Girl

When she saw the monk with the cute face puckering his lips, Mecora knew she had to get him to stay the week with her family. She didn’t really know right away how she was going to convince her mother, but she would.
Her friends giggled at her when she told them. “Mecora! Where are you going to get enough food? Men eat a lot,” protested her lightest friend, Mereo.
“But monks are different. They don’t eat as much because they don’t have to work as hard.”
“Sure, Mecora.”
“And anyway, I’ve been saving for a long time. If I have to, I’ll buy food myself.”
Ueal, another light friend, was shocked. “But you were saving that to go to Palace Meadow.”
“The King can wait.”
“You’re besotten, Mecora. Besotten with a monk!”
“I know.”
Ueal tried again. “Don’t you know that it can never go anywhere? I mean, besides the fact that he’s at least twenty years older than you.”
“That never stopped Mother.”
“Yeah, and look what it got her? Four kids and half a life alone!”
“Well, it’s not like he died of old age.”
“But if he’d been twenty years younger, he’d have been able to dodge that sword.”
“Mereo, do you always have to bring that up? Coming from you, that really hurts.” The sword in question had been held by a light Vle brigand’s hand.
“Oh. Sorry.” A pause. “But anyway, he’s a monk!”
“So?”
“They take vows not to marry, duh!”
“They do not! I happen to have an uncle who’s a monk, and he told me all the vows he had to make. ‘No marriage’ is not one of them.”
“Oh, yeah? Then why don’t any of the monks up there have wives?”
“Because... they’re so dedicated.”
“Exactly!”
Mecora decided she’d been outfoxed logically, but she could still have the monk as a guest. If she asked, and he accepted (as he was honor-bound to do) then Mom couldn’t say no.
The last of the novices went by, and the crowd was beginning to break out of its solemnity. The next place to be was the cathedral, and much of the crowd already had the best spots.
“Let’s split up,” suggested Ueal. “We oughta be able to get through the crowd easier.”
“No,” countered Mereo, “If we split up, we’ll never find each other! We’d better stick together.”
That’s what they agreed on, and they slipped through the moving crowd toward the cathedral.

Just like every year, the energy and excitement of the moment was exhilarating. Everyone singing the same, old-tongue words at the top of their lungs made Mecora feel as if there was really nothing between her and the Great Master himself, and she knew others felt the same. However, some of the older kids said that the singing didn’t really bring you any closer, that it was just a ritual that everybody did because they were supposed to.
Mecora wouldn’t buy that, and couldn’t understand how anyone could get so jaded in such a short life. She and her friends just sang their lungs out and enjoyed it.
Well... the first few verses. During the last one, they usually snuck away to get home and changed into their finest clothes (while Mom was still at the songfest) for the party. Although finest was probably not the best word for these clothes, Mecora had once decided.
“Hey, Mereo, what do you think, the blue or the red top?”
“Which is the off-the shoulders one?”
“You have an off-the shoulders?” asked Ueal, amazed. “How do you keep it hidden?”
“It’s in my most private box. Mom’ll never touch it.”
“Hey, cool idea.”
Handa, a dark girl who was a bit heavier than the others, asked, “Why do you even bother? It’s not like the boys are even looking for us yet.”
“Well, it’s not for the boys, it’s for us, almost like pretend. Besides, maybe we can get some of the men to look at us.”
Handa seemed unconvinced of that as she put on her yellow shirt. It was relatively conservative in that company, since it had shoulders and a bonafide neckline. No one really bothered her for it, though.
With a few flowers in their hair and essence of rilic dribbled in certain places, they were ready. They went as quickly as possible to the plaza, where everyone would now be gathered for the annual Deschule drinkfest.
“If you ask me,” said Ueal, “this is where I get closest to the Great Master.”
“What, when you’re drunk?!” asked Mecora.
“Yeah! What else can explain why I get so happy?”
“Lots of people get happy when they’re drunk, and they don’t seem very close to the Great Master.”
“Well, of course not. They’re not truly Redeemed!”
“Fine, then, let’s go get Redeemed, and maybe some men will come along!” said Mereo, and they strode into a pub.
It was crowded, of course, but since all drinks were free (paid for by those who made it) all the bartenders had to do was just pour glass after glass after pint after pint. There were those who stuck to wine, sipping it and enjoying the celebration from an almost observatory point-of-view; and there were those who downed beer after beer and didn’t even know they were enjoying anything.
Each of the girls grabbed a glass and took a drink of the thick, sweet liquid. It had an almost immediate heady effect. Glasses in hand, they went wandering. Mecora even forgot about the monk for a time, until seeing him in the middle of the plaza. “Wait! We gotta find my Mom!”
“Why?”
“There’s that monk!” And she was off, even as the others shook their heads. Finally, they followed.
Mecora found her mother just a few doors down, with a small glass of peach wine. “Hi!”
