Derlian, his heart pounding hard in his throat, Knew the thing that had come from the wild, Knew the horrible discord of its laughter's note- Knew it, because he could have been the child Of the wild power even as it had become, If he had listened to the magic more than freedom, Or duty, or the other things he had learned by rote At first in the days of his youth sweet and mild.
This thing was a kepibaum, Elwen no more, Though Elwen, perhaps, in some long-ago time. It had come back from the dark soul's shore, But not as many other Elwens have from that clime, Reborn into a body, incarnate once again, But new-born, new-birthed women and men, Choosing to return, but not having, as before, All their memories. To return so was a crime,
For then one who was Elwen could not be free Of the idea of any wrong he or she might have done, And in remorse condemned to dwell would be, Until madness reared to destroy such a one, And left him or her dying, wounded in heart, But not willing to go back, and be taken apart By the laws of choice, and yield to mortality. Such was a kepibaum: who had lived under sun,
And remembered two separate, two distinct lives. In such a one, Derlian's father had once said, Are two persons, as if two husbands or wives The kepibaum had. Better that it were dead Then returned with all of its horrible memories, And turned to the greatest of monstrosities: One who against the living forever strives, And explodes in hatred, of flames darkest red.
But Derlian, too, had something of the power Of the wild magic flaring behind his breast. When he called, that strength came to flower, And a sweet jangling discord gripped his chest, And flowed in his muscles as he laughed aloud. His green eyes flared with Summerfire's light proud, And he raised his hand. To his hand that hour Came the Summerfire blood's curse and bequest.
The air split as great writhing darklight ropes, Called in the old tongue of the land chathrei, Came out with a roar like death of all hopes, Came with a thunder as they cleaved the sky, And passed on and through, doing such harm To the kepibaum it screamed in alarm; For, while they moved at unconcerned lopes, All ceased to exist where they had passed by.
The air was torn and made again into void, As perhaps the world first came forth Ages ago. The kepibaum, too, as it tried to avoid The chathrei; its body frayed and flaked like snow, And then vanished smoothly into nothingness. The chathrei turned with awful loveliness, And came back again, pulling their void, Like bolts of dark lightning that would not go
Away ever again; what was cloven stayed cleft. Derlian watched it all with a faint smile, His red hair lifted so his shoulders were bereft Of their accustomed mantle, and in exile Shone bare, while about him the hair flamed, In the fire for which his line was named. He nodded, and the chathrei their victim left, And came to him, curling about him for a while.
Though the kepibaum had fled, Derlian Did not at once dismiss the magic he had called. He stood there, huffing as if wounded in pain, But he had not been touched, much less mauled. In truth, he was watching the chathrei shine and writhe, And through him passed the thought: This is life. This is what I have, what I could forever gain, If I gave up the rule of Summerfire so-called.
Rule! What rule have I? I am forever the slave Of my line's heritage, my people's expectations! Why should I not at least my own freedom save, And turn away from ingrates and their obligations, And go the places where such as I can be free? What need have my people of someone like me? Someone who wants to run mad and to rave? Someone who loves magic and its sensations?
So he battled, standing and trembling, eyes alight. Alferia approached slowly, one hand held out. "My lord?" she asked. Something did not seem right, And so she repeated her words at a shout. At once his eyes turned to her, glowing, blazing, And Alferia, who had faced death without fazing, Could only think of a child's terror of the night. She shook herself, trembling with fear and with doubt.
Then Derlian, on seeing and feeling her fear, Managed to call down his wide-spreading wings, Managed to forsake the magic that called him to sear Off her face, and do and say strange wild things. He took a deep breath, and raked his fingers Through his red hair. Even now, magic lingers, He noted in silent disgust- even now, even here. For his hair still floated on the air like wings.
And the wild magic hammered in him like a heart, Demanding to be let out, whispering its words. It would let him create, and let him make art; It would teach him to sing, surpassing the birds, The rieli he loved who sang with bright voices, Clad in feathers the color of tourmaline and turquoises. He could feel the insistence he was set apart, That to live with ordinary mortals was simply absurd.
But there was Alferia, in front of him, her face Touched still with a semblance of mortal terror. She was all he wished to be, shining beauty and grace. Derlian gazed into her face as into a mirror, And nodded a little. If an Elwen could achieve More worth than the wild magic would have him believe, Why not stay and be Elwen, in this fair place? To go with the wild magic into madness was the error.
"I am well." His voice sounded but scraped and raw, And Alferia looked as if she might doubt him still. Derlian wished to be rid of her look of lingering awe, And the fascination she seemed to have with his kill. He spoke roughly. "My lady, let us go inside now, Before I must make any more wild enemies bow To the power that is Summerfire's bond and law." At that, her look soured, like a poisoned rill.
"Not until we speak of one insult to me first." Her voice resembled stone and clashing thunder. Derlian wondered which for him was worst, Which possessed him with the more shining wonder: The flash of her hair or the flash of her eyes; The glory of her anger, like a swiftening sunrise; The strength of her voice, like the strength of a verse Chanted that laid all the hall a spell under.
"What insult was that?" he asked. Alferia laid A hand on the hilt of her sword, and sneered. "My lord, you shoved me towards the palisade. For my safety you spooked as if seared. I am a warrior, not a mage, but I can fight. That you let me stand beside you is right, And if you feared for me because I am a maid- I assure you, I am more than that thing to be feared!"
Derlian frowned at her. "It pains me, my lady, But I have no idea what you are talking about." Alferia snorted, and he saw that her eyes were shady With contempt, with scorn, with searing doubt. "You think I am not truly anyone of any worth, Because I am not just Elwen but woman by birth. I would assure you that, in the rest of Arcady, Such insipid flames are quickly snuffed out."
"I knew how to fight a kepibaum. You did not." "Why should lack of knowledge keep me away?" "My lady, you claimed yourself newly in this spot And harried by the wild magic before this day. You should know that not all things by blades Can be cloven." "Not all, you would say, by maids." "I welcomed you, my lady, as you already forgot. Such an insult would not be within welcoming's sway."
Alferia drew breath, a dark protest to speak, And stopped on seeing the honesty in his eyes green. She drew a shaken breath, resolved not to seem meek, And immediately doubted what she had seen. He was the man that her mother had told her of, And who was she to doubt Mariera's truth and love? But perhaps not so boldly should she act or speak, Nor on his patience as on a sturdy wall lean.
He was the man that her mother had told her of. Her mother had told her, that day by Auda-water: "Lure him and bind him and hold him with love. Make sure that thou dost such things, my daughter. Then, when thy true soul is revealed, he will shake, And his worth and his trust and his heart will break. He shall be cursed, so it will seem, by stars above, Not only his body but his spirit led to slaughter."
And if she was to bind him, then she must appeal- Much as the thought revolted and repelled her- To the kinds of things he would want to feel, And try to be a woman who would not so stir. She forced down her bark and her bite and her bile, And lowered her eyelashes, and forced a smile. "Perhaps, my lord, you did not my will steal, Or treat me as worth less than a cloak of darkfur."
"You are worth more." That made her look up, And the already-kindled blaze in his eyes Should have allowed her on triumph to sup. But something else in her had begun to rise, And she was caught in a maze of doubt and hate. She was to be her mother's revenge, this man's fate, But Derlian was offering her the welcoming cup. Already it seemed a hard thing to subject him to lies.
Or, if you like, on to the fifth canto.
Or, if you want, back to the third canto.
