One of those Years
It cheered Strongbow mildly to be in the midst of such celebration, and the sight of more little elf-cubs delighted him. But his lingering suspicions remained. These Sun Folk weren’t like any elves he had ever imagined, and part of him was still very wary of lingering in the desert and making a life in Sorrow’s End. But what alternative was there, especially now that their chief had Recognized?
Strongbow glanced over to his left. Out of the shadows where he usually lingered, Rayek sat on a woven mat in the place of honour. Swift sat in his lap, grinning like a forest cat with a songbird between her jaws. The hunter’s arms were wrapped possessively around Swift’s shoulders, his face lit up with a soft smile few had ever seen him wear before.
Strongbow still brooded over this new turn of events. He didn’t like Rayek. He hadn’t liked him as a foreign elf, and he liked him even less as the chief’s mate. Rayek was the chief hunter – the only hunter – of Sorrow’s End. Would Swift make him the hunt leader of the Wolfriders too? Strongbow’s hackles rose at the thought of it. Everyone knew he was the chief hunter of their tribe.
A golden collar with mountain lion’s teeth hung from Swift’s throat. So had the arrogant black-hair marked her as his already? No, it wasn’t right. A Wolfrider chief ought to Recognize a Wolfrider and bear a Wolfrider cub. Everyone knew now that Swift and Rayek had consummated their Recognition the night before. What was the nature of the cub in Swift’s womb? Would the next chief of the Wolfriders be a shivering brown-skinned ravvit like the scrawny little cub now offering Rayek and Swift a bowl of moist fruit slices?
Swift began to reach for a slice, but Rayek merely stared at the bowl and a thick slice of orange melon floated up in the air, hovering just in front of Swift. She tried to pluck it from the air and Rayek held her hands down teasingly, forcing her to try to bite the fruit sliver as it hung before her.
**Look at them,** Strongbow sent to Moonshade.
Moonshade was smiling softly. **They are in love already, I think. It warms my heart to see our young chieftess so happy after so many days of heartache. I don’t know why it took Rayek so long to come to his senses.**
**Arrogant strutter-cock. He thinks he’s too good for us.**
**I think Swift changed his mind,** Moonshade sent with a gentle smile.
**I still say she should have Recognized a nice Wolfrider lad. Crossing blood with these elves... it seems against the Way.**
Swift finally managed to snap up the piece of melon, and the orange-tinged juice ran down her chin. She turned and planted a long kiss on Rayek’s lips. Strongbow sighed. Making a fool out of herself already. It wouldn’t be long before their young chieftess began wearing the flimsy moth-fabric of the Sun Folk maidens.
Strongbow glanced across the dance floor. Leetah was sitting among some of her friends, fussing over her dancing veils as the other maidens plumped their hair and readjusted their tiny tunics to best display their cleavage. I’d wager she’s none to happy about losing her lovemate to our chief, he thought. At least I am not the only one unsettled by all of this.
Nightfall and Dewshine raced out of the shadows to flank the couple. “Come on, both of you! We have something to show you!” Nightfall said. Dewshine seized Swift’s hand and drew her out of Rayek’s lap.
“Wha–” Swift began.
“It’s a present!” Dewshine said. “You’ve not going to believe it!”
Dart raced alongside them. “Come on, Swift! Come on!”
Nightfall didn’t presume to pull Rayek’s hand, but the hunter rose on his own, and clasped Swift’s hand in his as Dewshine and Dart hustled them away from the festival and into the rocks.
“What’s going on?” Rayek whispered to Swift.
“I have no idea.”
“Here they are!” Dart cried as they rounded the corner. Treestump, Eyes High and Rain stood by while Redlance, Skywise, Scouter, little Newstar formed a defensive line. Nightfall hastened to join her lifemate’s side. Smug smiles split their faces.
“Well don’t just stand there, cubs!” Treestump laughed. “Show ‘em!”
“What do you think it is?” Rayek whispered.
“I’m almost afraid to guess.”
The elves parted, revealing a lush green bush dotted with little purple berries.
“Ayooah!” Swift cried. “Dreamberries! How did you ever–” Yet already she was turning to Redlance. “Cousin?” Redlance’s grin was enough, and Swift tackled him, thumping his back. “You grandson of a treeshaper! I knew your powers would show up someday! But I thought dreamberries didn’t grow in the desert.”
“They don’t,” Redlance said. “But Pike stuck some seeds in his belt pouch.”
“Hah! Pike! With the forest burning down around his ears – he couldn’t forget his one true love! Where is he anyway?”
“Ohh...” Skywise glanced over his shoulder, and Swift caught sight of two boots sticking out from under the bush. “Just making sure the berries are ripe enough.”
“What are dreamberries?” Rayek asked.
Swift plucked a fat berry off the bush and popped it between Rayek’s lips. “The High One’s gift to elves.”
Rayek chewed on the berry thoughtfully. “Interesting. A little tart...”
“Wait until you have a few eights of them. It’ll make your squatneedle cider seem mild as mother’s milk!”
The moons continued through the sky as the celebration continued. Skywise had been pulled away from his kin by a trio of village maidens, while Redlance and Nightfall tried gamely to join in on a few dances. Rayek’s head was now growing quite heavy, and now he lay in Swift’s lap, trying vainly to remain dignified as befit a hunter.
“Gettin’ a li’l muzzy-headed, eh?” Swift teased. “You have to build up a tolerance for them, mountain lion.”
“I can see through time,” Rayek stammered drowsily.
