XXV
Look! Here comes Knale! Following the killing of Fowdho, he left Alvennawl with a merriest spring in his step, right delighted to have finally brought an end to Glamo’s hateful line, to have wrought his vengeance, albeit for reasons long forgotten, and to have so cunningly evaded Water-Nela’s prophesied doom. Yet nary a day had passed before his joy began waning. Both of the twin trolls were dead, yes, but he could not be truly satisfied until he had borne witness to Nela’s grief renewed, until he had seen for himself the sorrow on her face, the pain in her cries. So Knale set out for Lewvanvek.
It happened that Feydo had already come to tell Nela of Klovo’s death, and also the loss of Fowdho, unaware that he too had been slain. When Nela heard these tidings, she was moved to such fury that she swelled the river about her and caught Feydo in its icy grip.
‘Oath-breaker!’ she cried, and she dragged him beneath the surface of the water. There she held him, and only when he was on the verge of drowning, on the very brink of death, did she release him. Feydo got his head out of the water, gasping for air, whereupon she ensnared him again, dragged him back beneath the surface, and brought him next to death once more. Then the same happened again, and this went on for about a week, until Knale arrived.
‘Oy-oy!’ he said, strolling into the cavern. ‘Drown him, please, and I will have yet another cause for joy! You see, dear sister, both your loathsome little trolls are dead and done, just like their dad and his. Both of them! Both and both alike!’
The water grew tumultuous about joyless Nela, and she said:
‘Let he who deals be dealt the worst;
twice-over doomed, twice-over cursed!’
Thereupon she flooded forth her fury. She released Feydo from her grip, that she could claim Knale instead, intent upon locking him within the water to subject him to eternal torment, to make him suffer as she had suffered. But Knale was a crafty sort, and nimble too, and he put on his fox fur and fled the cavern before she could catch him. Thus was Knale satisfied at last, and he disappeared into the wilderness to make himself someone else’s trouble.
While Nela was distracted, Feydo got himself out of the water, kneeling weak and wet upon the bank. But, for want of retribution, Nela turned back to him at once. She brought up her hands, and the water gathered at her feet, ready to seize upon Feydo once more.
‘Have mercy!’ cried Feydo. ‘Shrewd fate will grant you no pleasure for my punishment. I beg you, sister, have mercy!’
Nela said, ‘There can be no mercy for the oath-breaker.’
‘Know that I did all I could to ward your kin from calamity, but if you still mean to hold me accountable for their deaths, let me redeem myself, or let me try.’
The water veiling Nela retreated. ‘Bring me Knale. Do this, Feydo, and I will absolve you.’
‘How am I to do that? I am no hunter.’
‘Then you must find one.’
Nela put out her hand, and the water washed over Feydo, but instead of dragging him into the river, her moon-sight imparted upon him a vision. He saw the ashes of Swalo, his long-dead brother, and the blood of Kropo, yet another such sibling, and the two were mixed, and thus was Swalo revived.
‘Take up Swalo’s ashes,’ said Nela, ‘for he alone can find the unfindable. Then bring them to Bradhambelaw and seek there Gesdelo the Sage. He alone would dare defy the edict of fate.’
‘Is it truly so?’ said Feydo.
‘So it is. This is your task, Feydo. Do it or die.’
Feydo was not in the business of dying, so he said he would see it done and set out at once.
He journeyed first to Lofnos, nestled deep within Yaransyog. That was the shrine founded long ago by Lewva Thunder-hand, where Swalo’s ashes yet remained. The shrine stood in the middle of a beautiful grove, and it was so beloved by the forest spirits that it remained ever full of light and bounty, even in winter, when the sky was overcast and the greens elsewhere turned brown.
