Chapter Two
I rode Red and ponied my little four-year-old mare, Lily, behind me. I hated her name. I had not named her. She had been a gift from some noble family or other. Their daughter had decided to name all of her horses after plants. I preferred generic horse names. I had tried to call her Dunny for a few days, but eventually reverted to the hated Lily. Not that I hated Lily, she was energetic, cute, eager to please, and too young to figure out ways to shirk out of work.
Red alternately doted on and despised Lily. Some mornings they would scratch each other's manes over the fence. Other mornings he would squeal in rage and charge at her with his ears pinned and teeth bared. Lily did not help matters. She would flirt and sniff noses with other geldings over the fence and refuse to have anything to do with him. Between the two of us, poor old Red was whipped.
I allowed Lily an extra-long lead rope. I could usually predict when Red was about to kick and persuade him to change his mind, but Red had a knack for being sneaky. Besides I would hate it if Lily got injured.
I posted easily to Red's fast, ground eating trot and pointed him straight for the nearest mountains. I occasionally reverted to obscure back roads and cut across the forest a few times to save time, but I mostly stayed on the main road. I stopped once to switch to Lily, whose trot was not quite as nice as Red's, but she had a lovely canter. We did not have very far to go so I made her canter the entire way. Red trotted behind her as far as the lead rope would allow pinning his ears and bowing his neck every time he had to break into a canter.
I eventually arrived at a village at the foot of the mountains. I had my horses stabled and rented a mountain pony. I handed Lily off to a groom, but tended Red myself. The last thing I needed to deal with was a mangled stable hand.
The pony they gave me was a typical livery nag. I eventually thumped him into a rough, uneven trot. After I was well into the mountains, I allowed my poor, beleaguered mount to walk. I walked off of the trail and into the trees. I whistled and tried to draw the exact images of the tree shrinking into my head.
In my studies I had learned that music was the only way for humans to initiate contact with Hillfolk. I also knew that the Hillfolk could communicate with us with images from the mind.
I closed my eyes and sweated with concentration. Suddenly, I felt a rough hand on my leg. My pony had stopped. I looked down at the contoured bark- like skin of the Hill person. The Hill person touched my hands, which still held the reins. I felt a soft flutter in my head that is similar to the feeling of an insect crawling on my hand when I am not looking. Was it my imagination or was it really there?
I did not see images so much as I felt feelings. Initially I felt anger at being trapped, which quickly gave way to despair. Then I felt a yearning, a desire that was surprisingly strong. Was the Hill person trying to convey Flauvic's emotions to me?
The hand left my hands. I caught a quick glimpse of rustling leaves and then I was alone with my rotten pony.
The nag was much easier to manage on the return road. I even made him canter.
When I returned to the inn I allowed the horses and myself one time measure of rest before I left.
I was very confused. What was Flauvic's desire? Had he used it to escape the Hillfolk? Had they let him go because it was a desire to do good? So many questions. I needed to get home.
I arrived home two hours before dawn. My horses and I were exhausted. I dismounted Red and pawned him off on a groom. I was too tired to worry about his behavior and judging from his drooping head and only cocked back ears so was he.
I staggered into the Throne Room still in my riding clothes. My vision was slightly blurry and I felt light-headed. Both sensations gave the scene before me a surreal feeling.
There were many fuzzy soldiers in gold and green livery. A few courtiers appeared as brightly colored splotches that glittered disconcertingly with jewels. I could not look at the courtiers too long, all of that sparkling made me dizzy. I recognized a collection of people wearing the more drab clothing of scholars. I automatically gravitated toward them but then I thought, You are at Athanarel. You are a courtier here. It was difficult to walk toward all of those gaudy colors and glitters. I shuffled through puffy skirts and dressy pants to the front of the pack where I saw a familiar glitter person.
"I am glad you could make it, Nee." My mother said, "After this is over, you may sleep and bathe."
"So what happened in the mountains?" father asked.
It would have been difficult enough to explain what had happened without feeling exhausted. "Um well I hired a pony at an inn and a right nag it was. The beast almost made me crazy. I got to the trees and whistled and thought and a Hill person touched me on the leg. Yes, right on the leg. Did you know that is the first recorded time that a Hill-person has touched a human? And then it grabbed my hand and."
I remembered the reason I had visited the Hillfolk and stared at the dais. The tree was now humanlike in size and shape. Someone had wrapped a towel around his waist to protect the ladies' virgin female eyes from his nakedness.
Then I remembered that I was supposed to be telling a story, "and it gave me feelings. Rage at first, then sadness, then yearning. I don't know what for. Then it left so I left." I shrugged and sank down onto a cushion that was slightly dizzying to look at because of its heavy embroidery.
"Coffee, princess?" A servant appeared at my elbow.
"Oh, yes, thank you." I grabbed a mug and sucked down its scalding contents, burning my tongue, but I was beyond caring.
My vision cleared as did my mind. My eyes returned to the handsome figure whose features were becoming sharper with every second.
When the tree perfectly resembled a man, the golden color dissipated. It was now the color of human skin, pale with a sallow tint.
He blinked a few times revealing tawny, golden eyes. His lips curved up in an enigmatic half-smile. Was he amused? Scornful? Contented? Victorious? He did not get the opportunity to explain his look because he crumpled up and lay in a heap on the floor.
The soldiers waved their swords at him, but settled down once they realized he was unconscious. A brave scholar darted up to the fellow to check his pulse and assure us that yes, he was alive.
Shortly after that declaration one of the swishy skirts hauled me to my rooms where I bathed, stumbled into bed, and finally slept.
