Green Moon, 5020 Avalonian Calendar
Shaundar ran until he was tired, wiping his eyes in frustration. Wouldn’t this look good for the sun elven lord? Bursting into tears like a Sidhe! So much for Seelie decorum. Already he regretted his hasty flight, but it was far too late to take it back. He slapped aside a low-hanging branch and blundered his way through the thicket.
After some time, he found himself at the little creek hollow where he, Yathar, Selena and Narissa often came to play. All three of them were already there. Selena was nestled in the top of one of the willow trees, swinging her feet. Narissa was kneeling at the water’s edge, perhaps watching the fish, and Yathar was meandering about, randomly whacking rocks and dead tree branches with a stick. They all looked at him and he looked away, not yet ready to speak.
He knelt by the stream to wash, and the sun was setting at just the right angle to make the water perfectly reflective. Shaundar considered his own tear-streaked face.
His moon elven blue eyes were almost indigo in the light of the sunset, and his corn-silk yellow-sun Alfar hair shone like spun gold. His complexion was neither the fair white of the Sidhe nor a warm gilded sun elven shade, but pale with a peach-golden sheen, like common moonstone. Even the starry flecks that sparkled in his eyes were neither silver nor gold, but an odd pyrite blend that could be seen either way. “Neither one thing nor the other”— that was him.
There was a smudge of dirt on his chin and a scrape that he did not remember getting. He splashed his hands into the image angrily to drive it away and brought the cool water to his face, then to his lips.
“My dad’s a jerk,” Yathar said.
Shaundar did not argue.
“Never mind him. I’ll just teach you whatever it is that I learn when I learn it.”
“No,” Shaundar said. “You don’t need that much trouble.”
“I don’t care.”
“No,” repeated Shaundar. “I’ll find something else I’m good at.” When he noticed Narissa appraising him with disbelief and a little pity in her eyes, he said, “Dad’s taking me with him on patrol this summer. I’ll be a starfarer instead. Maybe even a Pilot.”
For a moment, he almost believed he would enjoy it as much as the idea of being a swordsinger. He met Narissa’s gaze with a hard, determined look in his own, and Narissa’s pity dissolved.
Yathar shrugged. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
Shaundar was not going to change his mind. The dream had been too firmly crushed. It was better not to hope.
The four children sat in silence for several minutes, not sure of what to say. Then Selena said, “The sun is going down. We should get back.”
“Not yet,” Shaundar pleaded. He was not ready to face the kind of trouble he knew would be waiting for him at home yet, not with his heart still so raw.
“Well, I have to go,” Narissa said with a sigh. “Dad will be really angry already.” She put a comforting hand on Shaundar’s shoulder and he gave her an understanding, if watery, smile.
Selena climbed down from the tree. “I’ll go home too and see if I can talk Dad down.”
“Thanks, Sprout,” Shaundar said with a grateful smile. Selena gave his hands an encouraging squeeze before the two girls headed home.
Yathar sat down beside Shaundar, but fidgeted. After a few minutes, he could no longer contain his pent-up energy and he grinned at his friend. “I know something that will cheer you up! Monkey wrestling!”
Shaundar laughed. Monkey wrestling! Narissa and his parents hated it. He and Yathar would climb into a nearby tree, and grapple and slap at each other until one admitted defeat. It made them all nervous, and it made a mess of the boys’ clothing.
Shaundar scrutinized his uniform. Not only did he still have the bloodstain on his cuff, which had turned a rusty brown and settled in, but both jacket and trousers were now covered in dirt and grass-stains, and the jacket was even torn at the pocket. He must have snagged it on a low-hanging branch or something. “Might as well!”
Yathar clapped him on the back and helped him to his feet. The two of them then set about climbing as high as they could into the biggest tree they could find, which in this case was the great willow with the enormous branches overhanging the creek. Still angry and feeling low, Shaundar found greater bravery than he usually possessed, and he scrambled up to a high branch that teetered dangerously beneath him.
Not to be outdone, Yathar joined him on a similarly perilous limb.
“Ready?” Yathar pressed with an eager light glinting in his eyes.
“Ready!”
“One, two, three, GO!” they cried together, and they grappled.
Yathar was stronger than Shaundar, but Shaundar had reach, so the match was about even. Yathar broke the grapple first and slapped Shaundar in the shoulder. “Ow!” he yelled good-naturedly, and he grabbed Yathar by the hair.
“Let go!” Yathar cried with a laugh, and he grabbed a hold of Shaundar’s wrist and tried to bend it back on itself. Shaundar leaned forward to prevent this and pressed his advantage.
Suddenly there was a groan and a sharp cracking sound. Surprised, both boys let go of each other. Then Yathar was plummeting to the ground as the branch beneath him gave way. He screamed with fear.
