Tree Of Life Part 5

A long fever gripped Daenara and left her so weak that there was little hope of full recovery. Her days pa.s.sed in a state of listlessness sad to witness. Deacon did little else but watch over her, staying at the bedside, as though he could will her back to health, and loathed every moment that did not find him at her side. The elven healers had done all they could for the present. There was nothing for him to do but wait.

eomus was downstairs. He put himself aside for the moment, leaving Deacon to spend what precious time he had left with his mother. She had declined into a state of unconsciousness, and it was not certain she would recover. eomus had offered to retrieve Deacon's uncle, but he wanted no one.

In the subdued light of night, Deacon sat by his mother, leaning over her bed. He lay with his cheek on his forearm, his face near to hers. There he waited, motionless, with eyes dark and tender, his countenance grown wan and grim from watching and grief. Her sleeping face was smooth and peaceful. His fingers wandered over her cheek pitifully. He had difficulty convincing himself that he was losing her. Her existence was so very much a part of his own.

"Do not leave me," he whispered, as one murmurs unconsciously in sleep. There were long intervals between the lift of one breath and the next, so that he feared each was the last. He put his fingers to her lips, tinged a strange hue, and shut his eyes tightly to prevent himself from being overcome.

He soon became aware of eomus standing near at his side. Slowly sitting up, Deacon pinched his fingers into the corners of his eyes and recollected himself before facing him.

"You should get some sleep," eomus said, resting his hand on his shoulder in a fatherly gesture. "The human frame cannot endure."

Deacon set his jaw against the reference to human frailty but said nothing. Sick with pain he rose feebly. He stood looking down on his mother miserably. He didn't want to leave her, and sleep was not something attainable, but he knew also that eomus needed to be with her for a time.

eomus watched the young man whose look was becoming more inverted each pa.s.sing day and felt deep concern. He loved him as well as his own, but there was a film of ice between them that he could not break through. He could foresee Deacon closing himself off further still. He feared that Deacon would be consumed to the point of self-obliteration and that he would lose him along with Daenara.

"Deacon," he said, "loss is a natural part of existence. We mustn't forget those around us who still live."

"You speak as though she is already dead," said Deacon quietly, but with burning vehemence.

"No-but you grieve as though she were. And I fear you are in danger of being overcome by dwelling excessively on the pain."

For a moment the two men stood opposite each other: one tense and resentful, the other grave and aggrieved.

Daenara stirred slightly. Both looked down on her and decided to take their conversation out of the room.

"Profuse sorrowing," said eomus the moment he closed the door behind him, "destroys the strength of the body and the health of the mind. And, if you're not careful, it has an embittering effect on the soul."

Deacon turned very cold and hard. It was not in his understanding how eomus could appear so calm at such a time. His eyes remained fixed on eomus, expressing hurt and anger as he spoke. "How can you carry on with your usual composure and feel nothing, while the woman you claim to love lies dying in your bed. Are you so cold in your perfection!"

The serene brow showed dismay at last. "You have mistaked me all this while," eomus said, in a tone of plaintive reproof. "I live with breath as you, feel want, taste the bitterness of grief. I am subjected to these as you! Only I do not understand why you should add further affliction to grief by turning from me." He stepped toward Deacon but did not touch him, saying with an expression deeply afflicted, "Why are you so anxious to be from me when I need you now the most?"

For the first time Deacon felt a tide of affection for eomus come over him. Only by the clenching of his jaw and the unshed tears in his eyes could it be told how much moved he was.

"Will she die without regaining consciousness?" he asked at length.

"I am unable to say."

The two stood in the hallway, momentarily wordless.

"Take comfort," said eomus, resting his hand on Deacon as he spoke. "In times such as these we must turn to higher realms for guidance and courage. May they be your strength when sorrows bear down hard upon you."

Deacon wanted none of it. What were these G.o.ds that they should do as they please with the frail beings they created?

The next morning Deacon rose unrested. His whole being seemed beaten down. Coming to stand at his mother's door, he knocked lightly; hearing eomus tell him to enter, he pushed it half-open. The morning sun poured in on a made and empty bed, and for an instant his heart ceased to beat. Abruptly he pushed the door fully open.

