KindredPrelude

Prelude: Journal One

It is hard to believe, as I stand here looking out the window at the villagers gathering for the Beltane
Fires, that we have been here for only a few years. How different from the sullen peasants of my
father's kingdom as they shuffled to and from the fields, their lot little better than the oxen they
drove. I remember the last days of my life in my Father’s palace. The anger and pain come rushing
back. Tears misting my eyes I remember.

I walked down the dimly lit corridor toward my rooms, the bare stone floor echoing my footsteps. I
scarcely noticed the concerned greetings of the courtiers and servants I passed. My mind was filled
with hopes and fear. Margaret, my wife of two years and childhood friend had suffered an
increasingly difficult pregnancy. She was a thin, pale remnant of the dynamic, loving woman I had
married. Gone was the vibrant, playful woman, tall with thick red braids down to her lower back. Her
clear blue eyes were no longer filled with mirth and joy. Day after day I saw her barely suppressed
panic as she contemplated losing the child. I was a trial to me to conceal from her MY terror at the
thought of losing HER. How could I tell her that the child in her womb was still unreal to me, I, who
had not felt the growing, changing life within her body? I was the second son of the king and I had
never looked at her as merely a source of heirs. When I first realized that she could DIE from this
child it seemed the world around me trembled and quaked with uncertainty.

The doors to my study opened as I approached. As was usual at that time of year, my valet, Tarban,
met me with a goblet of warm wine. He was a tall, gentle looking man with iron gray hair. He appeared
to be 40 or so, but I knew him to be more than twice that. His half-Elven heritage was known only to
Margaret and myself.

“Good eve my Lord.” He said, the worry clear on his lined face. “What news of Lady Margaret?”

“The fool doctor is finally ready to admit the labor has started, I am glad the Lady’s nurse is here.” I
told him. Unlike him Nerdania was of full Elven blood and there had been trouble about her being
admitted to the birthing chamber.

“I told that dolt Polon that he was to defer to her, and I left no doubt in his mind as to my displeasure
if I was disobeyed.” I sipped the wine slowly, feeling it warm my stomach if not my heart. “Why don’t
the fools admit the wisdom of the Elder Race?” I asked him. “They are fading from this world and are
no threat to the Human kings.”

“There are those that see.” He reminded me. “You yourself have sworn to preserve their teachings
as well as you are able. ‘They will not fade totally from this world as long as there are those who walk
with eyes open and hearts questing.’ are the words you spoke if I recall”

“It does me no good to strive here, where all is undone by my brother.” I retorted. I had for years
tried to convince my father, then, after his untimely death a few weeks before, my brother. My
brother, now King, was frightened by the power of the Elves and concealed it by insisting that it was
up to Humans to create their own version of truth and power. Since his coming to the throne, Elves
were unwelcome at the castle, and hounded by the guardsmen when seen out of their forest home.
He surrounded himself with blustering charlatans who whispered his own words back to him. When
the crop of that year began to falter because of mismanaging the soil he blamed Elven curses and
banned the last of the Elven lore from use in any craft. Sicknesses that had before been merely
nuisances now took many lives. Under my father the people had been free to follow the old ways but
he never encouraged any contact, feeling the Elves too soft to be truly strong. Now however, it was
a flogging offense for a commoner to be seen talking to an Elf.

My own wife, the wise and gentle Margaret, had been taken sick early in her pregnancy because of
my brother’s Human advisors. She had been returning from a visit to her father before her lying-in.
The commander of her escort was my uncle Mikelos, a confidant of my brother, a whisperer of base
lies and a spreader of fear. On the second night of their journey he ordered the cooks to set up
their kitchens downstream of the horses because he favored the upstream side for his tent. Margaret
protested, reciting the ancient Elven rules for health in camp. My revered uncle scoffed at her,
calling her a foolish woman to believe the Elves. He told all who could hear that the Elves made their
rules as a way of controlling us and then used magic to bless or curse those who heeded or denied
them. He told them that the explanations about tiny animals inhabiting the wastes of living creatures
and doing harm on those who ingested them was “nothing but lies, to control us and keep us ignorant
of true magic.” He even went so far as to order Margaret and her women to be given only food and
water prepared by his men. Of the 200 souls who started on that journey only 90 lived to see it’s
end. If Mikelos had not been one of the victims I surely would have slain him. Margaret, being well
versed in Elven “lies” was one of the few who, once taken by the sickness, lived to come home again.
I told her I thought her trace of Elven blood had given her strength. She chided me for falling into
the ways of my family and believing that “magic” blood and ritual more than simple knowledge were
behind the robust health of the Elves. I knew this with my mind but my heart still wanted to believe in
“Elven Magic” as being the reason for their strength. It is difficult to understand the wisdom behind
the Elven ways. They tell us the What of things but seldom can we see the Why that lies beneath. I
once watched an old blacksmith order about his apprentice. He told the lad what to do, how long,
how hot but seldom why. The gulf of knowledge between them was immense. The smith knew in his
bones how to work metal and make it do his will, but even he was not always sure why one method was
more effective than another. He worked as much by intuition as by knowledge. In time the lad would
come to the same “feel” for his craft, but it would take years of working by rote. How much deeper
was the lore of the Elves, who lived lives that number decades as an old man might number years.
Now they were fading, fewer in number every generation. Somehow we must preserve as much of
that lore as possible until we humans come of age.

“How goes the plans for the exodus?” Tarban asked. As usual reading the direction of my thoughts.

