A Dead God's Tear (The Netherwalker Trilogy) (42 page)

The sun made shimmering dapples through the leafy canopy and a delicate crisp rang in the air. It would have been a beautiful day, had it not been for an oppressive veil of awkwardness that hung between them as they walked.

It was painful.

Still it didn’t stop Marcius from glancing at Selene out of the corner of his eye. The elf wore the lightest of armors, a light brown leather breastplate that hugged her in a most distracting manner, and her sword swung lightly with every step.

Several times he opened his mouth to say something, anything, but eac
h time he fumbled. What really could he say? Maybe he should take Lorisen’s advice and just give the elven woman the space she so zealously defended.

As they walked, the crowds intensified, and Marcius felt their questioning stares, but Selene ignored them
and he tried to follow her example. He could still hear their whispering, and his cheeks got red as he thought of what they might be saying. Marcius hurried to keep up with Selene, the tips of his ears tingling with embarrassment.

The mossy path turned in
to a well paved road, opening up to a large clearing that was littered with stalls filled with elves bartering excitedly with each other. There was a large stone arch, a tight leather tarp stretched over it, casting the majority of the surrounding area under shade.

Selene led him to the largest stall manned by perhaps the most colorful and animated elf Marcius had seen since his involuntary visit to Selenthian borders.

Marcius was flabbergasted at the casual use of magic in Selenthia and this elf personified it. He wore a billowy shirt, replete with ruffles that shimmered through the colors of the spectrum. Many gaudy gems adorned his fingers and ears, each one of them having a single pinprick of light that pulsed with every movement he made.

The elf was qui
ck to spot Selene and Marcius and pushed his way through the crowds to intercept them. The elf tucked a strand of jet-black hair behind his ear as he approached, his arms going wide with greeting.

“
Mistress Selene, it is ever an honor to see you at the merchant gather,” he said, taking off his cap as he bowed low.

Marcius noticed that the elf had only the thinnest of accents and seemed perfectly comfortable speaking in Common. His words flowed from one to the other with none of the stilted lilt that he hear
d from both Lorisen and Selene. Obviously the elf had many dealings outside of Selenthia.

“
Master Raloran,” Selene responded, doing the traditional greeting, tilting her hand.

“
Now, young girl, there is no need for that. I have known you when you were just child. There is no need for formality!” The smiling elf theatrically looked at Marcius, as if seeing him for the first time. “And this would be the human that has Selenthia in an uproar? A human among us as we prepare for war? Never thought I’d see the day the Elders would allow such a thing. Let me get a good look at you!”

Marcius found himself being held by the shoulder at
arm's length by the elf, who regarded him with a now critical eye, like a shopper looking at a prospective buy. The elf’s grip was with a strength that didn’t match his size and it was hard for Marcius to not squirm. He looked briefly to Selene for help, but the elven woman seemed resigned and preoccupied with other things, refusing to meet his gaze.

Raloran gave a grunt, t
hough Marcius couldn’t tell if it was one of approval or disappointment, and then put an arm around him, guiding him to the massive stall nearby. It was overflowing with goods: massive racks of clothing hanging from the sides; boxes of various sizes full of unknown materials.  “I am to assume you two are not here just to visit me because you were lonely, yes?”

“
Aye, Master Raloran. We are here to get this one whatever basics he needs. He needs to be fitted with decent clothing.”

The elf gave a dramatic sigh
, throwing up his hands in defeat “Again with the formalities, child!”

“
I am no child, Master Raloran.”

A serious look passed over his face, “
Aye, I keep forgetting.” It disappeared, replaced by the ever present smile of a mask Marcius was beginning to associate with the trader. “Anyway, let’s get you measured, okay?”

The elf indicated for him to enter a closed off booth, and Marcius complied while Selene stayed outside. Raloran followed him in, closing the curtain behind him. “
Alright, Marcius was it?” he asked softly, turning around, his smile gone.

Marcius didn
’t recall ever telling the elf his name, but nodded anyway. If a human in the elven city was enough to cause a commotion, most likely the trader heard through other channels. The elf took out a raw hide cord, the sides marked with various sizings and measurements and Marcius lifted his arms as the elf began measuring.

“
So,” Raloran said, tucking the measure into his mouth as he maneuvered Marcius around, “Care to tell me what you did to get her so riled?”

Marcius
’s surprise must have shown on his face, because the elf chuckled darkly, “It was pretty obvious. The two of you were completely awkward with each other, and she’s never been one with social graces.”

The elf had a calming manner to him, a cert
ain force of persona that instantly made Marcius relax. He felt he could trust this elf, and when he started talking, he found he couldn’t stop. He told Raloran of his late night run-in with Selene, how she reacted to his question, and Marcius found him even mentioning his burgeoning feelings for the woman.

Raloran, for his part, said nothing, calmly shifting Marcius as he measured. But the apprentice knew the elf was listening intently. It was good to get it off his chest. When he had finished, Marcius fel
t mentally exhausted.

“
Well, now. That explains a lot.” Raloran said after a few moments of deliberation, “I thought it odd. Selene is a brilliant fighter. I’ve only heard good things about her when she joined the warrior caste. Then again, she had no choice but to exceed expectations. She’s led a hard life.”

The elf picked up some fabric, holding it against Marcius
’s frame. He tilted his head to side for a moment as he regarded it, and then threw the fabric to the side, not satisfied. He continued his search, and Marcius fidgeted, curiosity eating away at him until he finally broke. “I don’t understand why she hates me for an innocent question. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Raloran gave Marcius a hard look, but his gaze softened. “
I guess you wouldn’t know anything about her past, eh? It’s a touchy subject for her.”