“Hello, dear. I see you’re getting in the swing of things.”
“Yeah, it’s great! Hey, c’mere, I wann show you something.” Mecora pulled on her mother’s sleeve, and she came reluctantly.
“What is it, dear? Can’t you just bring it?”
“No, Mom, ya gotta come with me.”
Meanwhile, the other girls giggled, watching as Mecora’ mother made up her mind. She downed the last sip of wine, and stood. “All right, let’s go.”
“Great!” And they wound through the crowd, on a path that seemed to take forever, around people standing as if rooted to the deck. Luckily, so was the monk. Belatedly, Mecora realized that there was another, older monk there as well.
The pressure was growing. What was she going to say? How should she phrase it? Was she going to make a fool of herself? She answered each question with a swig of beer. And then she was there.
He didn’t notice her at first, and the others just watched to see what she was going to do. “Mecora—”
Quickly, before her mom could object, she tugged on his robe. He looked down at her, a slightly surprised look on his face. Her friends giggled behind her. “H-hi!” she stammered. “Um, I just wanted to ask a question...”
The monk joked with her, before she could even formulate what she wanted to say. Finally, she just blurted it out. “I’m just inviting you to spend Holy Week with my family!”
“Oh! Well, I’ll be delighted,” he replied. He also gave her mother a wink.
And then it was her turn to say something, but she had no idea what. When to come, she supposed, or where...
Her mother spoke up, saving her. “I’ll be happy to have you stay, but I must apologize. Since my husband died, we haven’t had much to spare.”
“I understand. Your hospitality is well appreciated.”
“My name is Caile.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Brother Hyran.”
“If you would like to come this way...?” Mecora breathed a sigh. It had worked. As he followed her mother, she gathered up her courage and took his hand. Her friends gathered around, forming a nice, safe island that broke through the crowd. After all, a monk was passing through...

The Deschule service began at sunrise, an event recognized in the forest by when the stars faded. In essence, the service was the same as any other— there was just more music, more words and more rituals to take part in. The sounds of praise wafted up to the sky, and, it was hoped, to the very ears of the Great Master himself. The tale of his birth was told in all its many forms (for many had had the chance to retell it in the three thousand years since) and each was acclaimed with thanks.
Hyran’s part went well, and everyone remained in harmony, though he’d have preferred the discordant note. Others had parts to sing as well, and the size of the groups grew larger, producing louder and louder sounds. Finally, the pipists began to play, adding their incredible volume to the celebration. Harder and harder they pulled on their ropes, until the end of the song.
The silence came slowly, as the noise bounced around until dying off. When silence did come, it was deafening. It was in that perfect silence that the monks shuffled out. Their ears rang, but that died down, too, when they went outside. The birds chirped loudly, and squirrels, insects, and frogs added their notes to the animal chorus. The sun was high overhead now, meaning it was time to go to the town of Kelwom. The brothers began to chant as the abbot led the way down the steps to the lower level, and then lower as the stairs wound around the tree. These were the steps that the penitent must use to go to and leave the monastery, and since the steps were grown from the tree itself, each one was a reminder of the importance of the trees in Vle society.
They eventually came to the top of the first canopy. Here, the steps came to an end at a platform, which extended quite a distance from the tree. At the end was a rope bridge, which connected to the town platform. The abbot led across this as well.
The townspeople were waiting, all as penitent as they could manage. Undoubtedly, it was that evening which was on their minds, but for now it was time to quietly welcome the monks into town. The route to the chapel, two trees away and one level up, was marked out well, though the abbot knew exactly where he was going. It was a town of about 1500 Vle, mostly dark-skinned, so it was relatively large and fairly important to the area. Undoubtedly there were Vle here from the nearby villages as well.
The children, of course, made a little noise as they got bored with the solemn ritual and began to fidget. Some of the monks, Hyran knew, would disapprove, but nonetheless would not stop singing to complain. He, on the other hand, smiled at the children, and occasionally mouthed a simple ‘sh.’ One young dark girl, with startlingly light hair, perhaps thirteen years old, saw him do that. She giggled, and then her mixed-group of friends did as well. He felt her eyes on her as he passed, but ignored it to concentrate on the song.
Finally, the monks arrived at Kelwom’s cathedral. Its architecture was more recent, and the wood of the oak hadn’t yet aged to the dark brown of antiquity like the rooms of the monastery had. It reflected advances in Treesculpting, the magic that made modern Vle society possible, in that the forms included much thinner beams and filaments. Whereas extrusions before would have been entirely functional (that is, load-bearing), now it was possible to string a beam clear across the sanctuary and festoon it with symbols of the faith.
It was also quite big. All 106 monks could gather on the steps before the great doors and face the crowd. Their chant ended soon after the last novice stepped into the front row, and from that held note they began the age-old Deschule song. The town joined in with the unintelligible words, of course, and the town’s pipists inside accompanied with their mighty instrument. Hyran marveled at the unexpected guests- a flutter of brightly colored butterflies of various species danced over the crowd.