He saw eomus standing by the balcony, and sitting there also was his mother. Almost he lost his breath in relief, and as she rose unsteadily, he closed the short distance between them, taking her in his arms. Only for a moment she held him and kissed him, then withdrew to look at his face. She hadn't much strength to speak and said, trying to sound quite normal, "You look a terrible sight." She touched her fingertips to his face, rough and unshaven.

"You look beautiful," he said softly, overcome. She smiled wearily, and he helped her back into the chair. Her movements were unsteady and full of suffering, killing all joy and relief for him. He would have taken the pain himself if he could.

Chapter13.

Ill Informed.

-n a vast room splendidly furnished, eomus stood at the side of one of the elven leaders, Aldar, a dignified man with high cheek bones, pale eyes, and flowing silver-grey hair. He said to eomus, "If my counsel is to be heeded, nothing shall be kept from him. However, the choice lies with you." eomus looked a moment as if he might protest, then looking resigned, inclined his head.

Out in the hallway Deacon waited, anxious to know why he had been summoned. Aldar would not have sent for him with reference to any small matter. Nevertheless he retained his composure, his eyes fastened on the door, which was soon opened to him. When he entered he found himself in the presence of the two elven men. Aldar had his back turned, facing the window, while eomus looked grieved. Deacon stood a moment, waiting for one of them to speak. Great windows displayed a beautiful view of woodland and a magnificent flowing waterfall. However, such a prospect did nothing to dissolve the tension in his heart. He feared they were to inform him of something regarding his mother.

"Perhaps you should seat yourself," said Aldar.

Deacon did as he was instructed. Both the elven men looked upon him, and there was an intense silence, as if they feared to tell him something crucial. "If there is anything that I hate, it is a mystery," he said, trying to keep from the angry impatience that deep anxiety breeds.

"You must prepare yourself for distressing tidings," eomus told him with dismay.

"Whatever I must bear."

"It has come to our recent attention," began Aldar, "that a man whom was long looked upon as being dead ..." he paused, seeing the young man's face had become very pale.

"My father," said Deacon, haltingly, and with the intensity of a hate that had been nourished over many years. "He still lives."

"The council betrayed none of this to any outside their own. It was by mere chance we discovered Luseph's circ.u.mstance."

Deacon sat silently as the truth slowly came upon him. Black cloud after black cloud shrouded his mind, until his entire countenance was as dark as his thoughts. "Does she know?" he asked, thinking of his mother.

"Yes," said eomus.

"Why did she keep it from me?" Deacon asked, though he could guess why. A dangerous thought entered his mind and his whole manner immediately changed, becoming feverishly determined. "Where is he?" he demanded through compressed lips, the heavy beating in his chest making his words uneven. eomus had a look of misgiving and did not speak. Deacon rose agitatedly to his feet, not liking to have to look up at them. He repeated more forcefully, "Where is he?"

"Luseph chose to retreat to the country for his confinement," Aldar said calmly. "There, eyes shall seldom see him."

The elven men were looking at Deacon with closed expressions, and he could not fail to understand that they were disinclined to reveal the location of his father. "You have no confidence in me," he stated angrily.

"Pause a moment, regain your clarity," said eomus, concerned by the feverish flare of Deacon's eye and the unnatural calm of his manner. He was trying for the appearance of composure, but his whole att.i.tude betrayed deep resentment. Not a muscle of his face relaxed as he spoke.

"What was the punishment before his confinement?"

"His punishment was self-embraced," said Aldar. "His body was shattered and destroyed to spare your life." As he spoke, Aldar took himself over by the window, a gesture intended to quench conversation.

"Which he endangered to begin with," Deacon said, not letting it be ended there. "It is because of him that she's dying! He must be punished!" His voice rose a pitch higher when Aldar refused to face him.

eomus spoke calmly. "He has been punished."

Deacon's gaze shifted furiously, and he said, low and hateful, "On his terms. Where is the justice in that?" He looked at Aldar again. "You say he has been punished, but the only person who has the right to say so is the one who suffered the injustice."

"Self-reproach is the bitterest of all punishments," said eomus, maintaining his calm. "Think of the wound to his conscience, the inward suffering and torment he must bear."

