How long had they been driven from their ancient villages? Little was spoken of it since the Elvlings exodus so long ago. Through sad sighs, the elders would simply say "it was our utopia and no one else's". But, as Jessilent had reasoned, so had Tallenbrough Harbor become. Their houses were modest, their fields still in development, but it was still their own utopia.
Fishing had been good to them this past hot season and many of the fishermen prospered solely of the sale of Marcak. Dear Wendell, Jessilent's proud new husband, son of on the greatest fishermen in the bay that day, made enough to build their first home. It was small and crude but it was home all the same. The two made it warm and it would be warmer still once their child graced their lives. The Elvling race may have been fading out, but the peace of this town sowed the seeds of future propserity.
Her thoughts turned to the coverlet. The oxtail fiber she'd spun for this job nearly floated. It was such a fine thread that weaving with it required much more patience than most possessed. How proud would Wendell be when she finished this and presented their new child to the world wrapped in the finest coverlet the town had ever seen. Already rumor had passed through the weaving circles and the visitors to her home had increased ever since the middle of the Harvest Season. It would be a fine coverlet indeed.
As content as she was with her work, she knew it was nearly midday. Soon Wendell would rush in, having worked all morning as fast as he could just to come in to see her again. She would have a light meal ready for him. Maybe today she could serve him some of the dried Hanu that the healer, Jue, had given them last night. This would give them ample time to spend time with one another. Her thoughts went to the many midday breaks they'd spent together.
She loved the way his back always felt so warm under her fingers, heated by the ocean sun and their ardor as they lay together. She loved how after fierce lovemaking in the hottest part of the day, a tiny bead of sweat always formed on the end of his nose. He was so silly, still panting from their tussle, eyes crossing to look at the intruder on the end of his nose. He could always make her laugh.
Before the excitement broke her concentration, she decided to work through the halt lines of the weaving incantation. It was just as time consuming as the weaving itself, each spell working each fiber in use, one by one. She always watched with amazement as the fibers snaked into tiny knots that no hand could unwork. She was barely into the halt process when she heard a light tap at the door.
Surely Wendell isn't home yet, she thought, perhaps the fish have schooled in again. Just one more moment. She wanted to have the coverlet halted before he came in so she could rush into his arms but his untimely arrival would cheat her of that. He, of course, would wait patiently at the door. He wouldn't dare break her concentration, would not move an inch until the final lines were spoken. She still had to fight to keep her concentration as the door swung open.
With a start, she realized the man at the door wasn't Wendell afterall. This was a stranger that had burst into their home yet there were no strangers in Tallenbrough. Those ears, she tore her attention from her coverlet to look at the intruder, more so his ears which pointed skyward at the same severe angle as his eyebrows. She looked down at the coverlet and watched helplessly as it started to unwind. Loudly, defiantly, she continued the halt lines as the stranger approached her. She knew it was already ruined, but at least if she stopped it from unwinding she could fix it later, even if it wouldn't be finished before their beautiful Amarin was born.
Another man, with the same features followed behind him but she continued to save the coverlet despite her fear. Wendell would be proud of her, and her child would be presented to the world in the finest coverlet the Elvlings had ever seen, no matter what.
Fishing had been good to them this past hot season and many of the fishermen prospered solely of the sale of Marcak. Dear Wendell, Jessilent's proud new husband, son of on the greatest fishermen in the bay that day, made enough to build their first home. It was small and crude but it was home all the same. The two made it warm and it would be warmer still once their child graced their lives. The Elvling race may have been fading out, but the peace of this town sowed the seeds of future propserity.
Her thoughts turned to the coverlet. The oxtail fiber she'd spun for this job nearly floated. It was such a fine thread that weaving with it required much more patience than most possessed. How proud would Wendell be when she finished this and presented their new child to the world wrapped in the finest coverlet the town had ever seen. Already rumor had passed through the weaving circles and the visitors to her home had increased ever since the middle of the Harvest Season. It would be a fine coverlet indeed.
As content as she was with her work, she knew it was nearly midday. Soon Wendell would rush in, having worked all morning as fast as he could just to come in to see her again. She would have a light meal ready for him. Maybe today she could serve him some of the dried Hanu that the healer, Jue, had given them last night. This would give them ample time to spend time with one another. Her thoughts went to the many midday breaks they'd spent together.
