Findel's Embrace

It was evening when Faro stood with Daev on prow of the ship as they slipped into the narrow harbor of Meln. The breeze blew balmy within the embrace, and the shore was shaded by ancient trees. More houses than he had ever seen rose from the sides of the hill that rose above the harbor, and they were houses such as he had never seen, marvelously carved as if they themselves were growing things. Many of the houses appeared to grow off the sides of the trees like burls, trailed by curving stairs. He could see vien and vienu scattered throughout, and the high notes of their music reached him. The fragrance of fruit blossoms and vining flowers flowed seaward.

"I love the sea," Daev said next to him. "But there is no shore like home."

With deft skill, the sailors reefed their sails until at last they slipped into a still berth, the side barely touching the tightly wrapped pads of cloth that protected the ship's side from the edge of the wharf. A small knot of vien awaited them there. Most were dressed in the sleeveless attire of labor, and they hurried over the ship rails, singing out at the sailors who called back to them. A few of the vien stayed back, dressed in long robes, their hands hidden in their sleeves.

"Go to them," Daev said, pointing.

"Let me get my things," Faro answered.

"Yeervan," Daev said, calling him by his false name. "Do no try to run. It will not go well with you."

Faro nodded.

"May you have the blessing of Isecan," Faro offered to the shipmaster. Daev smiled.

"And you."

Faro returned to the ship's pavilion and slung a bag over each shoulder. They were heavy but manageable. His spear he had kept with him always, still sheathed on each end. It was too precious to him to release. Already, he had grown attached to it, and now it reminded him of the friendship he had found in that strange folk. Even through the haft, he could feel the Current within the blade. Through the night, it had taken on Current from the Isecan Wellspring like the mixing of water.

He handed his bags to a vien on the wharf and leapt over the rail, taking back his baggage. The other workers and sailors ignored him as he walked down the wooden platform toward the shore path. The robed vien awaited him. There were five of them, and Faro suspected their long sleeves hid the Change. Two even had signs upon their faces and heads—gnarled nubs like the growth of branches. As Faro arrived, they spoke no word, but turned and led him up the path.

The hill above the harbor ascended hundreds of feet above the water. It was not so much a tir as a long slope that ran along the coast. The harbor was the result of a small estuary. The hill folded in on itself where the stream cascaded over shelves of rock on its descent to the sea. It was alongside this stream that the path led upwards, sometimes winding and sloped, sometimes a stairway built of stone worn by centuries. This was obviously an old enclave. Faro found the climb unexpectedly tiresome carrying the heavy bags on each shoulder. There was only so much exercise he could get in the tunnels of the dhar. He was thankful to be walking upright in mild air, at least.

They reached the top of the hill in silence. Dense forest grew on either hand there, but they reached a greensward with view of the sea. Clustered around the center of the sward were low, knobby growths that at first looked like gnarled stunted trees, but as Faro looked closer, he wondered if they were a kind of bush, and then he realized even that was wrong. He knew what these were: malir. In the midst of these a group of motionless vien and vienu watched their arrival. The signs of the Change were heavy upon them. The five vien who had led him there parted, and one motioned Faro forward.

Almost without realizing it, Faro touched the Current as Vireel had taught him, checking for eddies in the flow of its power. It was clear the vien and vienu before him—of which he counted fourteen—were even now siphoning the Current, spreading it into the embrace that enclosed the enclave, as Vireel had taught him to do in the little garden by the sea. He had never witnessed it on such a scale and with so many helping.

So these were the ancients of the enclave, the ones pouring out their lives to support the embrace. In nearly all enclaves, it was those who sacrificed themselves who ruled. A few enclaves sprang up now and again under embraces supported by just one or two vien, but they rarely lasted more than a century without the aid of others. There were some who supported their own little gardens in unclaimed corners and in-between places, but even that took a toll. As far as Vireel had known, no one else dwelled in the Mingling and drew on both Wellsprings as she had.

He stopped a few yards away.

"You are the one called Yeervan," said a vienu. The left side of her face was rough with the hardened marks of the Change. Violet streaks ran through her hair, and knobby growths protruded from her scalp. Faro could feel the flow of the Current through her.

