XXXI
The tale will now dwell on a very old town called Ennaslad, which was one of Pearmol’s most important steward towns. The stewardship was often granted to the lord’s eldest child, but the present holder was a man called Arrono.
Arrono was the husband of Karvalo’s older brother, Yalmalo, who had held the stewardship before him. Though their love for one another was great, they were nonetheless a quarrelsome pair, and their marriage quickly grew bitter. The day before Yalmalo was meant to leave Ennaslad to head northwards with the king, Arrono found him sharing his joy with another fellow, Faffedhe. This gave rise to a most vehement row, and in a bid to turn his thoughts away from Arrono’s hurt, to flee from his guilt, Yalmalo left earlier than planned, and with Faffedhe at his side. Arrono would not see Yalmalo again until he lay beneath his funerary cloth.
In Yalmalo’s absence, Arrono continued to hold the stewardship—though he had been wounded and left to bleed alone, they were still married. This did not last long, however. After Rogwalo was slain and Yalmalo named himself his successor in the lordship, his mother, Gonwela, did the same. She visited Ennaslad, and she told Arrono what had happened in the north.
‘What woeful news,’ said Arrono, ‘but tell me, what of Yalmalo? What of my husband, and what of your son? Does he yet live?’
‘He does,’ said Gonwela, ‘though he has shown his folly once more. He has named himself Lord of Pearmol, but that is not his inheritance yet, nor will it ever be now. Pearmol is mine. I will not let it fall into the hands of so shameful a son. Thus, Arrono, I present you with a choice. You have proven yourself to be a worthy man, so I will let you keep your place here and hold the stewardship in your own right, but you must divorce Yalmalo. If you do not agree to that, I must assume you support his claim to the lordship over mine and will be forced to outlaw you from my domain, and those of my allies.’
Arrono did not want to divorce his husband—there was yet such love for him in his heart—but neither was he eager to be outlawed. He took some time to consider his options, and then agreed to divorce Yalmalo and swear himself to Gonwela. Only a couple of years later, news of Yalmalo’s death came to Ennaslad, and Arrono was moved to tears.
‘O Yalmalo,’ he said. ‘Perhaps, had you been a wiser man, you might yet live, and so too might I.’
Arrono held Ennaslad for many years thereafter, until he died in the twenty-sixth year of his stewardship. By all accounts, he did a fine job of it.
Following Arrono’s death, Karvalo granted the stewardship to Essero, and he accepted this with much enthusiasm. He and Ernala chose to finally marry one another on weddings day, shortly before they left Pearmol together. There was a great deal to eat and drink, good music and good company, and everyone had a lovely time. Then they made their way to Ennaslad, and there they would remain for many years to come.
Now time moved along, but the pleasant atmosphere Essero’s wedding had fostered did not quickly wane, and least of all in the love-laden heart of his brother. So it was that Awldano took Thalo out riding one morning later that year, though he did not say where they were going. After roving for a while, they got off their horses and walked along the beach until Awldano pointed out a cave at the base of a cliff, from which a river spat into the sea.
‘See that cave,’ he said. ‘That is where we are headed. I beg of you, Thalo, hold your breath tight in your breast, lest it be taken from you.’
Then Awldano ventured into the cave, close and damp. The river ran down its middle, and daylight shone in from the other end. Thalo went in behind him, and though Awldano had to crouch the whole way, he could stand tall and not worry once about bumping his head.
When they came out the other end, they found themselves in a great cavern, lit by gaps in its roof where it met the ground above. In its centre fell a waterfall, its spray wetting the surrounding stone, such that the whole place shimmered in the light. That was Lewvanvek, and it was a remarkable sight.
‘Never before,’ said Thalo, ‘have I beheld such a place.’
Awldano said, ‘This place was wrought by an ancient hero, or so they say. She was Lewva Thunder-hand, so called because she struck the rock with such force that it sounded as if thunder shook the sky.’
‘She slew twofold trolls. Tell me, Awldano, is that why you have brought me here?’
‘No. I have been here twice before. I was a boy the first time, my hand in Yorlayvo’s, shortly after my mother’s mother died. He brought me and Essero here for some cheering up. The second time I came alone and that was the last.’
‘How could you come to such a place only twice?’