She loved the way his back always felt so warm under her fingers, heated by the ocean sun and their ardor as they lay together. She loved how after fierce lovemaking in the hottest part of the day, a tiny bead of sweat always formed on the end of his nose. He was so silly, still panting from their tussle, eyes crossing to look at the intruder on the end of his nose. He could always make her laugh.
Before the excitement broke her concentration, she decided to work through the halt lines of the weaving incantation. It was just as time consuming as the weaving itself, each spell working each fiber in use, one by one. She always watched with amazement as the fibers snaked into tiny knots that no hand could unwork. She was barely into the halt process when she heard a light tap at the door.
Surely Wendell isn't home yet, she thought, perhaps the fish have schooled in again. Just one more moment. She wanted to have the coverlet halted before he came in so she could rush into his arms but his untimely arrival would cheat her of that. He, of course, would wait patiently at the door. He wouldn't dare break her concentration, would not move an inch until the final lines were spoken. She still had to fight to keep her concentration as the door swung open.
With a start, she realized the man at the door wasn't Wendell afterall. This was a stranger that had burst into their home yet there were no strangers in Tallenbrough. Those ears, she tore her attention from her coverlet to look at the intruder, more so his ears which pointed skyward at the same severe angle as his eyebrows. She looked down at the coverlet and watched helplessly as it started to unwind. Loudly, defiantly, she continued the halt lines as the stranger approached her. She knew it was already ruined, but at least if she stopped it from unwinding she could fix it later, even if it wouldn't be finished before their beautiful Amarin was born.
Another man, with the same features followed behind him but she continued to save the coverlet despite her fear. Wendell would be proud of her, and her child would be presented to the world in the finest coverlet the Elvlings had ever seen, no matter what.
***
"Something smells wrong in the wind." Wendell remarked as he watched the horizon. Soon Tallenbrough would come into view and dispel all the anxieties he had waving through him this morning.
"Baby jitters, my friend." Lias chuckled as he set his heavy hands on the rail beside Wendell. "and it's not even the Cold Season yet, you're going to be anxious for a while yet it seems."
Lias was a wise enough man. He had a wife and 4 children of his own. It was through talking to him that Wendell was able to get through his worst worries. What if the house grew too small, what if the child grew up to dislike fishing or weaving? What if his child became ill after birth? What if the child disliked him? Lias always made him feel better in the end. Even still, the feeling of wrongness wouldn't leave him.
"I agree." a rough voice spoke from the cabin. Presently, Warrin, Wendell's father trudged his ancient form up the stairs to stand with them.
"I have felt uneasy since we left the docks. Perhaps we should pull out the oars." Wendell suggested. Warrin just smiled and shook his head.
"I meant i agreed with Lias. You're such a highstrung boy." white hair blew around his fathers face by the salty wind as he laughed. He wanted to laugh with them, shrug off this uneasy feeling but it just wouldn't let him go.
"I can tell you're not going to let this go easily so if you two can pull up the nets we'll head back a little early for midday meal." Warrin continued to smile as he turned to retreat back to the cabin.
"I bet he's just hungry" Lias whispered, though not quiet enough. Even as old as Warrin was, he still had excellent hearing. With mock anger, Warrin pointed at Lias.
"just for that, i'm coming to your house today to drink up all your good wine and all your finest cured meats." This was no empty threat. Warrin was thin and wiry, but his appetite was one of legend. Lias bowed his head.
"Peya is going to be furious with me for having to serve so much this midday." Lias muttered as he busied himself with the nets.
"Hey, Dah" Wendell called out "don't harass poor Lias's larder today, Jue has just given us nearly a lifetime supply of cured meat last night. Share with us instead."
Warrin bellowed with laughter. "Sounds like i'll be at both homes then. I'll be nice and sleepy for our return trip to sea this afternoon."
For a brief moment, Wendell was able to smile but his prior uneasiness returned to him as he set to the task of pulling up the nets. He tried his hardest to convince himself it really was the baby jitters. He couldn't help but feel strangely heavy. Perhaps Jessilent was just feeling heavy with child. Wendell and Jessilent's pairing was strangely empathetic. When one felt sad, the other felt the same. When one hurt, the other knew it. It wasn't very strong, but enough to shake them up. It was love of the strongest kind, as Warrin would say.