"That is not my name," Faro said. He already knew the enclave had checked his story and found it false. Daev had given that away. There was little use in perpetuating the lie. Tired of their weight, Faro let the bags slip from his shoulders to the grass.

The elders were silent for a time. It was a vien from the left who spoke next.

"What is it that you carry?"

Faro glanced down at the bags.

"Gifts from the dhar."

"In your hand," the vien said, pointing toward the spear. "There is a strange presence."

Faro was not surprised they could sense it. Here under the canopy of the Isecan Wellspring, the living steel stuck out, full of the indwelling Current of the dhar vent. It did not make the spear weigh more, not physically, but it was there. He feared that the Canaen may wish to take the spear from him, but there was no way to hide the Vyln'Klotig. It meant "Klotig's Gift," by a joining of both the dhar's name and the Vienwé for gift.

"These are secrets of the dhar," Faro replied.

"You will tell us these secrets."

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"They are not mine to tell. I gave my word to my host, the one who saved my life through hospitality."

"The stunted ones can hold no such claim over a vien."

"If the Vien are greater, should we not hold virtue higher?"

There was a pause.

"Why give a false name to our shipmaster?"

"I did not want to be known. I still do not."

"You are at our mercy."

"Then I thank you for your mercy."

Again there was a pause. The sea breeze ruffled their hair and garments and moved the branches of the trees, whispering in the leaves. The ancients did not look at each other, staring fixedly at Faro. He watched in case they reached out to him with the Current, either to pry or to force. No one did.

"You lived with the dhar."

"I did."

"And you negotiated on their behalf."

"I only interpreted."

"What is it the dhar wanted?"

"I told Daev that already. They wished for their children to find mates among their own kind in the east."

"Will they return?"

"I do not know the future."

"How many are left?"

"I did not count."

"Estimate."

Faro shrugged, shaking his head.

"I was their guest. I will not transgress that by becoming a spy."

There was another long pause. The questions had come from different ancients throughout this exchange. Faro waited. They reminded him of Vireel and her long silences.

"Will they continue to trade?"

"They did not speak to me of the future of your trade."

"But what do you think?"

"I think they will."

"Why did you live among them?"

Faro shook his head.

"What is it you want?" another asked.

"To leave. To go on my way. Is not freedom the way of Isecan?"

"Freedom is preserved by strength. You may be a spy. You are already proved a liar."

They had a point. He had lied, and they knew it. What could he tell them, now? Would they even believe the truth? Faro lifted his free hand and looked at it.

"Your hands bear unusual evidence of the Change," said the vienu who had first spoken.

"Yes," he said, still trying to think of something he could do. He did not like to lie. It had been distasteful to lie to Daev, but he was worried more that knowledge of his identity would bring danger to the dhar or reach Vireel. Jareen and Coir had always told Faro that he was at risk both from the Nethec and Isecan. Both would have a purpose for him as a scion to the Synod, even if that purpose was merely death.

For fear of this, they had raised him in secret in the glade of Vireel, never letting him take part in the lives of either the Canaen or the Findelvien. He never sang or danced with the youth in the firefly glades, nor feasted in the boughs of the trees in the light of the stars, nor saw the fair faces of the vienu as they walked in the cool of the evening.

Instead, he sat at Coir's feet in the evenings, listening to the man's stories, often enough near a quthli fire as snot ran down Faro's nose and his eyes itched. That old human had loved the warmth of fire. Half quthli he was, but he loved the tales of the Vien, especially of Vah and Vah'tane.

Faro looked up at the elders. They watched him intently. Faro did not wish to declare his identity and assure his captivity, yet he was not sure where his mother and Coir might be, or exactly how to get there. Vireel told him she had sent them to Forel for safety, but time had passed, and he did not know what Vireel may have done. His worry won out over caution.

"I seek a Daughter of Vah and a human with her. Do you know where they may be found?"