Shaundar nearly fell out of the tree himself reaching for his hand, but he missed, and Yathar fell anyway.
There was another sharp cracking sound, and then Yathar screamed again, this time in pain. He was rolling on the ground clutching his shin. The tree branch lay beside him, and thankfully, not on top of him.
Shaundar called out his name and scrambled down the tree. He did not panic. He remembered his father telling him that panic had killed more soldiers than the enemy. He forced himself to watch every step and handhold. If he also hurt himself getting down from the tree, how would he be able to help Yathar?
When Shaundar reached Yathar’s side, he could see that his foot was hanging at an odd angle. There was no doubt about it. “Yathar!” Shaundar cried to get his attention. “Your leg is broken.”
Yathar bit his lip and managed to stifle his yells, but tears ran from his sallow face and low whimpers escaped from his mouth with each breath. “What do we do?” he asked Shaundar in a very small voice.
Shaundar had a moment of panic. But then he remembered something from the Navy Field Manual and his mother’s knowledge of the healing arts. “I’ll have to splint it,” he said, “but I don’t think you can walk on it. I’ll have to carry you out.”
He started hunting around for a good stick to brace the leg with and found one. It was frayed at the edges. Shaundar suspected it was the stick that Yathar had been playing with earlier.
He whipped out his pocketknife and whittled off the crags and edges. Then he lashed it to Yathar’s broken shin with the straps from their book bags as gently as he could. Even so, Yathar cried out twice and almost passed out.
“You okay?” Shaundar asked when he was finished. Yathar, unable to speak, gave him a grim nod.
Now, to consider the problem of how to carry his friend without hurting Yathar’s leg. Shaundar thought of how a hunter carries a deer across his shoulders. He imagined that facing down would be very uncomfortable, but maybe if Yathar faced the sky… But how to pick him up?
His gaze fell upon a sturdy alder tree near where Yathar was lying, one that was only as thick around as his leg. Maybe if he could get Yathar to lift himself up on it…?
“You need to lift yourself onto your good leg,” Shaundar told his friend. “I figure you can pull yourself up on this tree and I can lift from behind. Then I can get under you to carry you. Okay?”
Yathar considered the tree and nodded.
“Ready?”
“Yeah.”
Shaundar squatted down behind his friend and hooked his arms under Yathar’s shoulders. Yathar reached for the alder with both hands. His face was the colour of ivory, with little trace of sun elven gilt.
“One, two, three!” cried Shaundar, and he pulled as up hard as he could. Yathar grunted and tensed his arms. His hands clambered up the alder tree as though he were rock climbing, grasping branches and knotholes. Then he was leaning against the tree, balanced on his uninjured left leg.
“Break!” said Shaundar, out of breath, and Yathar panted. Sweat ran freely from his brow.
“Okay,” Shaundar said after a few moments. “I’m going to brace you over my shoulders by your right leg and arm. Mom said that it’s better to move the broken bone as little as possible, and I think that will keep it from moving as much. Ready?”
Yathar nodded again, too spent for words. A drop of sweat rolled down his nose.
Shaundar bent down and hooked his right arm around Yathar’s right thigh, and his left arm around Yathar’s right shoulder. He pushed up with both legs and shifted Yathar’s weight. He was heavier than Shaundar had anticipated. Shaundar’s knees buckled. Yathar let out a startled bleat.
Shaundar pressed himself and Yathar against the alder to stabilize. The tree bowed under their weight but didn’t break. Shaundar braced against the bow-back, and with the aid of the reciprocal force, finally managed to heft Yathar up over his shoulders.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” wheezed Yathar.
With that, Shaundar started trekking along the creek bed, heading downstream and back towards town, wasting no more effort on words.
He could never say afterwards how long he walked for. It felt like forever. It was almost dark by the time Shaundar saw the town lights. He didn’t stop to rest because he was unsure if he would be able to pick Yathar up again. His breath came in short puffs. His legs trembled, but still he trudged doggedly on. Yathar needed him.
When he finally came to the edge of the trees, and found himself among the tree and crystal buildings of their port town, Shaundar sank to the ground in relief.
With effort, he eased Yathar down beside him. “Help!” he croaked, his throat without moisture, and then he licked his lips and repeated, “Help! Yathar’s hurt!”
Somehow, magically, his mother was right there, her midnight-blue eyes full of compassion. “It’s all right, my son,” she murmured. Had she been looking for them? The tears he’d been holding back finally broke free and ran down his face.
She knelt at Yathar’s side with almost supernatural grace and poise and adjusted his leg so that she could get a look at it. “That’s a good splint,” Mom told him with a faint smile. It carried more approval than the most effuse praise. She began to unwind his makeshift lash.