Slowly the horizon came into view and that feeling of wrongness that Wendell felt grew. The air was slight acrid, not clean as it was this morning, and something seemed amiss. Maybe a yellowing at the line of the horizon. Suddenly he realized they were much closer to shore than he originally thought. Where were the docks? Where was the village?
He ran to the cabin, banging on the door furiously until his father emerged. Wendell was too panicked to give an explanation for his interruption. Wide-eyed, all he could do was point at the giant haze that shrouded the docks.
"What madness has returned to our doorstep?" Lias breathed as Wendell leapt over the side of the ship, impatient with the SeaGift's pace. Warrin watched his son expertly gliding through the raging sea toward home. He knew that they would find nothing but sadness when they docked, but he headed in anyways. He at least owed it to Lias to let him see to his family, or mourn his loss.
Wendell dragged himself to shore and started home. The smoke was thick, tightening his chest, making it impossible to see his way. He kept his eyes cast to footpath home. Oh Jessi, Jessi, he gasped through the smoke. He felt a wave of relief as he ran right into the door of his home. It was still standing.
"Jessi!" He called out into the darkness. The air was strangely clean inside. He began to wonder if she'd run away in time judging by the absence of lamplight, but just as he turned to search outside for her he heard a strange strangled cry from the pallet hidden in the darkest corner of the house. His heart sank.
"Jessi!"
"Wendell" he heard a response, barely a whisper in the dark. "We have a son."
He wanted to say the words No, it's too soon, but he knew it was in vain. His hands shook as he lit lamp on the table. A part of him wished he could have kept it dark, but the damage was done. A trail of blood from the upturned chair led his eyes to his beautiful wife's broken form. In her arms was the coverlet. Loops of fine thread hung loosely at the ends, blood smeared on the once pristine white patterns she'd spend so long weaving.
"Oh Jessi" Wendell could no longer hold back his pain. As he approached, he heard another strangled cry emitting from the coverlet. She cast her clouded eyes to her beloved and smiled. He wept as he looked upon their child, hands far too tiny, face far too fragile to be a real child he thought. Sweet Amarin would die soon, having been brought into the world too early. Despite this, Wendell returned her smile, moving bloodcaked hair from her fading eyes.
"This is truly a fine coverlet. I can't wait to present our son to the world. I am very proud of you." he whispered as she withdrew from the living world, a proud smile fixed to her face. It was what she had been waiting all this time to hear.
He removed the bundle from her arms and sat next to her, weeping through gasps of unbearable pain. His cries were strangely matched by the strangled cries of their new son. Each time he wailed, his son did as well. It wasn't until much later, well into the night, when he set the child into the cradle that the baby quieted.
Wendell felt betrayed by the world that night. He couldn't bear the thought of losing his son on the same night as he lost his beloved wife. How could he take care of one so hopelessly lost as his Amarin was that night? How could he dare even try to save such a frail child in a world as cruel as this. Ignoring the devastation around him, Wendell ran out of the once warm home, escaping it's wretched cold. He ran until nearly dawn, Amarin's cries reaching a volume unthinkable for one so small.
Wendell finally collapsed once deep inside the forest of their origins. He watched the sun rise through the canopy above, those silver and gold beams lighting spectral particles that floated in front of him. Amarin kept his wailing, although it had weaked substantially since the beginning of his flight. It was then Wendell recognized where he was. He was deep into the heart of the old Elvling city of Manicaru.
He felt numb right then. For a moment he thought he could hear the bustling streets of the market that once stood in this place. He didn't want to remember the tales his grandmother told him of the beautiful city. He didn't want to hold out any hope that he would be part of the Elvling struggle anymore. He was done.
He placed the bundle, bloodstained and partially unwoven, on a stone tablet and turned to the forest depths. He gave one last look to his son, his dying Amarin, and ran into the mossy darkness. Once Wendell was gone, a strange stillness permeated through the trees.
Every creature that had watched the peculiar spectacle held their breaths. Predators waited to claim the offering set before them, making sure the Elvling wouldn't return to attack them. Those who often fled from the predators watched with saddened curiosity. One so small would never survive the morning amonst the wilds. They turned their backs, helpless to the inevitable and continued on their ways to their favorite sunning places in the canopies. Best not to consider the weak. There was nothing to gain from consoling the lost.