When the song ended, the crowd erupted in cheers (disrupting the butterflies). The ritual was over, everyone was Redeemed, and it was time to party! The crowd dispersed amazingly quickly to the various watering holes of Kelwom, all of which were situated on either end of a plaza, really two platforms that extended a little further outward from two relatively close trees. The monks followed the crowd in a much more relaxed attitude toward the party. They never had to worry about visiting a pub or ordering a drink, for there were more than enough townspeople willing to provide them with one. Hyran, however, had never acquired the taste.
Allega’s chuckle made Hyran stop and turn around. “Gets better and better every year, I think!” observed the older man.
Hyran had to agree, though he of course hadn’t seen nearly as many Deschule celebrations. “Although sometimes I think this is the only reason these people are believers.”
“Tsk, tsk, such a cynic! I’ll have you know that while I was a priest down here, I had a number of converts right in the middle of Dryseason.”
“Oh, sure. That’s when lots of us get depressed. If you ask me—”
“I know, I know, I was essentially preying on the weak. You’ve said so before, and by the way, I’ve never asked. Still, you must agree it’s for the better.”
“Of course. I just think a convert’s faith will be stronger if the conversion happens as a logical decision with clear alternatives.”
“Hyran, when you get to my age, you’ll appreciate every convert as unique enough to warrant different circumstances. Mark my words.”
“I mark them.” He paused, realizing that this was not the time or place for such a heavy discussion. In the crowd, he noticed the girl he’d seen earlier, and waved before turning his attention back to Allega. “So, where do you expect to stay this year? With the Seaker family?”
“Oh, quite probably. Who were you with last year? The Baydack family, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, but if I remember right they like to have someone different every year. Still, seeing daily life from their point of view was fascinating.”
“Right, because they’re light like me. Are they getting along okay?”
“Quite well, yes. We still keep in touch by letter, and their son just left town last month to seek a mining job.”
“I hear those jobs pay well, though the conditions aren’t good.”
“He doesn’t intend to stay long, just long enough to earn the money to open a leatherworks.”
“Really? I had no idea he had skill in that area.”
“He is very talented.”
Just then, there was a tug on his robe. He looked around to see the young girl looking up expectantly at him. Her giggling friends and her somewhat reluctant mother were there too. “Hi! Um, I just wanted to ask a question...”
Hyran knew what the question was, but couldn’t presume, lest it seem he was inviting himself. So, he ‘guessed’ at the question. “You want to know how to become a nun?”
“No!” More giggles, and even Mom cracked a smile. “It’s about... tonight.”
“Oh, you want to know if I want to try your father’s special wine and get drunk off it?”
“No, I have no father! I’m just inviting you to spend Holy Week with my family!”
“Oh! Well, I’ll be delighted,” he replied, giving the girl’s mother a wink.
She finally spoke up. “I’ll be happy to have you stay, but I must apologize. Since my husband died, we haven’t had much to spare.”
“I understand. Your hospitality is well appreciated.” He was pretty much honor-bound to accept, just as the family was honor-bound to stick to the invite, once made.
“My name is Caile.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Brother Hyran.”
“If you would like to come this way...?” As he followed, her daughter took his hand, and he was surrounded by the children.

As he walked out of the day’s dedication service, he could hear the bustle of the town two canopies below as they began to decorate and prepare in earnest for the three-day long Deschule festival. The people would probably prepare earlier, were it not for Great Master’s own decree that celebrations be limited so as not to detract too much from the daily work that is so necessary for the soul.
“Hyran, would you help us hang the streamers?”
He turned to see Brother Allega with a pile of blue streamers at his feet, and three novices with him. “Yes,” he replied, though he knew he’d really be supervising the novices while Brother Allega went on to supervise elsewhere. It was the privilege of seniority to tell others how do decorate, he supposed, but he really was the type of person who wanted to do it himself. But then, come to think of it, the other brothers often didn’t appreciate his ‘art.’
“Okay,” he began, “we have a stool for each of you? Good.” He chose one arbitrarily. “Would you please go to that lamp-post? Take an end with you.”
The novice bobbed his head and obeyed while the other two waited for their instructions. Hyran sent them each to a different spot while he climbed a ladder to tie his ends to the flagpole over the passage to the library. The monastery, like all others in elven lands, was a collection of rooms cut into or grown from a giant tree. This happened to be an oak, but elms and sequoias also grew over much of the world and were used just as often. This one had two levels of deck that circled the tree, connecting the various parts of the monastery.
From near the top, he looked down at Allega. “So, you’re just going to stand there and mentor my mentoring?”
“Yep. Hey, I’m old, it’s my privilege.”
“Brother, you’re only sixty-two!” The three novices returned and each grabbed another streamer. “Let me guess— I just made a step closer to mentorship somehow.”