Then Selena, Shaundar’s father, and both of Yathar’s parents arrived. “What did you do to my son?” Captain Goldenbough bellowed. He strode up to the three of them and slapped Shaundar across the face.
Shaundar, shocked into silence, gaped at Lord Goldenbough, who was reeling back his arm for another blow.
But then the Professor let out a grunt of pain. Dad had the Captain’s hand in his and was twisting back on it in a way it was not intended to be twisted.
“Raise your hand to my son again, Captain, and you will regret it,” he promised, his golden eyes burning.
“Av, elan.” Lord Goldenbough winced.
The Admiral released his hand and the captain rubbed at his wrist. “How bad is it?” he asked Shaundar’s mother. “Can you heal it?”
“Certainly,” she replied in a deliberately mild voice, though her eyes flashed with anger. “I just need to set it first. I have taken the liberty of casting a sleeping charm on your son so that it will hurt less.”
With that, she gripped Yathar’s leg on either side of the break and made a quick adjustment. Yathar’s face screwed up in pain, even in slumber. “There now,” she murmured, stroking his hair.
She re-splinted it using Shaundar’s makeshift branch and strap. Even though Shaundar had missed the casting of the first spell, everyone watched and listened as Selene Sunfall chanted prayers of healing to Brighid and Arianrhod, and made the sacred gestures that accompanied the ritual.
Skin, and presumably bone, began to knit themselves back together. She wiped away some of the blood left behind with her fingers. “There. Now take him home and let him sleep. It’s good for his healing.”
Lord Goldenbough lifted his son’s unconscious body. “We are not done, Sunfall,” he promised Shaundar as he left.
The Sunfalls watched them go. “Let’s go,” Dad commanded. Shaundar staggered to his weary feet and followed.
No one said a word until they were home, which, for the Sunfalls, was a modest tree manor. It was a quiet, almost plain dwelling formed of a single great willow tree, much smaller and less ostentatious than Lord Sunfall’s Rear Admiral’s rank could have commanded.
Dad closed the door behind them. Shaundar knew he was in an amazing amount of trouble.
His dad fixed him with his intense amber gaze. “So, what happened out there, Shaundar?” he asked in a quiet tone. “How did Yathar’s leg get broken?”
Shaundar’s heart plummeted into his boots. He felt as though he were falling into a gravity well. “We were monkey wrestling, sir,” he admitted in a small voice.
Lord Sunfall’s brow darkened. “I see.” His hand came up to rub his temple as though he felt a headache coming on. A vein in his forehead was standing out.
“So, let me get this straight. In a single day, you started trouble with your classmates, talked back to your professor, and ran out on your detention, to go into the woods without telling anyone where you were going, whereupon you promptly engaged in an activity that you have been expressly forbidden from doing, causing your friend’s leg to be broken due to your foolishness? And on top of everything else, you have ruined another uniform?”
Shaundar didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth and closed it again. The weight of his father’s disapproval pressed on his shoulders like the mass of a sun.
Shaundar’s grandmother came to the edge of the entryway. She looked like an older version of her daughter, only where Selene was wispy, Deliana was solid. Rather than wearing the draping robes and dresses of a priestess, she was dressed in a practical canvas shirt and trousers with a simple leather jerkin. She was not in the habit of wearing her sword at home, but it was draped at the ready on a peg near the front door. She was old enough that crow’s feet and laugh lines had begun to form, which, for an elf, was very old indeed.
The Admiral held up a single hand, and in that gesture Shaundar read far more disappointment and dismissal than any words could have hoped to convey. It was all he could do not to burst into tears again.
“I find this very disappointing, Shaundar. I expect better things of you. Please go to your room and contemplate your actions. Tomorrow, you will go to school and undertake whatever punishment Professor Goldenbough deems fit, excluding anything physical.”
“Yes sir,” Shaundar said in a whisper. He swallowed the lump in his throat, determined this time to show proper Alfar grace. He managed to walk all the way upstairs and into his room before the tears ran down his face. Even then, he swallowed the sobs so that his heartbreak was his alone.
His father was right. This was his fault. If he had not climbed so high, Yathar would not have fallen. Why did he keep doing such stupid things?
On the other side of the closed bedroom door, Shaundar’s father and grandmother were arguing. “You’re going to take all the adventure out of the boy, Ruavel,” his grandmother was saying. She sounded cross.
“Damn it,” Dad said, “the boy is going to grow up with some decorum! He’s a Seelie Alfar noble!”
“No, he isn’t!” Deliana growled. “And you can’t expect him to be!”
Shaundar didn’t want to hear any more. He went to the window over his bed and opened the shutter to gaze out into the starry night. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He was not Alfar. But, despite his failings, Shaundar swore to himself that someday, somehow, he would make his father proud of him.