“
You too? Same thing Lorisen said!” Marcius growled.

“
If you’d let me finish.” Raloran admonished, finally selecting a dark blue piece of fabric that satisfied whatever unsaid requirements he was looking for. “I’m not sure I should be telling you this. If I can trust you enough to not do something stupid with it that’d wind up hurting her.”

“
I would never-“

“
Hurt her?” the elf finished for Marcius, “No, you’d probably never intend to. You have an honest sort of face.  I’m not sure where to start, or even why I am telling you this, so I guess from the beginning is the most logical point. How much do you know about our traditions?”

Marcius shook his head, “
Very little. My Master was a dwarf, and he wasn’t exactly on friendly terms with elves. It wasn’t as if he kept a lot of texts on elves in his study.”

“
Most dwarves usually aren’t. It’s how we were made: two different sides to the same coin. The “origin” races. Both the dwarves and elves were created in the beginning of Faelon, by the Gods, only to be abandoned when humans came into being.”

Marcius nodded, it was common knowledge, though maybe not said as pessimistic as Raloran delivered it. The elf continued as he began cutting the fabric. “
Many humans can’t fathom our lives, for we are linked far more intimately to the nether than a human could ever be. Elves, and to a lesser extent, dwarves, are beings of magic, and as such, we are bound to rules that are far older than our ancient race.”

Th
e elf paused for the significance of it all to sink in. “Our roles in Selenthia are decided when we are born. I was to be a merchant, and so, hundreds of years later, here I am. I have a knack for it, this is true, but then again, it was decided for me. When we come of age, there is a great ceremony and we are presented to the heart of Selenthia, the very core of Agliarena. It is there that we receive our destinies.”

Marcius hung on the elf
’s every word, “How does one receive your destiny?”

Raloran
’s hand stilled mid-cut. “I remember being led into the chamber. The inside was warm, safe. It vibrated my very being. There I was, nothing more than a wisp of a child, barefoot and nervous. There were so many expectations on my fate reading. My father was an Elder and my mother a Merchant, you see.”

“
I guess your mother won?”

Raloran smiled, “
Aye, you could say that. It usually runs in the family. If not a Merchant, an Elder. That day was the most profound experience of my long life. To feel another consciousness envelop your own. That tree is alive, and she watches over us. She spoke, in that heart chamber. We all heard it. 'Tiark'ne di li argrilia'.”

“
Which means?”

“
'This child is to follow his mother. Ever since then, I've done the Fate assigned to me by the heart tree.”

Marcius thought on it for a minute, “
So that's what Selene meant that we all do the role given?”

“
Aye, but for her, it is bittersweet. She has no Fate.”

“
What do you mean? How does someone have no Fate?”

“
The tree was silent when she was presented. It refused to give her a role, or even acknowledge her existence. In the countless years since Selenthia existed, this was the first and only time something like this had ever happened.”

He ran over his words to Selene last night and at last understandin
g dawned on him. “So that's why when I asked her why her caste wasn't the same as her mother's. . . ”

“
Indeed.”

But something still didn't click. “
But why is that a bad thing? Wouldn't that mean it was her's to decide?”

Raloran sh
ook his head, a bemused expression on his face. “Only a human would look at it so. Try and look at it from an elven perspective? We are beings of magic, rules entwined with our existence. There is countless years of tradition in a race not designed to change rapidly. To be honest, many feared her.”

“
Feared her for what?”

“
Said she shouldn't exist. Said that she was a loose thread in our tapestry. Some promoted killing her.”

“
That's insane!”

“
Aye, but thick is the fear of the unknown, young human. It was only through the graces of her mother and who she was that allowed naysayers to reach an agreement. 'Let her become a warrior,' they said, 'Maybe battle will get rid of her instead'.”

“
What a terrible thing to say.”

“
Indeed, and yet we look down on humans as monsters? The irony does not escape some of us.” Raloran had a profound look of regret, “Aye, indeed. She's had a hard life, proving that she has the right to exist. When most children were playing with others, she was studying and perfecting her swordplay, trying to drown out the whispers and rumors with hard work, sweat, and blood. Selene has done well for herself, but she had to earn every portion of it, and the scars run deep.”

Marcius didn't know what to say, it made sense now, a big portion that m
ade the mysterious elf who she was. But there was one question that remained. He turned to Raloran, who had just finished cutting the last of the fabric. “Why did you tell me this?”

The elf shrugged, “
Seemed like the right thing to do. I think mingling with other races will be a good thing for her. I am glad the council had the foresight to put her to this duty. She needs to know that things are never as black and white as they appear to be. A bit of perspective if you want.”

“
I guess that's a—” and the words died in Marcius's throat as the elf's fingers and mouth began moving in a pattern he knew well. Raloran was casting a spell!

He could only watch as the thread on the table danced its way into a needle, which began to weave in and out of the fabric like
a snake through grass. Buttons, like tiny insects, crawled their way across the table, laying with perfect spacing for the animated needle. In mere moments, an exquisitely well-done shirt had been made right before his eyes.

“
I didn't know you could do magic.”

“
We are beings of magic, Marcius. Such feats are far more common amongst us than superstitious bound humans. Here, try this on.” The elf threw him the shirt, which Marcius caught reflexively.

He took a few moments, feeling self-
conscious in front of the elf before deciding that it didn’t matter in the end. He shrugged off his own top, letting it fall to the ground. The new shirt fit well and the fabric was exquisite against his skin. “Thank you,” Marcius said truthfully.