Feydo fluttered along in his finch feathers, and when he came to the shrine, he went inside to find Swalo’s urn sitting just as he had seen in Nela’s vision. He took on his elfin skin and laid his hands upon the urn, but before he could even lift it from its pedestal, a pair of clerics beset him from behind and pulled him back. They bound him in ropes and took him before the head priest, who was a woman called Kawnela. She oversaw his trial, and she bade Feydo state his case, that she could determine the appropriate penalty.
‘What you have done here today,’ she said, ‘is a gravest insult to us, our customs, and all that we hold dear. Tell me, what folly possesses you to steal Swalo’s urn, the most ancient of our relics?’
‘Swalo was my brother,’ said Feydo. ‘I have come to revive him.’
Kawnela did not believe his claim. ‘I do not believe your claim. If Swalo were your brother, that would make you an elf of like antiquity, but all such folk are dead.’
‘Not all.’ Feydo put on his finch feathers, thereby slipping from his bonds, and then made himself human again. ‘Some of us yet live.’
Kawnela witnessed this with awe. ‘You are an elf? Tell me your name.’
‘I am Feydo, and Swalo was my brother.’
‘O Feydo, when my clerics brought you here, I expected to have you killed, but that would be no fair justice for one of your godly stock. Nonetheless, I cannot grant you what you seek. To revive the dead, were it possible, would be to transcend the will of fate, to make a mockery of life itself. If it were achieved, it could not be lasting, or else it would surely incur such scorn from vengeful fate that all the world would be imperilled. I cannot allow it, and so my ruling is thus: you are now my prisoner, to be kept here until either of us should die. When such a time comes, you will be released either by your own death, or at the discretion of my successor alone. But have no fear, aged one, for I am a most hospitable host.’
Kawnela then had Feydo taken away. The clerics dressed him in their clothes and welcomed him into their home, offering him all the happinesses they enjoyed themselves. Feydo was pleased to be treated with such respect, but he knew it could not last. That evening, he made for Swalo’s urn again, this time under the cover of night, and laid his hands upon it. And again, the same pair of clerics, now bearing spears, caught him in the act, bound him in ropes, and brought him before Kawnela.
‘Why would you do this?’ said Kawnela. ‘You perpetrated a most severe transgression, but I spared you from death, opened my home to you, and offered you every comfort I could. Yet now I see my hospitality repaid with another such transgression, a blatant act of disrespect. I fear, aged one, that I must now punish you for this.’
Kawnela bade her clerics seize him, but he made himself a chaffinch before they could catch him. He could not flee the room, however, for there were no windows in that part of the shrine, and the door was closed. The clerics simply waited until Feydo grew so tired from flapping his wings that he had to come down to rest, whereupon they put a box over him. They kept him trapped in the box for three days, and they shook it every now and then so he could get no more sleep than only a little. After the three days had passed, Kawnela had the box opened. Feydo sprang out at once and fell panting to the floor.
‘Now,’ said Kawnela, ‘will you abide by my ruling? If you defy me again, aged one, I will be forced to lay aside my reverence for your kind and bring your long life to a most undignified end.’
‘I will,’ said Feydo.
And he did. Feydo ended up spending several months at Lofnos, during which he lived with the clerics as if he were one of them, singing their songs, sharing their meals, and hearing the many tales they told of their community and its history. In time, he garnered a great deal of trust from Kawnela, and she came to count him among her firmest friends.
It was not until early autumn in the next year that Feydo finally left. On the day of the great hunt, a day the women of Lofnos held dear, Kawnela led the clerics out into the woods. As was customary, every member of the household went behind her, leaving Feydo alone. That was his chance, and he took it. He stole into the shrine, laid his hands upon Swalo’s urn, and lifted it from the pedestal, and at last, no one was there to stop him. He fled as quickly as he could, and though it filled him with shame to betray the folk who had treated him so kindly, he did not look back.
When Kawnela came home to find Feydo gone and Swalo’s urn missing, she let up a ferocious cry. She led the household back out into the woods, intent upon hunting Feydo down and butchering him like game, but he was long gone. They came home again with their heads hung low indeed.
