Chapter 12

The rain drummed steadily against the canopy. Miriam sighed. She had wanted to go exploring today, but the weather was ruining her plans. Hatita bustled about the tent folding blankets and putting away the pallets. Three of the side curtains were down to keep the rain from blowing inside of the tent, but the fourth was up and Miriam sat beside it watching the rain fall. "This isn't very fun!" She complained glancing at Hatita.

Hatita shook her head. "Eslyn, the rain will pass. When it does you may play outside to your heart's content." The others of Havillah may have treated Miriam with deference, but Hatita had been the nurse of too many little princes and princesses to bother treating this little girl any different. It was true that she was the queen of all Aeral, and it was also true that she was wiser and more solemn then most little girls her age. Hatita wasn't impressed, though. All little girls should be treated the same was her motto.

Miriam turned from Hatita back to the rain. No one ventured outside in such nasty weather. No wait – there was someone out there. Miriam scrambled to her feet. "Hatita! Who is that out in the rain?" She asked excitedly.

Hatita gracefully walked to stand beside Miriam. She smiled when she recognized the figure dancing between the raindrops. She had never been able to convince that charge to come out of the rain. She patted Miriam's shoulder and sat down on a blue ottoman. "That's my Gazaelle, Lyn Eslyn. Now, I'm done with my cleaning. Would you like to hear a story?"

Miriam sat thoughtfully beside Hatita and watched Gazaelle flit from tree to tree. She gathered the raindrops from where they had collected on a leaf and drank them gleefully. She seemed to be laughing and singing as the rain fell upon her hair and clothes. Though it was raining heavily, Gazaelle did not seem to become wet. Miriam wondered if Gazaelle's twinkling feet moved her swiftly out of the path of the drops or if the rain itself graciously would not fall on her head. "Hatita," she said at last, "Tell me the story of Gazaelle of the Wood."

The nurse smiled, for it was a tale she loved to share. The rain fell as it would, but Miriam was swept off to happier times.

Far to the North and East of Havillah are three rivers. The rivers flow from three mountains. Both the rivers and the mountains are called the three sisters for an easily explained reason. Deep in each of the three mountains lives a very old woman. They have lived there for as long as the mountains have been in Aeral. That is a very long time indeed. If one can believe legend they were old women when they first arrived in Aeral. They are, of course, sisters, and what's more they are jewel-makers. Jewel making is a very old practice. No one except the jewel makers themselves really knows how it is done. Anyone wishing to become a jewel-maker should apply to Niya, Ziha, or Siaha. It isn't likely that they will accept an apprentice, though, as they never have. Niya is thought to be the eldest of the sisters, or at least she is the one in charge. She lives in the center and largest of the three mountains. Ziha and Siaha answer to her.

Though the official job description of the Three Sister is jewel-maker, they also dabble in prophesy. They often tell the parents of a newborn what the child will be when he is grown. They are not often correct, but it is a sort of tradition for important families to summon the Three Sisters to a child's christening. On this occasion Niya, Ziha, and Siaha were travelling southwest for a special occasion. Ater, the king of the Great Alliance (father of present king Meunin) and his wife Ryleiah had just given birth to their second child, a girl. The sisters were excited to see the new little one, although they would not have admitted that for all of the jewels in their mountains. They tended to be a little gruff. It was a normal product of spending too much time with one's sisters.

When Niya, Ziha, and Siaha arrived at Havillah they found the whole place in uproar. All of the tribes of the Great Alliance had come together to celebrate the birth of the princess. They had been awaiting only the arrival of the sisters for the festivities to begin. The jewel-makers limped straight to the palace of Meunin without stopping to talk to anyone. (Seeing as they were old without number, all three of the little wrinkled sisters used a cane.) When they reached the main entrance to the palace Niya stepped straight in and motioned for her sisters to follow. A guard stopped them, "Pardon ladies, but may I ask who you are and what your business is with the king?" Now the guard knew good and well who the sisters were, and Niya knew he knew. He was just doing his job by asking questions. The guard was a very dignified man but Niya didn't let that bother her.

"Young man, I was who I am and going about my business while you were crawling about on the floor and crying for milk. I am here by the king's invitation. Now kindly step aside." Niya may not have been a very large woman, but she had a way of intimidating a person so that they thought better of pestering her. None of the other guards bothered stopping Niya after the way she cut their fellow down, and the three sisters arrived in the throne room unhampered and unannounced. The King and Queen and a few of their closest friends were gathered around a little cradle admiring the new arrival. They turned at the sound of a throat clearing. There stood the famous jewel-makers. Niya had her pure white hair done up intricately on her head and diamonds shone from the large mass. Her gown was bright red and a large ruby was the top of her cane. Beside her was Ziha, her sour expression contradicting the fact that she lived in great wealth and comfort. Her hair was silver gray and cut close to her head. She wore a plain dress of green and the stone on her cane was an emerald. The baby of the family, Siaha, had long iron gray hair that she wore in two braids. She wore a pretty purple gown and the stone in her cane and the stones in her dainty tiara were amethysts.

