjoy!]
The road beyond Aedil was rough, as Redbird had predicted. The last straggling signs of civilization soon faded, and they rode into a grey wasteland where little grew except for thorny shrubs and small, leaf-less trees.They met no travelers as they went, and Redbird was not surprised. The country they were traversing was barren and empty, she could conceive of no reason why anyone would willingly enter such a place.
After the first day's episode at the inn, Estwyn developed a keen concern for Redbird's human needs that was at times touching, and mostly aggravating. The first thing he did each day was present her with a selection of elf-food, strange berries and fruits that Redbird had never seen before and a thin, light bread that he told her was prepared from a type of grass that grew in his country. Redbird had little taste for this spartan fare, and found her self dreaming fondly of juicy chicken legs dripping with sauce and hunks of roast beef wrapped in spices. The only thing she liked was the elf wine, which was a strange, sweet drink, made from crushing and fermenting a mixture of flowers and spices. The orange-golden brew set her nerves tingling, and filled her with a heady sense of optimism.
All this was well enough, but a mere fifteen minutes after they had stopped for breakfast Estwyn would turn to her and ask, anxiously, a question he would repeat many times over the course of the day.
"Are you hungry, Lady Redbird? Do you need to eat?"
"No, thank you, Estwyn. I'll tell you when I'm hungry again."
And then, after another fifteen minutes, he would turn again, with a hunted expression on his face, and ask: "Are you hungry, Lady Redbird?"
He seemed to consider her stomach a bottomless and unpredictable pit, the workings and appetites of which were beyond his comprehension. He himself ate very little, sometimes only once in two days, which made Redbird feel both gluttonous and guilty.
In the daytime, they rode hard. Estwyn's horse, Snowy-Mountain, neither asked for any quarter, nor was she given any. She seemed to be made of the same inflexible steel as the elf and, in all the time Redbird traveled with them, she saw neither exhibit a single sign of fatigue. In the night they made camp and Estwyn stayed awake to keep an eye out for wild beasts while Redbird slept.
They had been travelling for four days when they reached the Whyne, the river that marked the end of the country of Atheland, of which the Hock was a part, and the beginning of elvish territory. Redbird was glad to see it- she was heartily sick of their gloomy surroundings, and she was bruised all over from being continuously in the saddle.
"From here, it is but a day's journey to Faelen!" Estwyn told her, with the happiest smile she had seen so far. His spirits seemed to grow brighter with each step they took in the direction of his homeland.
"Excellent!" said Redbird, forced to shout to make herself heard over the winds that were blowing around them. The weather had taken a turn for the worse as they approached the Whyne- a circumstance that filled Redbird with foreboding. If it rained their supplies would be spoilt, and elf-food was hard enough to stomach when it was dry and reasonably warm.
The wind was howling and shrieking by the time they reached the river, and the Whyne was a broiling mass of writhing water.
"We're not going to try and ford it in this condition, surely?" said Redbird, eyeing the fuming, frothing river with alarm.
"Consider it not," shouted Estwyn, over the noise of the storm, as Snowy-Mountain stepped into the water.
To Redbird's shock, a face formed in the river as Snowy-Mountain's hooves disappeared beneath the waves- a weeping, miserable face that snarled and gnashed its teeth at the horse and its riders.
"It hurts!" the face moaned, shrieking and wailing, "The brute of a horse is stepping on me and it hurts!"
The water splashed them with increasing force, Redbird was sure that at any moment they would be knocked over.
"Nasty elves," said the river in a sullen murmur, "Come this way and tread all over me. I'd like to lay them down one day, over rough sharp stones, and tread all over them. No consideration! No sympathy!"
"Estwyn, we must turn back!" shouted Redbird, in a panic. The river seemed to be working itself up into hysterics. Thunder roared above them, and a streak of lightning illuminated the sky, making the late evening as bright as day.
"Pay no attention to her!" shouted Estwyn, as Snowy-Mountain forged determinedly on.