For this failure, Kawnela was forced out of Lofnos, and she was attacked and killed by an enraged boar the next day. The clerics could not decide on a successor, and the arguing led to fighting, and the fighting led to killing, which continued until someone set the shrine ablaze, razing it to the ground. Thus was Lofnos destroyed, and those clerics who survived the dispute all abandoned it, that place they had once so cherished.
Feydo now made for Bradhambelaw, which was in the very old days the seat of the gods, perched at the very top of Myosslen, though it now stood long deserted. The man he sought there was his nephew, Gesdelo the Sage.
Gesdelo was the son of Feydo’s brother, Grado, and the youngest of three triplets. The elder two were Gowzero and Gyolveo. Grado was an apprentice of the god Oyro, and from him he learnt all manner of arts and magics, and this knowledge he passed in turn to his sons. The triplets lived together on the island Brathmew in Meleya, but Gesdelo fled amid a terrible strife with his brothers.
One day, one of their uncle-elves, called Bleygo, came to visit, and Gesdelo decided to test the extent of his power. He caught Bleygo in a trap, and with the foulest magic he knew, he cursed him, turning him into a fearsome dragon. Gowzero and Gyolveo were outraged by the mistreatment of their kinsman, and they stood against their brother. Gowzero sought to reverse Gesdelo’s hex and make their uncle himself again, while Gyolveo sought to punish Gesdelo for the misuse of his gift. Thus were they locked in a terrible battle, and even though Gesdelo made Dragon-Bleygo his ferocious steed, he was bested. He rode Bleygo across the water and came to Ewllonn in the south.
Returned to his homeland, a new rage arose in Bleygo’s draconic heart. He let up a fearsome roar, and he rampaged his way all across Eymalonn, wreaking terror throughout the land for several years. This did not end until Glavo, his brother, came before him. Bleygo and Glavo had ever been a pair tightly bound by friendship, and so, when Glavo put up his hand and bade Bleygo lay aside his rage, he did. And though he tried, Glavo could not cure his brother of his plight, trapped within his serpentine skin. With tears in his eyes, he led him to an ancient barrow up on Draffel, sang him a song of sleeping, and sealed him away to rest forevermore.
Gesdelo pursued Bleygo throughout his rampage, but he had filled his steed with such unearthly vigour that he could scarcely keep pace. When he came at last to the barrow, it was already sealed, and he was moved to an anger of his own. He demanded that Glavo open the barrow, but Glavo refused. Thereupon did Gesdelo pick up his wizardly fingers, and with them he put upon his uncle a mortal curse. At once, Glavo fell to the floor, and slumped before the sealing stone, he died. Gesdelo then tried to open the barrow himself, but despite his god-gifted power, he knew no magic that could sunder such a seal. Deprived of his dragon mount, Gesdelo cried out his despair, then took himself away to Bradhambelaw, where he could watch the world below with contempt.
Just so was he sat scornful when Feydo arrived so very many years later. He came before his nephew, placed Swalo’s urn upon the floor, and bowing, bade Gesdelo revive him.
‘Death cannot be stemmed,’ said Gesdelo. ‘Not even the oldest of the gods could overcome it.’
‘I have witnessed a vision,’ said Feydo. ‘The corpse of my brother Kropo yet remains here. If his blood and Swalo’s ashes were mixed, I am sure Swalo would be born anew.’
Kropo was the youngest of the elfin brothers, but though he was the last to be born, he was the first to die. When he hopped hare-hairy from his mother’s loins, he fell head-first onto the floor and died at once. His body was kept at Bradhambelaw, and his brother Grado discovered that it bore a healing power. Whenever one put their hands against Kropo’s skin, all their ailments would be allayed, whatever their severity. In this way, he was said to be unique among his brothers, for he alone was more skilful dead than alive. Kropo had since been buried, but his corpse remained unsullied by time.
‘Tell me,’ said Gesdelo, ‘what did you see?’
