Elven Star

16

“I hate this,” said Rega.

Two more cycles’ traveling took them farther down into the depths of the jungle, down far below the top level, far below bright sunshine and fresh air and cool rain. They had come to the edge of a moss plain. The trail dropped off into a deep ravine that was lost in shadow. Lying flat on top of the moss cliff, peering down into the depths, they couldn’t see what was below them. The thick leaves of the tree branches above and ahead of them completely cut off sunlight. Going below, they would be traveling in almost total darkness.

“How far away are we?” asked Paithan.

“From the dwarves? About two cycles’ journey, I should think,” remarked Roland, peering into the shadows.

“You think? Don’t you know?”

The human heaved himself to his feet. “You lose all sense of time down there. No hour flowers, no flowers of any sort.”

Paithan didn’t comment. He stared over the edge, as if fascinated by the darkness.

“I’m going to go check on the tyros.”

Rega stood up, gave the elf a sharp, meaningful glance, and motioned to her brother. Together, silently, the two walked away from the edge, returning to a small glade where the tyros had been tethered.

“This isn’t working. You’ve got to tell him the truth,” Rega said, her fingers tugging on the strap of one of the baskets.

“Me?” said Roland.

“Keep your voice down! Well, we have to, then.”

“And just how much of the truth do you plan to tell him, Wife, dear?” Rega shot her brother a vicious sidelong glance-Sullenly, she looked away.

“Just … admit that we’ve never been on this trail before. Admit we don’t know where the hell we are or where the hell we’re going.”

“He’ll leave.”

“Good!” Rega gave the strap a violent jerk that made the tyro bleat in protest. “I hope he does!”

“What’s got into you?” Roland demanded.

Rega glanced and shivered. “It’s this place. I hate it. And”—she turned back, staring at the strap, her fingers absently stroking it—“the elf. He’s different. Not like what you told me. He’s not smug and overbearing. He isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. He’s not a coward. He stands his share of the watch, he’s ripped his palms to shreds on those ropes. He’s cheerful and funny. He even cooks, which is more than you’ve ever done, Roland! He’s … nice, that’s all. He doesn’t deserve … what we were planning.” Roland stared at his sister, saw a faint flush of crimson creep up from her brown throat to her cheeks. She kept her eyes lowered. Reaching out his hand, Roland caught hold of Rega’s chin and turned her face toward him. Shaking his head, he let out a low whistle.

“I believe you’ve fallen for the guy!”

Angrily, Rega struck his hand away.

“No, I haven’t! He’s an elf, after au.”

Frightened by her own feelings, nervous and tense, furious at herself and at her brother, Rega spoke with more force than she intended. Her lips curled at the word “elf,” she seemed to spit it out in disgust, like she’d tasted something foul and nasty.

Or at least that’s what it sounded like to Paithan.

The elf had risen from his place overlooking the drop and gone back to report to Roland that he thought their ropes were too short, there was no way they could lower the baggage. Moving with elven lightness and grace, he hadn’t intentionally planned to sneak up on the two. That was just the way it turned out. Hearing clearly Rega’s last statement, he crouched in the shadows of a dangling evir vine, hidden by its broad, heart-shaped leaves, and listened.

“Look, Rega, we’ve come this far, I say we carry the plan out to the end. He’s wild about you! He’ll tumble. Just get him alone in some dark patch, maneuver him into a clinch. I’ll rush in and save your honor, threaten to tell all. He forks over the cash to keep us quiet and we’re set. Between that and this sale, we’ll live high for the next season.” Roland reached out his hand, affectionately stroked Rega’s long, dark hair. “Think about the money, kid. We’ve gone hungry too many times to pass up this chance. Like you said, he’s only an elf.”