Deacon choked back some harsh words and started for the door.

"Deacon," eomus called to him. He paused but did not turn, his back rigid. "Rise above your father's mistakes, or fall into shadow."

Deacon's chin fell to his chest in a kind of angry defeat. Then he left.

He did not return home directly but found an isolated part of the woods, where he stood overwhelmed with rage. A sense of injustice burned within his chest, and he could think of nothing but killing the man who shared his blood but not his spirit. Night fell, and it grew dark all around him. No beast could have torn at him more mercilessly than did his own outrage. He could feel the hate so intensely within him that it must find vent or it would consume him. Then came a voice as soft as the evening breeze, almost whispering his name. Lifting his gaze Deacon winced as though stepping out of dark shadow into strong light. Coming toward him through darkened trees, like a pure ray of light, was Ellendria, whose white radiance and beauty defied all description. She was many years older than her brother and was almost an ethereal being. When elves have accomplished all they can on this plain of existence, they transcend it and resonate with higher realms.

Resplendent in a white flowing gown, Ellendria was the embodiment of grace and stillness. She spoke nothing, but Deacon found her grey eyes directed toward him in a way that gave him the uneasy consciousness she was reading his innermost thoughts. Under her gaze he stood unnaturally, tense and hostile. Feeling his mind intruded upon, he sought to banish all dark reflections.

"Our deeds carry terrible consequences," Ellendria said. "Be mindful of such thoughts."

Deacon's expression darkened. There was hate in it. Her intrusion provoked him beyond all endurance. He did not suspect his thoughts revealed their blackness through his features.

"Should you allow them to persist," she said, "they will exercise mastery over you, until such that you cannot avoid attempting to fulfil their desire."

A rage filled slowly within him like some consuming, scathing poison. Before her lofty superiority he felt subdued, bowed, and emasculated. He braved her eyes and said bitterly, "Why should I not? All those years I have wanted to kill him and now I can. Why do you look concerned for me? I will make him suffer and be glad for it. He has brought it upon himself."

"Those, perhaps, will be the feelings in the first moments, but time will prove the reality of the evil, and then there will be no satisfaction, no rest. The pain will turn so far inward you will begin to lose all sense of self, till there is nothing left of you but a vague memory. Carry that always in your mind."

A beam of moonlight shed cold silver over her features, and Deacon looked away from her pale eyes. There was a fire in them, but it was the cold, silverwhite fire of the moon, which he felt she emitted against him. Her persistent gaze stung him with sharp, cold flames, and he wanted to be away from her; feeling her brilliance would destroy him as light destroys darkness.

"After everything he has done, I'm supposed to let him walk free?" he asked.

"We cannot change the past," she said, her voice intensely calm.

"No. But we can see that justice is rendered, wound for wound."

"You do not seek justice. You design to gratify your own will."

"It matters little what I want," Deacon said, defeated, his manner deceptively calm. "eomus will not tell me where Luseph is. d.a.m.n him! That miserable coward hides away, while my mother must fight for her life!"

He looked up at Ellendria with eyes black with torture. Not for an instant did her countenance lose its look of grave patience, and a wild desire flared in his chest. He wanted to lay hold of her, hurt her, till he forced a cry of humiliation. His rage became so black and so powerful within him that for an instant he felt as if he might destroy her. He wanted to rend her apart, make her into nothing.

Inwardly Ellendria shrank from him, though he hadn't so much as advanced a step. It was the felt darkness in him that affected her. She was afraid of him in that moment, and the knowledge of it was both pleasure and shame to him. He stood seething with his poisoned thoughts, and for a moment entertained the wild idea of seizing Ellendria in his hands. Impa.s.sioned to the point of intolerable anger, with no outlet, he was past the point where he could risk standing here another moment. With visible effort he suppressed the half-mad desire to force from her some sign of emotion, anything but this white-cold perfection, and made his way home.

Quietly he stole into the house like a guilty shadow. Inside he moved stealthily for fear of disturbing his mother, but she was already awake and waiting for him, cast in subdued light. He was pa.s.sing the doorway when she called his attention to herself.

"You've been gone a long while," she said, pensively.