“Mm. That can happen.”
Across the dancefloor, Swift’s half-brother Grayling was slowly edging towards the Sun Villager he had kept his eye on for the last few days. Completely baffled by the rules of courting elves he hadn’t known since birth, Grayling inched across the mat with as much clumsy subtlety as he could muster.
Finally he plunked himself down next to the young metalsmith. Hansha was dressed in a woven cloth vest and panelled loincloth. His hood was cast back from his head, revealing black-black hair like Rayek’s. Somewhere in the back of his dreamberry-addled mind, Grayling wondered if Hansha and Rayek were somehow related.
“Um... hello,” Grayling slurred faintly. “I... was wondering if you’d tried the dreamberries.” He held out a hand with five plump berries. “They’re really good.”
Hansha gingerly plucked one and tried it. “These won’t leave me with a headache like a hammer on an anvil, will they?”
“Oh... not if you’re careful. When you start to look like that–” he indicated Rayek, “you should probably stop.”
Hansha took a second berry and nibbled on it. “I have a few projects to finish tomorrow. I don’t want to get too addle-brained. Your chieftess wants me to make a new spearhead for Rayek.”
“Really?”
“Mm, she talked to me about it earlier. Said she has a necklace – a brightmetal wolf necklace she wants melted down into a spear point.”
Grayling smirked.
“What?”
“It’s our sire’s necklace, I’d be willing to wager. Bearclaw. He was chief of our tribe before Swift’s mother threw his worthless rump out of the Holt. But see that tall glowerer up there.” He pointed to Strongbow, now slightly mellower after some dreamberries. “He’s my brother. Not Swift’s though – just mine.”
“Mm – I thought so. You look a lot alike.”
“He practically worshipped my father. When he hears Swift is going to ruin Bearclaw’s necklace to make a spear point for black-hair! I can’t wait to see the look on his face.”
“Don’t you like your brother?”
“He’s sat on one too many ants’ nests, if you know what I mean. Fire-stingers up his rump.”
Hansha chuckled. Grayling took the momentary distraction to edge a little closer.
Strongbow saw Grayling’s clumsy courting of the Sun Villager and moaned inwardly. First his chief, and now his little brother. What was it in the air that made all his tribemates lose their wits around the Sun Folk?
“Hansha...” Grayling mused. “That’s an... interesting name. I can’t quite figure it out.”
“Oh, it’s an old word. We hardly use it anymore. It... it means the scent of a coming thunderstorm, the first storm of the yearly floods.”
“Mm,” Grayling smiled dreamily. A little shiver ran down his back. He remembered the heady scent of ozone from the summer cloudbursts at the Holt. “Suits you.”
“What do your name mean, exactly? You’re not very gray – except for your eyes, I mean.”
Grayling laughed. “No, it’s not the colour. A grayling is a fish, one we often catch in the deeper rivers. Do – do you Folk know about fish?”
“Of course. We have cave fish that come out of the hidden springs during the floods. They’re very small – too small to eat. But children like to play with them when they come out, and sometimes we sit and watch the desert cats trying to catch them.”
“Oh, that’s nothing. A grayling makes a good meal for one or two elves, and it’s not even the largest fish we used to catch.”
“Your tribe... your ways... they are so new...” Hansha smiled. “I would love to learn more...”
“Really?”
Strongbow stormed down from the Wolfrider caves. The sun was high in the afternoon sky, and it burned Strongbow’s eyes. But the archer only bowed his head and stalked towards the cluster of huts. The Sun Folk were mostly dozing – many had only gone to bed a few hours ago.
He had heard the news from Dewshine only moments ago. The young huntress had yawned as she stirred from her slumber and murmured something cryptic about Swift and Bearclaw’s wolfshead necklace and Hansha the metalworker. It had not taken long for Strongbow to extract the story from her through the truth of sending.
Swift had managed to salvage Bearclaw’s necklace from the fire. And Dewshine had seen Swift take it out of her belongings the day before. She was taking it to Hansha to melt down. Strongbow had no idea what she wanted the ravvit to make, but he was certain it had something to do with Rayek.
How could she? She was going to destroy her sire’s precious relic and turn it into a dagger or a spearhead or some foolish Sun Folk ornament for that arrogant hunter.
He stalked towards Hansha’s hut. The metalworker’s outdoor forge was empty. The charcoal fire was smouldering, and the anvil was cold. Good. The fawn was still sleeping off his dreamberry hangover. He could retrieve Bearclaw’s necklace before any harm was done and give Hansha a sharp tongue-lashing. He almost relished the thought of speaking aloud for this task.
“Hansha!” he cried, his voice hoarse. He threw open the curtains across the doorway and stalked into the darkened hut. The first chamber was filled with assorted metalworking tools, scattered in disarray across the floor. Strongbow picked his way over the detritus and threw back the curtain to the bedroom.
Hansha and Grayling lay fast asleep in the pit-bed, limbs entwined, cotton sheets tangled about their bodies. Strongbow’s earlier outburst had done nothing more than stir them out of the deeper dreams, and Grayling only nuzzled against the nape of Hansha’s neck before he fell back into a deep torpor.
Strongbow could only shake his head. He dropped the curtains and stalked out of the hut. He could already tell it was going to be one of those years.
Elfquest copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. Elfquest, its logos, characters, situations, all related indicia, and their distinctive likenesses are trademarks of Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Some dialogue taken from Elfquest comics. All such dialogue copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Alternaverse characters and insanity copyright 2014 Jane Senese and Erin Roberts