I rode Red and ponied my little four-year-old mare, Lily, behind me. I hated her name. I had not named her. She had been a gift from some noble family or other. Their daughter had decided to name all of her horses after plants. I preferred generic horse names. I had tried to call her Dunny for a few days, but eventually reverted to the hated Lily. Not that I hated Lily, she was energetic, cute, eager to please, and too young to figure out ways to shirk out of work.
Red alternately doted on and despised Lily. Some mornings they would scratch each other's manes over the fence. Other mornings he would squeal in rage and charge at her with his ears pinned and teeth bared. Lily did not help matters. She would flirt and sniff noses with other geldings over the fence and refuse to have anything to do with him. Between the two of us, poor old Red was whipped.
I allowed Lily an extra-long lead rope. I could usually predict when Red was about to kick and persuade him to change his mind, but Red had a knack for being sneaky. Besides I would hate it if Lily got injured.
I posted easily to Red's fast, ground eating trot and pointed him straight for the nearest mountains. I occasionally reverted to obscure back roads and cut across the forest a few times to save time, but I mostly stayed on the main road. I stopped once to switch to Lily, whose trot was not quite as nice as Red's, but she had a lovely canter. We did not have very far to go so I made her canter the entire way. Red trotted behind her as far as the lead rope would allow pinning his ears and bowing his neck every time he had to break into a canter.
I eventually arrived at a village at the foot of the mountains. I had my horses stabled and rented a mountain pony. I handed Lily off to a groom, but tended Red myself. The last thing I needed to deal with was a mangled stable hand.
The pony they gave me was a typical livery nag. I eventually thumped him into a rough, uneven trot. After I was well into the mountains, I allowed my poor, beleaguered mount to walk. I walked off of the trail and into the trees. I whistled and tried to draw the exact images of the tree shrinking into my head.
In my studies I had learned that music was the only way for humans to initiate contact with Hillfolk. I also knew that the Hillfolk could communicate with us with images from the mind.
I closed my eyes and sweated with concentration. Suddenly, I felt a rough hand on my leg. My pony had stopped. I looked down at the contoured bark- like skin of the Hill person. The Hill person touched my hands, which still held the reins. I felt a soft flutter in my head that is similar to the feeling of an insect crawling on my hand when I am not looking. Was it my imagination or was it really there?
I did not see images so much as I felt feelings. Initially I felt anger at being trapped, which quickly gave way to despair. Then I felt a yearning, a desire that was surprisingly strong. Was the Hill person trying to convey Flauvic's emotions to me?
The hand left my hands. I caught a quick glimpse of rustling leaves and then I was alone with my rotten pony.
The nag was much easier to manage on the return road. I even made him canter.
When I returned to the inn I allowed the horses and myself one time measure of rest before I left.
I was very confused. What was Flauvic's desire? Had he used it to escape the Hillfolk? Had they let him go because it was a desire to do good? So many questions. I needed to get home.
I arrived home two hours before dawn. My horses and I were exhausted. I dismounted Red and pawned him off on a groom. I was too tired to worry about his behavior and judging from his drooping head and only cocked back ears so was he.
I staggered into the Throne Room still in my riding clothes. My vision was slightly blurry and I felt light-headed. Both sensations gave the scene before me a surreal feeling.
There were many fuzzy soldiers in gold and green livery. A few courtiers appeared as brightly colored splotches that glittered disconcertingly with jewels. I could not look at the courtiers too long, all of that sparkling made me dizzy. I recognized a collection of people wearing the more drab clothing of scholars. I automatically gravitated toward them but then I thought, You are at Athanarel. You are a courtier here. It was difficult to walk toward all of those gaudy colors and glitters. I shuffled through puffy skirts and dressy pants to the front of the pack where I saw a familiar glitter person.
"I am glad you could make it, Nee." My mother said, "After this is over, you may sleep and bathe."
"So what happened in the mountains?" father asked.
It would have been difficult enough to explain what had happened without feeling exhausted. "Um well I hired a pony at an inn and a right nag it was. The beast almost made me crazy. I got to the trees and whistled and thought and a Hill person touched me on the leg. Yes, right on the leg. Did you know that is the first recorded time that a Hill-person has touched a human? And then it grabbed my hand and."
I remembered the reason I had visited the Hillfolk and stared at the dais. The tree was now humanlike in size and shape. Someone had wrapped a towel around his waist to protect the ladies' virgin female eyes from his nakedness.
Then I remembered that I was supposed to be telling a story, "and it gave me feelings. Rage at first, then sadness, then yearning. I don't know what for. Then it left so I left." I shrugged and sank down onto a cushion that was slightly dizzying to look at because of its heavy embroidery.
"Coffee, princess?" A servant appeared at my elbow.
"Oh, yes, thank you." I grabbed a mug and sucked down its scalding contents, burning my tongue, but I was beyond caring.
My vision cleared as did my mind. My eyes returned to the handsome figure whose features were becoming sharper with every second.
When the tree perfectly resembled a man, the golden color dissipated. It was now the color of human skin, pale with a sallow tint.
He blinked a few times revealing tawny, golden eyes. His lips curved up in an enigmatic half-smile. Was he amused? Scornful? Contented? Victorious? He did not get the opportunity to explain his look because he crumpled up and lay in a heap on the floor.
The soldiers waved their swords at him, but settled down once they realized he was unconscious. A brave scholar darted up to the fellow to check his pulse and assure us that yes, he was alive.
Shortly after that declaration one of the swishy skirts hauled me to my rooms where I bathed, stumbled into bed, and finally slept.