"I know. I'm sorry." He drifted into the room. He could tell from her expression that she was aware he knew about his father. Wearily, Deacon rubbed his lip. He could see that she wanted to talk. He glanced back at the door that would lead him to his solitude, which he desired more than company at this moment, then inhaled deeply, resigning himself. Dragging up a chair, Deacon sat opposite his mother, his knees on either side of hers.

"So you know," he said plainly. He did not want to be impatient with her. Waiting for her to say something, he sat uneasy. Not once did she lift her gaze from his hand that she held in her own.

"I don't know if it is within me to forgive him," she said weakly, pa.s.sing her fingers over the scar on his palm. "But you have to understand it was never his intention to hurt you as he did."

Deacon saw, from her face and from the nervous clasp of her hands, that she was deeply distressed, and took her hands to still them. "It's not myself that I care about-" His mother's gaze lifted to meet his, and upon seeing her comprehending grief, he was unable to finish the sentence. His expression hardened, and with a startling suddenness he was angry again. "He should have been protecting you!" He rose sharply to his feet, tearing his hand away from hers. "Why is everyone protecting him!"

Daenara sank back in her chair and looked up at Deacon with helpless and aggrieved eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said, inflicting a brutal rubbing on his face. "I'm tired. I will get to bed."

Deacon took his leave with a brief kiss on his mother's lips. Not attempting to keep him further, Daenara remained awhile, her heart aching. She could feel him losing himself to hate.

From the balcony that extended from his room, Deacon looked out over the woods illumined by the soft glow of night-lamps, which shone like silver stars in the trees. It was a beautiful and serene atmosphere. Down below he could see elves carrying hanging lamps, singing their hymns, while drifting with such royal sagacity throughout the peaceful trees. Elves, requiring only a few hours' repose, sang long into the night.

Deacon inhaled deeply. Certain flowers here only bloomed at night under the moon and filled the air with a heavy, pungent perfume, which seemed so a part of the darkness it was as though he breathed the night itself.

The woods here were elegant and opulent, but Deacon was hardened against their beauty. He was living in what many believed perfection, yet he had a persistent sensation that behind all that beauty and flowers and appearance of harmony and happiness, lay treachery. Nature had become his antagonist. Living among the elves, Deacon was acutely aware of his mother's and his own mortality and lived bitterly beneath the shadow of time. The elves were blind. They did not know what it was to age and die.

Far from these woods there was a tree, an immense and ancient tree, that Deacon had been told of over the years. It was said that this tree was the physical manifestation of life's essence, haunted by the elemental spirits that govern all of nature. They could not be seen but felt intuitively by those who allowed it. Their bodies, made of an etheric substance, could not be killed. However, with disastrous consequences, their connection to one another could be severed. The source of their connection was this great and tremendous tree. If it was to be destroyed they would be separated from one another. Nature would despair. Sometimes, when his fury was roused against the elves, dangerous thoughts entered his mind. Deacon indulged his fancy but did not for an instant believe he would go through with such an unforgivable act.

Chapter14.

An Elven Celebration.

-n a moonlit garden a graceful gathering of elves came together to celebrate the earth. Otherworldly music, wistfully arresting and enchanting, was carried on the breeze and filled the woods with its lilting allure. Neighbouring elves from Myrthwood and Evandale had joined the divertiss.e.m.e.nt, and the garden and entire surrounding woods were filled with elegant, informal gatherings of those who had not seen one another for long intervals. Ellendria and Aldar were also there. They maintained a certain manner that was owing to their station but otherwise faded in with the many others.

Daenara sat by the edge of an elegant fountain, overflowing with water glistening like liquid silver. eomus was at her side. She wore a lovely gown the colour of primrose. Not far from her Deacon sat, dark-clad and handsome, on stone steps that led down into the garden where little fire-flies hovered, glowing gold in the night. Throughout the garden a sumptuous banquet was laid out on platters of fine silver. Serving-maidens presented themselves when needed, keeping the gla.s.ses flowing with wine.