Paithan’s stomach clenched. Hastily, he turned away, moving silently through the trees, not particularly watching or caring where he was going. He missed Rega’s response to her husband, but that was just as well. If he had seen her look up at “Roland, grinning conspiratorially; if he had heard her pronounce the word elf in that tone of loathing one more time, he would have killed her. Falling against a tree, suddenly dizzy and nauseous, Paithan gasped for breath and wondered at himself. He couldn’t believe he was acting like this. What did it matter, after all? So the little slut had been playing with him? He’d noticed her game in the tavern before they ever left on this journey! What had blinded him?

She had. He’d actually been fool enough to think she was falling in love with him! Those conversations they’d had along the trail. He’d told her stories about his homeland, about his sisters, his father, and the crazy old wizard. She’d laughed, she’d seemed interested. Her admiration had shone in her eyes. And then there had been all those times they’d touched, just by accident, bodies brushing against each other, hands meeting when they reached for the same waterskin. Then there’d been the trembling, quivering eyelids, heaving breasts, flushed skin.

“You’re good, Rega!” he whispered through clenched teeth. “Really good. Yes, I’m ‘wild about you’! I would have ‘tumbled.’ But not now! Now that I know you, little whore!” Closing his eyes tightly, squeezing back tears, the elf sagged against the tree. “Blessed Peytin, Holy Mother of us all, why did you do this to me?”

Perhaps it was the prayer—one of the few the elf had ever bothered to make—but he felt a jab of conscience. He’d known she belonged to another man. The elf had flirted with the woman in Roland’s very presence. Paithan had to admit to himself that he’d found it exhilarating, seducing the wife beneath the husband’s nose.

“You got what you deserved,” Mother Peytin seemed to be saying to him. The goddess’s voice bore an unfortunate resemblance to Calandra’s, however, and it only made Paithan angrier.

“It was ail in fun/’ he justified himself. “I would never have let it go too far, not really. And I certainly never meant to … to fall in love.” That last statement, at least, was true and it made Paithan believe profoundly in all the rest.

“What’s wrong? Paithan? What’s the matter?”

The elf opened his eyes, turned around. Rega stood before him, her hand reaching for his arm. He drew back, away from her touch.

“Nothing,” he said, swallowing.

“But you look terrible! Are you sick?” Rega reached for him again. “Do you have a fever?”

He took another step back. If she touches me, I’ll strike her!

“Yeah. No, uh … no fever. I’ve been … sick. Maybe the water. Just… leave me alone for a bit.”

Yes, I’m better now. Practically cured. Little whore. He found it difficult not to let his hatred and disgust show and so he kept his eyes averted, staring fixedly into the jungle.

“I think I should stay with you,” said Rega. “You don’t look good at all. Roland’s gone off scouting around for another way down, maybe a shorter drop. He’ll be gone for quite a while, I imagine—”

- “Will he?” Paithan looked at her, a look so strange and piercing that it was Rega who now fell back a step before him. “Will he be gone a long, long time?”

“I don’t—” Rega faltered.

Paithan lunged at her, grabbed the woman by the shoulders and kissed her, hard, his teeth cutting her soft lips. He tasted berry-juice and blood, Rega struggled, squirming in his grasp. Of course, she’d have to put up a token resistance.

“Don’t fight it!” he whispered. “I love you! I can’t live without you!” He expected her to melt, to moan, to cover him with kisses. And then Roland would come along, shocked, horrified, hurt. Only money would ease the pain of betrayal.

And I’ll laugh! I’ll laugh at both of them! And I’ll tell them where to stick their money …

One arm around her back, the elf pressed the woman’s half-naked body up against his. His other hand sought soft flesh.

A violent kick to the groin sent a flash of pain through Paithan. The elf doubled over. Strong hands hit him on the collar bone, knocking him backward, sending him crashing into the underbrush.

Face flushed, eyes flaring, Rega stood over him. “Don’t you ever touch me again! Don’t come near me! Don’t even talk to me!”

Her dark hair rose, ruffled like the fur of a scared cat. She turned on her heel and stalked off.