‘I saw the ashes and blood apart,’ said Feydo, ‘and then together as one, and from that mixture Swalo arose reborn and resplendent.’
‘And why do you seek to revive him, to spit in the face of fate, and invite its everlasting enmity?’
‘I bear a heavy burden, a task I must complete, but he alone can see it done. So, Gesdelo, will you do this for me?’
Gesdelo put his head back in the sunlight, and grinning, he said, ‘I will do it gladly.’
Then he went to Kropo’s tomb and brought his body to the very summit of Myosslen, upon which stood an altar. He laid the corpse upon it, and chanting a fell incantation, he cut open Kropo’s chest and poured Swalo’s ashes inside. Last of all, he added a fistful each of soil and water and spoke a final spell.
‘So he is set,’ said Gesdelo. ‘Once three moons have shone upon him, your brother will be returned to you.’
‘I have no doubt,’ said Feydo, ‘that Artalo will favour him.’
Feydo stayed with Gesdelo for the better part of three months, and upon the flight of the third full moon since his arrival, a most miraculous thing occurred. Feydo looked up to the sky and saw the splendour of the moon, and it seemed as if an arrow of light flew down from it. This arrow struck Kropo’s body, from which a spectacular light emerged, dispelling the darkness of the night. Feydo then watched with awe as a figure arose upon the altar, veiled in that terrible gleam. When at last it faded, there stood Swalo, dark before the moon, once dead and now reborn.
Feydo went to him and said, ‘Swalo, my brother.’
‘Feydo,’ said Swalo, ‘where is this? Where are we?’
‘We are at home. This is Bradhambelaw, where we both were born. Come, let me bring you down.’
Feydo then brought Swalo down from the summit. He washed and dressed him, and then he told him everything he could as Swalo ate. He told him of the deaths of fourfold trolls and Knale’s culpability for each, and also of his quest to bring him to their sister. Finally, Feydo told Swalo that he once lay dead and burnt to ash, himself a victim of Knale’s mischief, but no longer.
‘He can wander this world no more,’ said Feydo. ‘He must be brought to justice—my life and honour depend on it—and you alone can find him.’
Swalo heard these tidings amid a grim quiet. When Feydo had finished, he said, ‘You have told me much, but nothing of my daughter. What of Lewva?’
‘She is long dead, brother, but know that she died old and contented. You need not weep for her. This feud came bitterly against her, but she overcame it, and she lived a life of triumph and tranquillity. I am sure she held you dear to her dying day.’
Swalo shed a tear, took Feydo in his arms, and said, ‘Thank you, Feydo. There never was a kindlier fellow.’ Then he stepped away, went outside, and beneath the moon he said, ‘I will do as you ask. I failed to bring Glamo home, but I will redeem myself. I will capture Knale, and make this lost thing found.’
Swalo and Feydo set out shortly thereafter, and so preeminent was Swalo’s skill in searching that the hunt for Knale only took as long as the walk to the westward coast. Indeed, Swalo simply pricked up his ears, and it was as if the wind itself led him to his mark. They found Knale near a monastery called Seos in the west, where he had sprouted a pair of breasts, withdrawn his genitals, and begun living among the nuns as a woman named Era.
Upon their arrival, Swalo and Feydo saw the nuns processing to the beach, and Swalo knew at once that Knale walked among them, though he could not discern which was in fact an elf. Therefore, he put on his antlers, walked before the nuns, and presented himself wreathed in a silver, moon-wrought light. The nuns were awed by this ethereal beast, and believing him to be a spirit come to grant them fortune, they all bowed before him. Or rather, all bowed but one, for Era alone remained standing. She saw this beast, a stag above all stags, and she knew at once that it was Swalo. Likewise, Swalo saw Era, a nun devoid of reverence, and he knew at once that she was Knale. Swalo put down his antlers and charged forth, and though Era turned to flee, hart-hooved Swalo was the faster. He ploughed into her, caught her dress with his antler, and flung her high into the air. Up went a nun, and down came an elf.