Sitting alone, forearms resting on his knees, Deacon was withdrawn, distant and watchful. The object of his attention was Mariwen, who was in the handsome company of Valdur and Aldur, the sons of Aldar and Ellendria. Mariwen was quite different to those she gathered with. Her face sweet and luminous, she was like the glory of morning, while they had the grace of evening. Every one of her movements, the way she put her lips to the fine rim of the gla.s.s, and the way she touched Valdur's arm, Deacon watched. His face was pa.s.sive and expressionless, but he suffered.

Occasionally his gaze would shift to his mother and he would feel glad. She looked at peace and comfortable, listening to the elves' lilting intonations, which seemed to bathe her soul in their beauty. She sank a little against eomus, and he caressed her hand and arm with the lightest brush of fingertips. Deacon grimaced to himself and turned his gaze aside. He had an unfathomable aversion to eomus touching his mother.

All the elven children, who were not very childish, played about the garden, and Deacon was obliged to move his gla.s.s of wine from the step several times so the children could pa.s.s. It happened often enough that Deacon finally decided to abandon his seat and stood up. The moment he did it seemed Mariwen suddenly noticed his existence, for she immediately looked his way, and with a sweet smile came forward, weaving through the crowd unfalteringly to get to him. He stood watching her come toward him and felt a flush of heat. He thought her love the most precious a man could possess.

She took his hand and led him unhesitatingly toward the company she had momentarily abandoned. Although Deacon would rather she had led him into the woods so they might be alone, he yielded to her will, half-dazed. The haunting music ever drifted through the air, but a sweeter music played in his ears, and he was blind to all else but the maiden drawing him. It seemed to Deacon that the party's spirit had affected her, for she was exquisitely interested in him, glancing often over her shoulder, eyes adance with the sparkling lights of the stars.

Deacon came back to a sense of himself, to find he was welcomed into Mariwen's gathering of friends. He did not share their gracious enthusiasm, and for a moment the gentle group was oppressed by his dominating presence, conscious of his cynicism. Condemned to their society, he stood, silent and inscrutable, but he had the loveliest of consolations. Mariwen was at his side. Occasionally he looked down at her hand that hung so near to his. It lay there so near, yet out of his reach. He wanted to take it up and claim her and have every right to her.

The conversation at last broke off. Mariwen, leaving with Aldur, asked Deacon to join them. He declined, remaining where he was, hoping she would remain with him. She chose instead to leave, and Deacon felt a stab of jealousy. To keep the indifference in his att.i.tude was a challenge.

As the evening drew on Deacon saw that his mother had become excessively weary, the bloom worn off her cheek, and his heart grew sore. Her frailty was a cruel, piteous contrast to the undimishing beauty of the elves. As he looked at his mother with troubled eyes, she happened to look over at him and gave a soft, rea.s.suring smile. Therein was his stability, comfort, and sustaining warmth. He felt a flush of love for her and returned the smile with his own.

The hour was late, the minutes dragging on endlessly. Deacon sat with his hands hanging lifelessly between his knees, head down, absent and engrossed in thoughts that were soon forgotten. His attention was captured by several elven maidens who drifted subtly into the garden like mist of the moon. They carried with them white flowing veils. Their lovely forms were draped in pale gowns, so light it seemed moonlight itself clothed them.

They did not, as any human maiden would, observe with pleasure the effect of their beauty, but were devoted to the pleasures of dance, scarcely aware that they were not alone. The night air became alive and vibrant. To the enchanting music the maidens danced, their slender limbs like branches swaying in the evening breeze, gracefully manipulating the veils, which seemed an extension of themselves. There was a graceful fluidity of movement in the dance, entrancing and mysterious.

As though caught in a dream, in a sort of mesmeric state, Deacon watched the unison of flowing femininity. Their beauty affected him subtly, like the night air he breathed, and seemed to awaken his blood. They had his attention, yet they had no possession of his heart. They were vague and unreal to his eyes, too faultless and devoid of any flaw, too utterly elusive. He had been with women of his own kind. They had not been so nearly flawless, or changelessly divine, but they were tangible. He could submerge himself in them and feel responsive warmth and life.

Deacon was so immersed in his occupation, he had not seen his mother retire. When finally he turned his attention, he saw the seat that previously occupied her was empty. He saw eomus lead her away. She looked unwell, her face white and her movements unsteady. She seemed strangely remote and clinging in his arms.