Allega shook his head. “Well, that would depend on how your decoration goes.”
“I find it hard to believe that the direction of a man’s spirituality can be related to his ability to stick to decorating tradition. You realize, don’t you, that you’re sabotaging that plan?”
“What, by being honest and letting you know?”
“Of course! What possible motivation is there now for me to do well?!”
“Well— oh, I’ll talk to you later. I’d better go see to these other brothers...” he said, walking away.
Hyran decided that it was best to laugh at the situation, but he could only chuckle. The novices returned, and their work had created a fan of streamers. Hyran thought it set off the existing red and yellow ones, strung conventionally just from lamp-post to lamp-post, nicely.
“Looks good! Let’s do it again from the chapel...”
Eventually, the decks were covered with intertwined fans of different colored streamers. He’d been meaning to do that in previous years, but he’d never been given novices to do it for him.
"Unusual effect, Hyran," said Anterom. "You did a good job."
“Actually, it was these brothers who did the work,” he said, indicating ‘his’ novices. But Anterom didn't seem to take notice. In fact no one else who complimented him acknowledged the novices.
The bell rang, signaling that it was time for the midday meal and that decorating time was over. After lunch was practice time.
In the Deschule service, every brother had some part to play, much as a children’s theater will use everyone who tries out in some way (even if it is just for the choir). Hyran now had enough standing to be given the A part of the Redemption chant. Such an important part (one of three) required practice, of course.
Most brothers chose a closed cell to practice in, or their bedroom (which itself was little more than a cell), or even the showers. Hyran chose the chapel, unused now because the cathedral was the place for such an important service.
He wasn’t alone, though. The pipist was practicing on his instrument, as well. It had a number of huge mimbaya tubes of various sizes. The one practicing now was concentrating on the bass part, which toward the very end was a particularly loud one. The low notes seemed to set the very walls to shaking, and certainly succeeded in making the floor do so. It was almost possible to feel the air swirling with the music, a tangible picture of the sound.
Brother Reibas came to the end, and put down his ropes. “Hello. Here to practice, too?”
Hyran nodded. “Yes. Would you give me a Red minus?”
“Which one?” asked Reibas, chuckling. “I’ve got nine.”
“The middle-most one.”
A small thwock was followed by a single, beautiful tone that filled the chapel. Hyran hummed along, and as the mimbaya tone died off, his note sounded puny and insignificant. But he knew he could fill the chapel fairly well. The best thing about oak, he thought, was its hardness, which aided in amplification. The sequoias of the southeast just ate sound, such that monasteries there actually grafted oak planks into their cathedral walls.
“Well, I’ll leave you to your practice.”
“Thank you.” Hyran hummed the note again, and launched into his song, envisioning his notes like the tones of the pipes, and feeling the meaning of the words, hoping to fill them with The Great Master’s Respect. He couldn’t know how successful he was, but it was the trying that counted.
When he finished, the other brothers who would be singing the next day were there. “Oh, hello! I didn’t even see you.”
“Obviously,” replied the eldest, Decar, who was about seventy and soon to take the next step in The Most Redeemed Path. “You do realize you have to blend with us, not overpower us, don’t you?”
“Of course. Why, were you singing?”
“No. We would like to be heard tomorrow, though.”
Hyran smiled at the other’s humor. “Don’t worry. I was just trying to fill the space with song. I just can’t compare to the pipes, I guess.”
“Oh, that’s what you were trying to do?” asked one not much older than Hyran. “It is a nice dream, brother.”
“I know. So, shall we practice?”
“Yes. Can we assume that you ended on key?”
Hyran feigned insult. “Me? Off key? Never!” He hummed his Red minus again, and the others chose their notes from that. The song this time was much more full, of course, though still not matching the pipes. That didn’t matter, though, since the pipes were reserved for the end of the service.
“Whoa, whoa!” cried Decar, and the song whithered away suddenly. “Who sang that minus where it’s supposed to be neutral?”
“Me,” admitted the man next to Hyran. “Can we take it from ‘Gruniu ortranip na thwimm’?”
“Sure.” And so, they began again, but the brother got it wrong again.
“Wait,” he said. “What exactly is wrong with it?! It sounds fine!”
“It sounds awful! This isn’t peasant music with discordant chords! This is the song to welcome the Great Master to the world! Harmony, brother!”
“Right. Okay, let’s try it again.”
This time, they got through without a misplaced minus.

Monk

Hyran spread his arms and took a deep breath of the fresh air, so energizing compared to the mustiness of his cell, or the catacombs of the library, or the wine stores. Of course, it was raining, but that never bothered Hyran. There would be other days to allow his dark skin to absorb the sun’s rays through the first canopy of leaves, perhaps thirty feet above him.
The bell rang, three times. Time for Worship, after which it was back to copying texts. He picked up his pace, and headed for the chapel. He really preferred the cathedral, since it was a brighter, airier (and newer) place, but there weren’t enough monks here to justify lighting all those glow-worms every day.