Amid the other nuns’ gasps, Knale fell flat upon the shingle. Before he could so much as pry his face from the floor, Swalo stood above him. He bound each of Knale’s wrists behind his back and to the opposite ankle, and also stuffed his mouth with cloth, that he need not hear his protestations, and thus was Knale caught.
‘Whatever is all this?’ said the chiefest of the nuns.
‘A family matter,’ said Swalo. ‘This sister of yours is a brother of mine. You need ask no further questions, for I will yield no further answers.’
Swalo hoisted Knale up by his ankles and slung him over his shoulder, and then he and Feydo trudged all the way back to Lewvanvek. Knale wriggled and writhed all the while, desperate to be free, but he was bound in such a way that he could not make himself a fox without also breaking all his limbs, and that would be all the worse for him. For the first time in his life, he was well and truly helpless.
‘And good riddance,’ said Feydo. ‘You only have yourself to blame.’
Feydo and Swalo returned to Lewvanvek after travelling for two weeks or so. When they came into the cavern, Nela knew at once that Knale was with them, and before anyone could offer a word of greeting, she whipped up her watery fury and dragged Knale into the river, yet convulsing in his bonds. She locked him in the same torture Feydo had formerly endured, bringing him to the brink of drowning, only to release him for a handful of desperate gasps before submerging him once more.
Triumphant, Nela said again this couplet:
‘Let he who deals be dealt the worst;
twice-over doomed, twice-over cursed!’
‘O sister,’ said Feydo, ‘I have brought you Knale, and I can see you are quite delighted. Am I now absolved?’
‘Yes,’ said Nela, and she turned her attention back to Knale’s anguish.
‘O sister,’ said Swalo. ‘It is good to see you again, though I am pained to see what sort of life you now inhabit. Tell me, how did she of the sky find herself in the river?’
Nela turned to Swalo, her face foreboding, but before she uttered a word, Feydo said, ‘Come, brother, I know some folk you ought to meet.’
‘That can wait, Feydo. I have asked a question, and I will have an answer. I have been granted the gift of a second life, as none ever have. I wish to hear of my beloved sister’s trials, that I may know her better.’
‘And I will tell you, but such a tale would be better told elsewhere.’
‘Why is that? Surely it is her tale to tell?’
‘Not hers alone.’
Then Feydo took Swalo by the hand and led him out of the cavern. Though Nela bore no love for Swalo, she bore even less for Knale, whom Swalo had brought to her. She let them go.
Feydo led Swalo to Lofnos to reunite with the priests there. Given the nature of his departure, he remained burdened with guilt, and he wished to prostrate himself before Kawnela, and with Swalo at his side, beg for her forgiveness. Yet when they came there, they found the whole place abandoned. The shrine lay destroyed, the ground strewn with sundered spears and beak-bleached bones, the evergreen grove turned barren and brown.
‘Oh dear,’ said Feydo.
‘What is this place?’ said Swalo.
‘Your ashes once dwelt here, though this was a lifelier place when I left.’
‘Tell me, Feydo, why have you brought me to this place so grim, to look upon my very own tomb in ruin?’
‘Please be assured, that was not my intention. You see, Swalo, Lewva founded this place in honour of your old mentor, Loffeyda. She kept your ashes in an urn in that shrine, though it shelters now its own. The clerics said she died kneeling before you. I brought you to meet them, the folk who had warded you so long, and to show you what bounty surrounded your daughter in the last days of her life. Yet that bounty seems to have dwindled, a fitting portent for what I must tell you next.’
‘What is it?’
‘I have already told you that poor Nawko died by Lewva’s hand, but that was not where the feud ended. Nela sought to bring her own vengeance against her, and they fought at Lewvanvek. Nela would have died there, but by some magic I do not understand, she escaped that fate and has been one with the water ever after. She cannot leave that place, nor will she, I fear, until the river itself has run its course, and her spirit is thereby spent.’