"Oh, yes, pay no attention to the river," screamed the Whyne below them, "Tread on her, and spit on her and FILL HER WITH MUCK!"
The last cry was so loud that Redbird clapped her hands over her ears to shut out the sound. Somehow, Snowy-Mountain made her way through the fretting river, accompanied by a flood of complaints from an increasingly angry Whyne. Finally, they reached the bank, miraculously dry from the knees upward, and the long-suffering horse sprang forward, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the irate water body.
The very weather improved the further they traveled, and soon they were galloping under a field of stars, with a soft breeze whispering around them.
"What on earth was that?" asked Redbird.
"That was Leinin, or the Whyne, as you humans call her," said Estwyn, "One of the many forces that protect the elven kingdom."
"She doesn't seem to know that," said Redbird, thinking of the way the river had spat and raged at them.
"She is a good river at heart," said Estwyn, "It's only when she falls into this morose mood that she becomes difficult. At other times she is as sweet-tempered a river as you could wish to see."
"Why is she so upset?"
Estwyn sighed and turned his eyes upwards to gaze at the sky above them. "These are troubled times for the elves," he said, "We have been without a King for too long, and the land begins to protest. Our winters have grown longer, and our trees bear less fruit."
"Why don't you crown a new King then?" asked Redbird.
"It is not as easy as that," said Estwyn severely, and Snowy-Mountain made a soft sound that seemed to indicate agreement. "Sleep, Lady Redbird. I do not wish to break our journey, now that we are so close. When you wake, we will be at Faelen."
Redbird wondered how she was supposed to sleep after an announcement like that, but the day had been long, and the smooth rise and fall of Snowy-Mountain's movements had become as familiar to her as a lullaby. She slept and did not dream, until she was woken by a soft word from Estwyn.
The dawn was breaking, and the sky was filled with light and colour. Ahead of them lay a great city of white marble and stone that glowed in the light of the new day.
"Look ahead, Lady Redbird," said the elvish messenger, "Look upon Faelen- home of the dunenalfen. Raise your eyes and look towards the halls of the mountain elves."
The road beyond Aedil was rough, as Redbird had predicted. The last straggling signs of civilization soon faded, and they rode into a grey wasteland where little grew except for thorny shrubs and small, leaf-less trees.They met no travelers as they went, and Redbird was not surprised. The country they were traversing was barren and empty, she could conceive of no reason why anyone would willingly enter such a place.
After the first day's episode at the inn, Estwyn developed a keen concern for Redbird's human needs that was at times touching, and mostly aggravating. The first thing he did each day was present her with a selection of elf-food, strange berries and fruits that Redbird had never seen before and a thin, light bread that he told her was prepared from a type of grass that grew in his country. Redbird had little taste for this spartan fare, and found her self dreaming fondly of juicy chicken legs dripping with sauce and hunks of roast beef wrapped in spices. The only thing she liked was the elf wine, which was a strange, sweet drink, made from crushing and fermenting a mixture of flowers and spices. The orange-golden brew set her nerves tingling, and filled her with a heady sense of optimism.
All this was well enough, but a mere fifteen minutes after they had stopped for breakfast Estwyn would turn to her and ask, anxiously, a question he would repeat many times over the course of the day.
"Are you hungry, Lady Redbird? Do you need to eat?"
"No, thank you, Estwyn. I'll tell you when I'm hungry again."
And then, after another fifteen minutes, he would turn again, with a hunted expression on his face, and ask: "Are you hungry, Lady Redbird?"
He seemed to consider her stomach a bottomless and unpredictable pit, the workings and appetites of which were beyond his comprehension. He himself ate very little, sometimes only once in two days, which made Redbird feel both gluttonous and guilty.
In the daytime, they rode hard. Estwyn's horse, Snowy-Mountain, neither asked for any quarter, nor was she given any. She seemed to be made of the same inflexible steel as the elf and, in all the time Redbird traveled with them, she saw neither exhibit a single sign of fatigue. In the night they made camp and Estwyn stayed awake to keep an eye out for wild beasts while Redbird slept.