Faro had always wondered if that was why Coir had stuck fast beside his mother—because she was a Daughter of Vah. Jareen often spoke Noshian to Faro and told him much about her life in Drennos, but of her days in Findeluvié, she spoke little. Coir held his tongue as well, at least where Jareen was concerned. Faro should have asked so many more questions than he did, and he should have pressed them when they fell silent.

"Why do you seek the Daughter of Vah?"

Faro did not respond. Birds sang in the trees, and the sound was beautiful. It had been so long since he'd heard the song of birds. Alone in chambers beneath the stone, silence reigned, broken now and then by distant hammerfall or dhar song. The dwarves lived in a world of stillness, yet in the forest, even the sap moved, and roots churned the soil.

"Are you afflicted?" an ancient asked.

It took Faro a second to realize what he was being asked.

"No," Faro answered.

"Then why do you seek her?"

"For my own purposes."

"If you will not answer us, then you will be our guest until you do."

From behind, Faro heard his vien escorts step forward. He tensed.

"Take his weapon and inspect his burdens," one of the elders said.

Faro grasped the spear in both hands, sliding his forehand toward the sheath.

"Do not fight," said the vienu ancient. "Even if you are strong in the Current, we will overcome you. Do not throw away your life."

Faro knew she was right. They were many. Perhaps, if he was closer to the Nethec Current, he might have surprised them, but they were well within Isecan, and he could not sense the presence of the Nethec at all. The vien circled him from behind. Two took his bags from the grass while another held out his hand for the spear. Perhaps wisely, the vien did not grab it, instead waiting with placid expression and open palm.

At last, Faro laid it in the vien's hand. His heart was beating rapidly, and his face flushed. It was all he could do to master his wrath. Shame mixed with his anger—shame at so quickly losing the gift of Klotig. His muscles trembled, and he wanted to lash out. The vien must have seen it in his face, for he quickly stepped back, delivering the spear to the vienu ancient. She took it in both hands, staring down at the covered point.

The other vien were opening the bags and looking inside.

"Wait," Faro said, barely keeping his composure. The elders turned back to him. He pointed toward the lighter bag. "That is only a musical instrument," he said. "It was a gift as well. Would you begrudge me my music?"

One of the vien slid the kulna free of the bag, holding it up for the elders to see. He looked inside the soundbox.

"A harp, I suppose," the vien said, holding it away from his body. He eyed the whalebone skeptically, clearly unsure of what it was, but he drew a hand across the brass strings, letting the sound ring out.

So it was a harp. Without having seen a Vien harp, all he could do was suppose.

The vienu eldress frowned but waved the instrument away with her hand. The vien double-checked that the sack was empty and slid the harp back inside. He offered it to Faro, who took it and cradled it in his arms.

"Come." The vien motioned down the hillside path. "We will not mistreat you."

"You already have," Faro said, but he followed them.

The vien led Faro to a tall tree growing out from the hillside, isolated from other trees around. There was a house built among its branches, a winding stair leading up to it. They led him upward. Faro climbed through the hatch ahead of the others.

"You will stay here until the elders decide otherwise," said the vien who had taken the spear. Faro did not look at him. "Food and drink will be brought. It would not be wise to seek escape."

With that, the vien closed the hatch behind him.

Faro had never been in one of the canopy houses so common among the vien; Vireel had always lived on the ground, well away from trees, for in the Mingling, beasts moved as rapidly through trees as on the ground, but the quthli did not.

The little house was comprised of a single room with windows all around, and its position on the hillside offered sweeping views of the sea. He thought he glimpsed mountain peaks across the sea to the north, though it was hazy and he might have imagined them. Along with the views came the wind; the house moved with the gentle undulations of the tree, making him feel like he was still aboard ship.

Another time, the house would have delighted him. The windows were great ovals, and woven mats hung above them to be closed if desired, with shutters along the sides. No doubt, in a storm it might be preferable to shut the windows. Then again, he was in one of the great enclaves. Storms they could modulate. A chair sat before the windows overlooking the sea. Sitting down, he stared at the glinting waves and the gradations of colors moving out from the shore. The harp rested on his lap, still in its bag.