The other monks were lining up in order of seniority. Some shook their heads in amusement at Hyran, who was quite damp with the rain, while others simply quietly prepared themselves spiritually for the Worship. Once everyone was in place, they filed in, chanting ancient melodies with uplifting harmonies. They knelt at the altar as they had done so many times before, were blessed by the Holy Azhe sprinkled over their heads, received the rededication for the day’s work. They made the Sign of the Rending, running their fingers up along their ears to the point, and straight down to the floor. No one knew anymore why, only that the Great Master himself had been killed by a sword which had sliced his head in half.
The service ended, and Hyran moved back through the rain to his cell to continue his copying. This time, he kept his hands and sleeves as covered as best he could, lest they get wet and smear his ink. Once he entered the library, his old (fair-skinned) mentor chuckled at him. “Ah, now there’s a proper stance for walking in the rain.”
Hyran straightened from his hunched over posture. “The Word is far more important than my enjoyment of rain. You’ve taught me that very well, Brother Allega.”
Allega chuckled again, in a good mood as always. “Now if only Brother Gouan would pass away so you could be the gardener, eh?”
“I honestly don’t understand why he should make me wait. He can hardly carry a half-full bucket of water anymore. What is he now, a hundred twenty?” Allega nodded. “But no matter. The texts are fascinating, if a bit slow.”
“You can’t fool me with your false contentment. I know you know you’re in danger of becoming a mentor.”
“I’d rather not be reminded of that, Mentor,” replied Hyran, stressing the brother’s former title. “Now, if I may get to my texts?”
Another chuckle from the older man. “Of course, of course.” The two men parted ways, as Hyran thought about the previous three pages he’d copied and the wisdom thus gained...

Time went very slowly in the copying cells, giving him time to meditate on the text he was copying. Of course, that took his attention away from the task, but he’d been copying for many years now. Much of his task was by rote. Plus, he had simplified the letters somewhat, which made them easier to read than the overly ornate text he copied. Most of his brothers of the faith considered the letters themselves sacred, but he thought that idea was silly, since it was mere monks like he who’d written them. Maybe it was just to attach some greater importance to a job done in a dank, dark cell without any contact with the other brothers who sat in the neighboring cells.
Just short of one too many times Hyran had mentioned that the commoner couldn’t read these bits of wisdom. Apparently, that was the point.
A bell rang, alerting the toiling monks that sunset was upon them. Where there had once been the quiet scritching of quills, there was now the whooshing of those blowing out glow-worms, the shuffling of parchment, the scooting of stools. When his quill ran out, Hyran gently stroked his worm. Then, he stowed the quill in his robe, stood up and strode toward the door.
Brother Mistec was there, blessing each man (and particularly the work done that day) as he moved out into the dwindling sunlight. Hyran turned toward the west, blessed the sun, and rejoined the shuffle to the chapel for evening service.
“Why do you bless the sun?” asked a younger voice.
Hyran turned to see the brother behind him, a neophyte named Mopfler, and turned back the way he was walking. “I thank the Great Master for keeping the services of the sun.” That wasn’t the whole truth, actually, but it served in most cases.
“But why wouldn’t the Great Master want the sun?” Mopfler pressed eagerly. “It provides us with light and plantlife.”
“I cannot pretend to know what the Great Master wants or doesn’t want. It just sometimes seems to me that He changed so much that I must bless the good things He left alone.”
Another voice came from behind Mopfler. “I have heard,” the man said, “that the Straubists bless the sun every evening. Were you not a Straubist before Receiving the Rendering?”
“No, I was nothing before that.” It was a response paraphrased right from the Receiving rite. In truth, he had followed the heathen celestial religion that was far older than any major organized one. He had been taught to bless the sun every evening, in hopes that it would give its radiant gift again the next day. He still thought it prudent, regardless of who created the sun.
The evening service was almost the exact reverse of the morning service, and sometimes Hyran felt as if he ought to walk and talk backwards as well. That, however, would definitely draw frowns. Then again, frowns might very well prevent him from becoming a mentor. Or they may make a mentorship his punishment.
So, he participated in the service just as everyone always did. Toward the end, before the parting hymns, they were commanded to dream about their past lives, in light of their new learning. That was always interesting, considering his past life....
A special type of fragrant oil was sprinkled over his face, and the hymns passed in a blur as drowsiness kicked in. In a daze he changed to bedclothes and fell asleep....

The King and Queen walked onto their inner balcony for a look at the decoration for the ball, and were quite impressed. The normal decor was the green of the forest, highlighted by the colors of local flowers. Here in the royal palace, they used floral colors from throughout the realm. Now, however, every possible place for hanging something sported weaves of gold, platin, cupro, cobilum, and thale, which scattered the candlelight in hues of yellow, white, red, blue and purple. At the opposite end of the hall, the orchestra warmed up its instruments, tuning and practicing.