They had been travelling for four days when they reached the Whyne, the river that marked the end of the country of Atheland, of which the Hock was a part, and the beginning of elvish territory. Redbird was glad to see it- she was heartily sick of their gloomy surroundings, and she was bruised all over from being continuously in the saddle.
"From here, it is but a day's journey to Faelen!" Estwyn told her, with the happiest smile she had seen so far. His spirits seemed to grow brighter with each step they took in the direction of his homeland.
"Excellent!" said Redbird, forced to shout to make herself heard over the winds that were blowing around them. The weather had taken a turn for the worse as they approached the Whyne- a circumstance that filled Redbird with foreboding. If it rained their supplies would be spoilt, and elf-food was hard enough to stomach when it was dry and reasonably warm.
The wind was howling and shrieking by the time they reached the river, and the Whyne was a broiling mass of writhing water.
"We're not going to try and ford it in this condition, surely?" said Redbird, eyeing the fuming, frothing river with alarm.
"Consider it not," shouted Estwyn, over the noise of the storm, as Snowy-Mountain stepped into the water.
To Redbird's shock, a face formed in the river as Snowy-Mountain's hooves disappeared beneath the waves- a weeping, miserable face that snarled and gnashed its teeth at the horse and its riders.
"It hurts!" the face moaned, shrieking and wailing, "The brute of a horse is stepping on me and it hurts!"
The water splashed them with increasing force, Redbird was sure that at any moment they would be knocked over.
"Nasty elves," said the river in a sullen murmur, "Come this way and tread all over me. I'd like to lay them down one day, over rough sharp stones, and tread all over them. No consideration! No sympathy!"
"Estwyn, we must turn back!" shouted Redbird, in a panic. The river seemed to be working itself up into hysterics. Thunder roared above them, and a streak of lightning illuminated the sky, making the late evening as bright as day.
"Pay no attention to her!" shouted Estwyn, as Snowy-Mountain forged determinedly on.
"Oh, yes, pay no attention to the river," screamed the Whyne below them, "Tread on her, and spit on her and FILL HER WITH MUCK!"
The last cry was so loud that Redbird clapped her hands over her ears to shut out the sound. Somehow, Snowy-Mountain made her way through the fretting river, accompanied by a flood of complaints from an increasingly angry Whyne. Finally, they reached the bank, miraculously dry from the knees upward, and the long-suffering horse sprang forward, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the irate water body.
The very weather improved the further they traveled, and soon they were galloping under a field of stars, with a soft breeze whispering around them.
"What on earth was that?" asked Redbird.
"That was Leinin, or the Whyne, as you humans call her," said Estwyn, "One of the many forces that protect the elven kingdom."
"She doesn't seem to know that," said Redbird, thinking of the way the river had spat and raged at them.
"She is a good river at heart," said Estwyn, "It's only when she falls into this morose mood that she becomes difficult. At other times she is as sweet-tempered a river as you could wish to see."
"Why is she so upset?"
Estwyn sighed and turned his eyes upwards to gaze at the sky above them. "These are troubled times for the elves," he said, "We have been without a King for too long, and the land begins to protest. Our winters have grown longer, and our trees bear less fruit."
"Why don't you crown a new King then?" asked Redbird.
"It is not as easy as that," said Estwyn severely, and Snowy-Mountain made a soft sound that seemed to indicate agreement. "Sleep, Lady Redbird. I do not wish to break our journey, now that we are so close. When you wake, we will be at Faelen."
Redbird wondered how she was supposed to sleep after an announcement like that, but the day had been long, and the smooth rise and fall of Snowy-Mountain's movements had become as familiar to her as a lullaby. She slept and did not dream, until she was woken by a soft word from Estwyn.
The dawn was breaking, and the sky was filled with light and colour. Ahead of them lay a great city of white marble and stone that glowed in the light of the new day.
"Look ahead, Lady Redbird," said the elvish messenger, "Look upon Faelen- home of the dunenalfen. Raise your eyes and look towards the halls of the mountain elves."
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