Swalo heard this tale with tears welling in his eyes, though he held them back. ‘Feydo, you say Nela struck at my daughter?’
‘She did, alas.’
‘What fair recompense is that for all I did for her? I will not abide it.’ Swalo took up a nearby spear, abandoned by its former wielder. ‘This feud is not yet settled.’
Feydo took Swalo’s hand and said, ‘Swalo, my brother, I brought you here that you would see Lewva’s long happiness. Nela sought to slay her, but she failed. She has paid the price for that and then some. We must now let the matter rest.’
‘I have rested long enough, my life’s light snuffed in her service, but I see now that Nela cared nothing for me or my kin. Feydo, I bid you begone. You have done your duty, and I thank you for your kindnesses. You need burden yourself no longer.’ When Feydo began dithering, Swalo put up his spear. ‘Fly, Feydo, for your own sake. At Lewvanvek awaits only strife, and you deserve none of that.’
‘My dear brother,’ said Feydo. ‘If you cannot be stayed, so be it. I must let you go.’ He stopped to wipe the tears from his eyes, then continued, ‘Farewell, Swalo. It has been an honour to walk with you again.’
Then Feydo put on his finch feathers and flew away. As he went, Swalo bowed his head, shed a tear, and said, ‘Fly far, my choicest of brothers.’
Swalo remained at Lofnos for a short while. He spent much of that time in quiet contemplation, reflecting on the life he lived long ago, and all he had heard of those that came thereafter. Then, when one week had passed, he stood up, held his spear firm in his hand, and made his way to Lewvanvek.
He arrived to find Knale still bound within the water, being brought so close to death that he wished it would finally seize him. Standing in the entrance to the cavern, the sunlight waning behind him, Swalo called out to Nela.
‘Nela!’ he said. ‘I have returned, and with a spear in hand. I have heard all about your dealings with my daughter, and I have come to repay you for them.’
The water surged around Nela at once. ‘Bane of my blood!’ she said, and without sparing a moment, she sent forth the river.
Swalo braced his spear and charged likewise, but though his mind was full of valour, no sword nor spear could slay the river itself. Nela caught him in her snare and dragged him beneath the surface of the water.
‘Fate is wholly inexorable!’ she said. ‘Your lot was to die, and so you shall!’
Then she drowned him. Thus was Swalo slain again. His body floated out of the cavern to the sea and was forever lost to the tide.
Yet as Nela’s attention turned back to Knale, she found that he was gone. She had been so set upon drowning Swalo that her grip on Knale loosened, and he was able to climb sputtering out of the river and flee. Her fury arose again, and she sent the water crashing against the walls of the cavern and wailed, sad and alone once more.
Knale fled from Lewvanvek to hide in the wilderness, sitting just as sad and alone in his own cave. During that time, his bitterness only grew, cursing just about anyone and everyone, but most of all himself. He had chances manifold to kill Feydo, to prevent Swalo’s revival, and thereby his capture, but he chose instead to flee. So he took up a knife, and with it he cut into his skin, scarring himself all over as punishment for his failure.
And all the while, he was tormented with terrible visions of the happiness of others. He saw in his mind Glamo, calm in the soft, loving arms of his Leyva. He saw in his mind Nawko, held likewise in the arms of his Orvoa. He saw in his mind Fowdho and Klovo, each trapped in their caves, yet nonetheless glad to have fair Feydo for company, holding them dear, as would a father his sons. He saw in his mind Swalo and Lewva, walking abreast in the warmth of the sunlight. And he saw in his mind Thalo, Asfoa beside him, each glad to be together in the comfort of their house.
So Knale said to himself that same old saw:
‘Let he who deals be dealt the worst;
twice-over doomed, twice-over cursed.’
Then he cast aside his knife, donned his foxen coat, and followed his nose to Pearmol.