Queen Fylen hugged her husband in anticipation. “Laj, do you think Taréz will find a wife tonight?”
“Tonight?! I know you’re anxious for a grandchild, but give him some time!” replied the King with a smile.
“A prospect at least. You know what I mean.”
“Yes. I’d like to see him make an alliance.”
Fylen chuckled. “With Baldia?”
“Well, that would be nice, but unrealistic in my lifetime, I think. Perhaps his son or daughter will have the chance.”
“But then our son and Princess Tincome will be in-laws.”
“Oh, dear, you’re right. Perhaps the next generation, then.”
Then a breathless servant slid onto the balcony, announcing the arrival of the first guests.

The six-course dinner lasted three hours, at which time everyone moved into the Great Hall— except for the King and Queen, who moved upstairs to the balcony. The guests stood below, looking up expectantly.
Taréz watched his father’s expression move to the blank smile of rote ceremony. He knew what to say very well, having said the same for the last fifty-six celebrations. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here in celebration of Deschule, the date when we celebrate the birth of Our Great Master. For those of you not well versed in our religion, you need only know that he has brought us a means to world peace, for we are all cleansed by his grace. He came to turn our weapons into decoration, hence we decorate with metals. Let us enjoy this evening, comforted by his sacrifice.”
The response, as always, was a raucous noise from the celebrants, and the chamber orchestra began. Some couples began to dance as the King and Queen watched. Below, the prince moved through the crowd, meeting the dignitaries who presented themselves to him. But they were not the people he was hoping to meet, and he could only hope that his movements weren’t too obvious to his parents, watching from the balcony.
Taréz, you’re thirty-two, he thought to himself. Why care that your parents are watching? He looked up there to see wistfulness on the Royal faces. His father was probably thinking about how he’d met the future Queen at one of these balls.
She apparently remembered it too, hugging him and whispering in his ear.
The Prince turned his attention back to those around him. He met quite a few eligible women, and danced each dance with a different one, regardless of rank, religion or color. One particular light-skinned woman, however, didn’t really seem to want to let him go.
“Please, RaKeynna, I must move on.” He just didn’t say why. The A’peinian princess had a reputation as being a bit pouty, possessive and demanding, and the reputation seemed to be true.
Then, he met Pimber, the daughter of a northern noble who didn’t have any sons. There was already some talk about who would be inheriting that holding. But more importantly at the moment, she was beautiful, and alone. He didn’t have to pull rank for the privilege of a dance. He was soon surprised to discover that he was still dancing with her after four songs.
And that fourth was the last. The orchestra stood, filed toward the wall, and knelt. It was almost midnight.
Then, a bong nut from the Royal Bong Tree was dropped behind the orchestra chamber, and sounded a long, deep bell- like tone when it landed. Everyone dropped to the prayer position, right leg stretched out in front, left leg behind, head bent low. The Master’s Representative, in the only public appearance he made each year, came out upon the balcony and proclaimed the Great Master’s birth. It was a truly solemn moment.
Slowly, the guests stood, and conversation returned. Taréz looked over at Pimber, still kneeling. “I didn’t know any of the northern nobles were believers.”
“I’m the only one in my family. To the chagrin of my mother, of course.”
“What accomodations did your father find for tonight?”
“The Niriad Comfort.”
Not bad, Taréz thought. Its clientele would have to be able to read to understand its sign, and then be well-read enough to know the reference to the legendary perfect host Niri. “Well, I have the utmost respect for that fine establishment, but may I offer you personal accommodations here at the palace?”
“Why, I’d be honored to be your guest.”
"And I am honored to have you as a guest. Allow me to show you the way." Taréz winked at the servants nearby, who immediately set off to prepare the room for his guest.

The prince and his father joined the line of riders advancing through the forest. Somewhere ahead, a deer-- or maybe something else-- was running, panicked, and maybe it would come in their direction. Tarez readied his bow. The noise of so many horses would mask the approach of a deer, so he watched carefully for movement. There was some, maybe 300 paces ahead, and he notched an arrow. An animal dashed from behind a large bush toward the right. He let loose, but the arrow fell short as the deer bounded away out of sight.
The line of riders to his left was curling around now, and he turned his horse as well. The deer would probably head back toward the middle of the circle of riders--
But not necessarily. It came bounding at him, almost faster than he could take another arrow, ready it, and let fly. The arrow hit the ground between the deer's rear feet as it leapt directly at him. An arrow appeared in each of its flanks, and its landing was an undignified crash, skidding to a stop right before the prince's nervous mount. He quickly dismounted, now drawing his hunting knife, to bring an end to its suffering.
Somewhere, deeper in the forest, a cheer rose up-- the other side of the circle must have also made a kill. Three deer in one day! Tarez smiled, and stood to let the palace huntsmen start their work on the deer. His father gestured, and a servant brought the platform so he could dismount. "A young doe. Beautiful creature."