“Slowly but smoothly.” I told him. “We have 300 volunteers among the country folk as well as my
personal guard. As soon as the Lady and child can travel we shall depart for the valley.” My wife and
I had finally received permission from my brother to remove to the lonely valley where dwelt the last
remnant of the Elves in this part of the world. We had long had invitation from the Queen of the
Elder People to establish a new realm of Second born to be taught and nurtured by the Elves.

Just then a loud knock sounded upon the door.

“My Lord Mithel! Is My Lord here?” Tarban opened the door and in rushed a barefoot servant.

“My Lord, come as swiftly as you can, the Lady Margaret calls for you.” He cried, fear plain on his
face.

“Tell me, what is wrong?” I demanded as I rushed to follow him.

“The King, My Lord, he has forbidden the Elven Lady from attending to the birth.”

With a wordless cry I rushed ahead. I ran headlong, heedless of safety, down the corridor and up a
short flight of stairs. Throwing open the doors of the birthing chamber I plunged inside and almost
impaled myself upon the pikes of two stern-faced guardsmen.

“What is the meaning of this?” I demanded. I saw the lovely, ageless midwife standing in the corner
glaring at the guard who stood between her and my wife’s bed. There was a low chuckle to my left. I
whirled and saw my brother, a cruel grin upon his face.

“Well, little brother,” The new king said. “I knew you would be along quickly. However I assure you,
you have nothing to be concerned about. The good doctor is quite as capable as the Elven Witch.
He will show you and all the other doubters in this kingdom how human knowledge is best for human
affairs.”

“The good doctor is an ass!” I snarled. “He could not cure his thirst if I threw him in the river!”

“Come now,” My brother chided. “I will not have you continue to disparage your own race. The
people need to have faith in their own. We must show them that they may trust their human doctors.” I
knew by the glaze of his eyes and the steel in his voice that I must yield if only to save my life and that
of Margaret; Others had died for not heeding his temper. With barely concealed contempt I turned
to my wife’s bed. She lay sweating and pale. The pain clear in her eyes.

“My love, have no fear, I am glad you are here. All will be well once I give life to our child.” She
winced as a strong contraction rippled through her distended belly. I held her hand gently as a dark
cloud engulfed my heart.

“Well now!” The doctor said to loudly. “First of all I need to be able to see. You don’t expect her to
deliver without my help do you?”

He tossed away the chicken leg he had been munching., wiping his greasy hands on his travel stained
tunic.

“Lets just get rid of this contraption.” He said, referring to the Birthing Chair that held Margaret at
an angle and provided her with handles to grip when the pains struck.

“How do you expect me to see what’s going on? Sit on the ground between her legs like some lowly
beggar,” He quipped, looking with triumph at the Elven woman now crying softly in the corner.
Margaret cried out as the rough-handed guards lifted her and removed the chair. I surged toward the
doctor, my rage extinguishing all caution. At a nod from my coldly smiling brother the guards grabbed
me as my hands were about to clutch the dirty pale neck of the man who called himself a healer.

“I think,” My noble brother said. “It would be best if all parties not DIRECTLY involved in this
should wait outside.” He gestured to the guards to remove the midwife and me from the room. This
was the last outrage I could bear. I screamed my wife’s name as I fought to throw off the men holding
me. The last thing I clearly remember is a great clout to the back of my head. I dimly recall being
dragged out of the birth chamber and being placed, none to gently, on a divan in the hall outside. I
drifted in a red, pain filled haze. I heard Margaret’s voice screaming and calling my name. I answered
her in my delirium. I tried to run to her but my legs would not obey my will. Finally blackness took me
and, mercifully, I knew no more.

After a timeless interval I woke to a dull ache in my head, throbbing in time to my heart. Somehow I
knew even before I opened my eyes that my wife, the sweetest woman I had known, was no longer in
the world of the living. I do not know how long I lay there, unwilling to hear the words that would
forever take my love from me. I felt a warm soft hand on my head, caressing my pain away. I opened my
eyes and saw the caring face of the Elven woman who had been my Wife’s nurse and, almost, her
midwife.

“Now she is gone and there is no more pain. I have her last thoughts of you to give.” She looked into
my eyes and to my wonder I felt Margaret’s arms about me and heard her voice for the last time,
whispering in my ear.

“I give my Love to you my dear husband, be well and happy. Do not grieve overmuch for me, I knew
that I would not likely live to see another day. I had a good life and you made the last years a joy. Do
not blame the child, for he is innocent, and shall follow in our footsteps and do great things.
Good-bye my Love, I await you in a golden hall. It will not be so long before we are together again
forever.” The feeling of her faded. Only her fragrance was left in the air.

“You must go on with your life Lord.” The Elven Lady said softly. “You have a man-child to protect
and raise. And the people who follow you need a leader, or they will never build the realm you and
Margaret dreamed of.”

“I hear you, “ I said, the cloud of pain lifting. My grief was still with me but I could feel it withdraw into
a secret room in my soul.

“I will lead my people to your valley, and keep my promise to your mother. But only for a time! When
my son is wed and needs me no more I will follow my love to meet her where she waits.”

She nodded as though she already knew my mind.

“I knew you would not betray the trust we gave you. And I promise, your son will build a realm that will
be the best of your race and mine.

“Your race will make many mistakes and may not regain wisdom for ten thousand years, but, I promise
you, one day, the strength of what is yours and the wisdom of what is mine shall join to build a
civilization that shall never fade as long as the sun shall shine.”

Thus it was with a feeling of hope tinged with sorrow, a most Elven emotion, that I rose and went to
see my son.

Copyright 2005 by Guy R. Whitney All Rights Reserved