Paithan, rolling on the ground in agony, had to admit he was now extremely confused.

Returning from his search for a more suitable way down onto the trail below, Roland crept back stealthily over the moss, hoping—once again—to catch Rega and her “lover” in a compromising position. He reached the place on the trail where he’d left his sister and the elf, drew in a breath to yell the outrage of an offended husband, and peeped out from the cover of a gigantic shadowcove plant. He exhaled in disappointment and exasperation.

Rega was sitting on the edge of the moss bank, huddled up in a ball very much like a bristle-back squirrel, her back hunched, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. He could see her face from the side and, by her dark and stormy expression, could almost imagine the quills standing up all over her. His sister’s “lover” stood as far from her as possible, on the other edge of the bank’s lip. The elf was leaning at rather an odd angle, Roland noticed, almost as if favoring some tender part of himself.

“Strangest damn way to conduct a love affair I ever saw!” Roland muttered.

“What do I have to do for that elf—draw him a picture? Maybe baby elves are slipped under the cracks of the doors at night! Or maybe that’s what he thinks. We’re going to have to have a little man to man talk, looks like.

“Hey,” he called aloud, making a great deal of noise plunging out of the jungle, “I found a place, a ways down, where there’s what looks like a rock ledge that sticks out of the moss. We can lower the baskets onto that, then drop ’em down the rest of the way. What happened to you?” he added, looking at Paithan, who was walking hunched over and moving gingerly. “He fell,” said Rega.

“He did?” Roland—who had felt much the same way once after an encounter with an unfriendly barmaid—glanced at his sister in some suspicion. Rega hadn’t exactly refused to go ahead with the plan to seduce the elf. But, the more Roland thought about it, he recalled that she hadn’t exactly said she would, either. He didn’t dare say anything more, however. Rega’s face might have been frozen by a basilisk, and the look she cast him might have turned her brother to stone, as well.

“I fell,” agreed Paithan, voice carefully expressionless. “I—uh—straddled a tree limb coming down.”

“Ouch!” Roland winced in sympathy.

“Yeah, ouch,” repeated the elf. He didn’t look at Rega. Rega wasn’t looking at Paithan. Faces set, jaws rigid, both stared straight at Roland. Neither actually saw him.

Roland was completely at a loss. He didn’t believe their story and he would have liked very much to question his sister and worm the truth out of her. But he couldn’t very well drag Rega off for a chat without making the elf suspicious.

And then, when Rega was like this, Roland wasn’t certain he wanted to be alone with her anyway. Rega’s father had been the town butcher. Roland’s father had been the town baker. (Their mother, for all her faults, had always seen to it that the family was well fed-) There were times when Rega bore an uncanny resemblance to her father. One of those times was now. He could almost see her standing over a freshly butchered carcass, a bloodthirsty gleam in her eye. Roland stammered and waved his hand vaguely. “The … uh , . . spot I found is in that direction, a few hundred feet. Can you make it that far?”

“Yes!” Paithan grit his teeth.

“I’ll go see to the tyros,” stated Rega.

“Quin, here, can help—”

“I don’t need any help!” Rega snapped.

“She doesn’t need any help!” Paithan muttered.

Rega went one way, the elf went the opposite, neither looking at the other. Roland stood in the middle of the empty clearing, rubbing his stubbly brownish blond growth of beard.

“You know, I think I was mistaken. She really doesn’t like him. And I think her hate’s beginning to rub off on the elf! Things between them were going so well, too. I wonder what went wrong? It’s no good talking to Rega, not when she’s in this mood. There must be something I can do.” He could hear his sister pleading, flattering, trying to get the reluctant tyros to move. Paithan, hobbling along the edge of the moss bank, cast a disgusted glance in Rega’s direction.

“There’s only one thing I can think of to do,” Roland mused. “Just keep throwing them together. Sooner or later, something’s bound to happen.”