King Ater quickly welcomed them properly and brought them to see the baby. Siaha exclaimed at what a pretty baby she was then tried to cover it up by saying that she was pretty only as babies go. Ziha scowled and said that she was awful tiny and not likely to grow up healthy. To do her justice, though, in her heart she thought the baby uncommonly pretty. Niya just barely glanced at the baby and got right to the business of asking her name. It was Queen Ryleiah that answer and told her they had planned to call the baby Gazaelle. While Siaha said that it was such a pretty name – for a baby and Ziha sniffed that they might have chosen something sensible like Heritanna, Niya nodded sharply and got right to the business of prophesying.

"She'll grow up pretty, marry well, and have nice children." Niya was always practical and that prophesy was agreeable to the parents. Niya was done but Ziha and Siaha wanted to have their say.

Ziha snorted. "What a silly thing to say. She'll be a hard worker. She'll build and clean and such. She might design you some new houses. Then you won't have to live in crummy tents." That was a bit offensive to the parents. A little princess would not be an architect! Besides, their tents were very nice.

Siaha gave the most pleasing prophesy. "She'll be a little musician. Buy a harp for her as soon as possible. She'll play wonderful music – that is – I'm sure she'll try her best but I can't guarantee that she'll be any good." Siaha was always trying to be as grumpy as her sisters but could never quite do it. Ater and Ryleiah would have like for their little girl to play a harp. But the sisters were not content.

"She's not going to play any silly harp! She's a sturdy child and just meant for building." Ziha seemed to forget that she had doubted the baby had enough strength to grow up.

"You are both being ridiculous. She's a nice child but no different from any other. She'll marry and have children like a nice little girl." From here the argument became more and more heated until a large wooden cane smacked the ground in front of the and a deep voice said, "That will be enough!"

It was Quet, the Weaver of Stories. If the Three Sisters were old, and if they were legendary, the Story-weaver was ancient and mythical. He was tall and broad, with a long pointed white beard. His face was wrinkled but pleasant and he covered his head with a black hood. Quet wore a long blue gown that tied about his waist with a black sash and carried a staff. Across his back was slung a loom. That was where he wove the stories. At least, that's what legend says. Quet lived on the Old Mountain, and had lived there for a long long time. Some people believe that he lived on the Old Mountain before there was a single living soul in Aeral. He knew every story ever told. He could tell you what happened yesterday or he could tell you what happened before you were born. Quet never forgot things. No one really knew what he used his loom for, but some said that all day long he sits on his mountain and weaves out the stories as they happen. Some said that he weaves out the stories before they happen, and when he throws the tapestries off of the mountain the stories come to pass. No one knew for sure and Quet was held in high honor. When he had entered Havillah the festivities had ceased and the celebrators had quietly follow Quet to the palace. No guard stopped him from entering the throne room. If Quet wanted an audience with the king it must be very important.

Quet strode to the cradle and looked at the baby. He smiled. "This is Gazaelle?" No one said a word. The king finally nodded when Quet had been staring at him for a long time. Quet smiled again and picked up the baby. "She shall not build or play or marry, though she may do all three if her heart desires. The trees have long been in need of a guardian. There has not been a wood-friend in this land for many years." He lifted the baby up and kissed her forehead. "Little one, you shall be called Gazaelle of the Wood. You shall not know danger so long as you stay by the trees. Your heart will be content to dance beneath their boughs and sing their songs. For as long as you are a friend to the trees you shall be safe from harm." He then set her down again in her cradle, looked around at the gathered crowd, then gathered his staff and left. For a moment no one said a word, then noise exploded as everyone began to talk at once. The Three Sisters were offended that Quet should try to take their job and were only pacified when the King begged them to stay for the feast.

After a few months people began to forget the scene made at the cradle of Gazaelle, and it was not long before no one remembered that Quet had said she would love the trees. Only her nurse remembered. So it was no surprise to the nurse when the little girl began to take and interest in the trees. Only the nurse did not think it amusingly odd that the baby's first word was "tree." By the time Gazaelle was seven years old it was obvious that she loved the woods. People began to remem Quet's words, and when Gazaelle was eleven people began to think of her as Gazaelle of the Wood. The little girl loved to sit beneath a tree for hours. Sometimes she would sing to the trees, and sometimes the trees would sing back. They were her playmates and her teachers, and she soon knew all the secrets of the forests. People knew she was different, but they did not think her odd. In those days it was not strange to talk to the trees, and often people of Havillah attended parties given by the woods. For a long time Gazaelle was happy with the trees. But then trouble came. Markin banished King Traeven from Aeral and destroyed the town of Azmaveth. Meunin's wife Seria was killed and the trees became afraid. They did not wish to be burned, so they quietly went to sleep.

When Markin took the throne the rain stopped. Not the ordinary rain, that still came regularly. The special rain of Aeral, the silver shower that is the food of the trees, ceased to fall in season. Without it the trees fell into a deeper and deeper sleep. No one knows now if they can ever be awakened. Only one person still hopes. She sings the trees to sleep, but they don't sing back. She is their playmate and teacher, and she knows all of the secrets of the forest. The trees need a friend in times like these, and she is there for them. They still protect her, even in their sleep, and she never leaves their sides.

Hatita's voice trailed off dreamily and she stood and walked away. The rain had stopped but Miriam did not notice. She was too busy thinking about the little girl who sang to the trees.