"Yes, Father."
"Sheall we announce a luncheon?"
"Hungry already, Father? No, I think we should ride on."
"The chef told me this morning we hardly need to take any deer today, we already have plenty in stores."
"I've been told the same. Very well." He pulled his horn out of his belt and blew three sharp notes. Quickly, the activity changed, for anyone not engaged in preparing the deer carcasses for transport to the palace gathered in the clearing.
It was a sumptuous feast, but since few were yet hungry before the sun was at salute, it ended early. The rest of the morning was mostly relaxed chatting and riding and target practice before heading back at noon.
There was a loud, low rumble.
The prince and the king looked at each other, each with a look of surprise and worry. "Mount up!" shouted Tarez, and he heard, distantly, the Chief's shout as well. He took his time as his father made his way up his steps to the saddle, and fell in behind those who'd mounted more quickly. The Chief joined them, too, but though his jaw was set, he said nothing.
As the hunting party came within sight of the palace, the Prince sat up in his saddle. Something seemed dreadfully wrong, and both his father and the Chief noticed as well. Soon, everyone else picked up on their alarm.
Mindful of the Chief’s current mood, the King said, “Taréz, take four of the guard and investigate. Chief, attend me.”
“Sire—”
“I know you feel you ought to be the one to send out, but I am confident in my son’s abilities. You taught him well— trust in that.”
“Yes, Sire, but—”
Taréz went out of earshot as the King started to ask the Chief for a visual description of the damage. It did seem to be quite the tragedy. The wall where they intended to attach the South Hall was gone, as well as most of the third floor in that area. He tried to picture what furniture and works of art were in those rooms, but then he remembered that they had been moved just in case. It was a terrible mess, but the damage could be fixed... at considerable cost. The South and North Hall projects would stretch the burgeoning budget for years to come without unforeseen problems.
Elves of both shades scurried about to stabilize things and clean up a little, giving no sign of suspicious activity. The members of the detail with him gave pinkies up from their various positions. Satisfied, Taréz dismounted and jogged through the mess into what had been a minor meeting hall. The Queen was there, doing her own survey of the damage. “Is everything okay, Mother?”
“According to Yis, yes. He explained everything to me right away so I wouldn’t worry. Such a thoughtful man. Apparently the palace is more fragile than anyone thought, so when they knocked a wall in, more of it fell than expected, and it destroyed some of the third floor. Oh, dear, I sure hope the ball can go on as planned.”
“I hope so, too. I’ve been looking forward to it.” Taréz traipsed back over the rubble to his horse, and planted his flag in the ground. That was the all clear signal his father would be waiting for, and the hunting party started approaching immediately.
A few moments later, his father’s powerful steed came thundering over the hill. The size of that horse! A large horse was necessary just to carry a Vle of the King’s size, but this one could actually gallop with its royal rider.
Of course, no tree-dwelling Vle would ever allow himself to get so large... and would rarely use a horse anyway.
The King brought his mount to a halt. Taréz came over while a quick-thinking light-skinned mason hefted a stone for the King’s step. “Thank you, mason. Your assistance is greatly appreciated. What is your name?”
“I am Tenasor, Your Majesty. It is the least I could do for my sovereign.”
“I shall commend you to the chamberlain. Please, return to the clean-up.”
Tenasor bowed. “With pleasure, Your Majesty.”
As the muscular man walked away, the Prince stepped to his father’s side. Repeating what his mother had told him, he added, “She doesn’t seem too shaken by it.”
“Now we only have to convince Gardric of Yis’s explanation.”
“He may never trust Yis after this.”
“I never really expected him to before. Even so, would you do me a favor? I know that he will do an investigation and dredge up evidence against Yis, so I need someone to do a counter-investigation. Prove that Yis didn’t plan this intentionally to interrupt the ball.”
“No problem, Father.”
“Good. In the meantime, we’d better get our catch preserved.”

Prince

Prince Taréz looked out his bedroom window on a landscape that had barely changed in his thirty-odd years of life.
“Your Highness, your horse is ready for you.”
Taréz turned to the chamberlain, a light Vle. “Thank you,” he replied. “Will you be joining us today?”
“No, Sire,” replied Yis Thour. “The building of the South Hall commences today, and I do not wish to leave the men to it themselves.”
“Probably wise. We’ll miss you, Yis.”
The chamberlain smiled. “Good luck on your hunt, Sire.”
“Thank you.” As the Chamberlain dashed off to the South Hall, the Prince walked patiently to the stables where his horse waited. The sun was just peeking over the horizon when he arrived, and everyone there assembled bowed into the long shadows of the castle buildings.
King Lajot arrived a few moments later, and stepped onto his platform to swing himself up into the saddle. “It promises to be a good day! Let us ride.” Everyone mounted, the hounds were loosed, and the hunt began.

It wasn’t long into the hunt before the Chief came alongside. “Was that wise, Sire, to leave your chamberlain behind?” he asked the King. Taréz resigned himself to listen to another small bicker over the dark-light issue. He would have liked to move off and just let the two at it, but he’d have to bicker the same way someday. Know thine enemy.
“The man has other duties, Gardric. I hardly need a man of the Court to conduct ceremonies here.”
“That is not what I meant. You have left a high-ranking light Vle in the castle. Should our neighbors ever desire their lands back—”
“Gardric, we are on a hunt. This is recreation, and I wish to recreate, not suffer another half-baked conspiracy theory of yours.”
“This is the only time I feel it safe to warn you of the danger. It is more than merely one Vle among us.”
“Indeed?” the king asked skeptically.
“Yes. Our scouts have noted unusual troop movements near our southern border.”
“They have a new commander. It is likely he does things differently, and I’m certain he does not like the presence of our scouts inside their border. Do you realize he alludes his knowledge of them at every function? I have no choice but to obfuscate just to cover our backs.”
“He is bluffing. There is no way he can know of our scouts’ forays. He has merely confirmed his suspicions by hearing your... artful dodges. But we are getting off the subject. Sire, there is also a security concern in our own land! Some of the light elves in the south, those who mine and maintain roads, have begun to demand better wages.”
“The dark farmers around here did that last century! Was that a security concern? Not in the least. We can deal with this problem in the very same way.”
“By placating them? Meeting their demands?”
“If you’ll remember, Gardric, a mutually acceptable compromise was reached. And now that land produces more food than ever before. Is there anything else?”
“Yes. Do you realize that light elves now make up more than 50% of all merchants? They’re taking over even in our northern cities.”
Lajot sighed. “What is it you want me to do, Chief? Evict every last light Vle from the land they were born on, and send them over the mountains?”
“My Lord, you are the most brilliant man I know. I’m sure that plan would solve our problem easily!” Gardric beamed...
Taréz wondered just how sincere that appreciation was.
“Chief! You know as well as I do our nation is stronger than our neighbor’s. It would be the ruin of us both to send them over those mountains! Leave me now and let us not talk of this again until the morrow. I mean to enjoy this hunt.”
Taréz caught a sour expression on the Chief's face before he bowed low enough to hide it “As you wish, my Lord.” With that, he dropped back to ride with the King’s Guard.
The position was refilled by the foxmaster . “Sire! Your forest is rich today.”
“Indeed? Has an elk been killed?”
“Yes, Sire, a mature one. It is undoubtedly the one that has eluded us every year this decade.”
“Ah. He is old, then... slowing down. I am almost sorry he is dead.” The King nodded in dismissal, and the foxmaster moved away to set the foxes on a new scent.
“It hardly seems fair that we won due to longevity,” said Taréz. He paused. “Do you ever think that perhaps we’re not really elves anymore, living as we do in stone, rather than the trees like our subjects?”
“Well, it’s necessary, for defense—”
“I know that, but it’s not likely that an enemy will ever come right to our door. Perhaps in the past, but now? I wonder what it would be like to live in the trees.”
“The trees are for peasants, Son.”
“And some nobles.”
“True.” The King paused, then changed the subject. “Our Chief of the Army seems rather hot under the collar today.”
“Yes, Father. I have heard that his daughter married a light Vle.”
“Ha! Now I understand his ill-humor. It’s a wonder he hasn’t asked me to annul it.”
“I believe he is too ashamed to let you know the marriage has taken place. In any case, he probably knows you won’t do any such thing.”
“Would you?”
“Well.... I guess I wouldn’t. It is a father’s prerogative to have a hand in any marriage decision for his daughter. But since she eloped, she denied her father that prerogative. Once denied, gone forever.”
“Hm. Good reasoning.”
Prince Taréz then changed the subject. “Have you made sure Yis invited plenty of eligible women?”
“Personally, no, but I am confident in Yis’ ability to choose guests wisely. It’s part of a chamberlain’s training. Besides, the selection won’t be significantly different from last year.”
“I know, I know. I just really would rather not have to marry Tincome.”
“I’m sure the feeling is mutual. You’re lucky, you know— my great-grandfather would have betrothed you two at birth if he were in my position. It would be a great alliance.”
“Yes, Father, so you’ve said.”
“Sometimes I think Gardric would rather we control the entire eastern part of the world than the southern foothills region.”
“Of course— more land, more resources.”
“And more security worries, and more bureaucratic problems... there is such thing as a country that’s too big for its own good. That’s the Chief’s point.”
“Hmph! Two races in a nation presents its own problem.”
“And it’s one we’ve dealt with in various ways for many years, and we’ll deal with it for many years to come.”
The horns sounded in the distance, and the two royal men heeled their horses to a gallop to see what might be the quarry this time.