‘When last I came here, something very frightful happened. As I swam in the river, it seemed to grip me, whereupon a woman appeared before me, her form veiled by the water. She said she was a seer, you see, blinded by visions of all of time, and she bade me leave. I was not to return until I found the man whom I cherish most deeply.
‘“Bring him here,” she said. “Drink from the river, and that will bind you more firmly than any oath or vow. Irrevocable fate will then be your eternal warden.”
‘I have since thought much about this portent, and I thought myself a fool, that I had fallen asleep and dreamt it all. Yet in recent years, it has become all the clearer that she was true, that my eyes saw the water woman, that my ears heard her prophecy, for here is the man she foretold. Here is the man whom I cherish most deeply. So tell me, Thalo, will you drink with me?’
Thalo did not say anything just yet, his thoughts lying not with Awldano, but with his seer and her prophecy, and with another fellow’s fearful words.
‘I am gripped,’ said Awldano, ‘by a love unlike any I have known. I wish to bind myself to you forevermore, to death and beyond!’
‘No,’ said Thalo, and he tried to say more, but his words all caught on one another as his breathing quickened, and his skin grew hot, and his voice failed him altogether. Awldano took him in his arms and held him close, and then, after a moment, he pulled away. ‘You have told me about your water woman. Let me tell you about my elf.’
Then Thalo told Awldano about his dealings with Knale, about his role in the killing of the trolls, and about their final meeting at Ayrpor.
‘I fear he has put some curse on me, that all of those I love, all whom I hold dear, will be brought to ruin. I dare not believe it—surely one could not wield such power, however ancient he might be—but when I look at you, Awldano, I cannot put the words out of my mind. None can tell what strife I may bring upon you.’
Awldano took Thalo in his arms once more, and he said, ‘Have no fear. You need not trust the cunning words of cunning folk.’
And once more, Thalo pulled away from him.
‘I imagine,’ said Awldano, ‘we have each heard many a story of sly games and false curses. There is nothing to it. He cannot harm us, but even if he could, it will not come to that. Drink with me, Thalo, and fate will ever ward us, and we will live long together.’
‘How can you be sure?’
Awldano kissed Thalo’s cheek. ‘I would sooner walk through fire and ice than grow old and hoary without you. May sword and spear strike me down, if it means I will yet be beside you.’ Then he took Thalo’s hand in his own, lifted them together, and cried out, ‘O mighty fate, bring forth calamity! Bring forth calamity, if I must endure it to love him!’
‘Do not speak of such dooms. I will not condemn you so.’
‘You need not condemn me. If fate should flounder and ruin should beckon, let me condemn myself.’
Thalo remained reluctant, but he saw in Awldano’s eyes such desperate hope that he could not deny him. Without another word, he nodded once, and they each fell upon the other.
Upon their parting, they took off their clothes and waded into the water together. Before the waterfall, they caught its flow, and as Awldano drank from Thalo’s hands, Thalo drank from his. Then Awldano brushed Thalo’s back, gently drawing the water up his spine and across his shoulders, and kissed the back of his neck.
‘Let yourself be unburdened,’ he said, ‘from the weight of evil words.’
Thalo turned around, put his arms about Awldano, and he kissed him.
They spent a little while longer at Lewvanvek and departed in the afternoon.
But once they had left the cavern, from the river emerged Water-Nela, and she was grimacing.
‘Killer of my kin,’ she said to herself, ‘wearer of my water, long have I awaited you. What is lost is lost for good, but it can be avenged. Fate is wholly inexorable.’
And then she spoke that same refrain:
‘Let he who deals be dealt the worst;
twice-over doomed, twice-over cursed.’
* * *
Thalo and Awldano were wed in the autumn after the main harvest. Karvalo hosted a feast in their honour, and he made it an event worthy of his hall, but it was decidedly quieter than Essero’s had been earlier that year.
Before they went to the hall, Seyglena came to the room where Thalo and Awldano were preparing themselves, and she bade Awldano leave, that she could speak privately with Thalo. Awldano granted her that.
Seyglena sat down and said, ‘Awldano speaks highly of you, Thalo, and much more so than many others.’
‘He is my husband,’ said Thalo.
‘As Karvalo is mine, but that is beside the point. Tell me, would you speak highly of him?’
‘I would.’
‘Then why are you so full of doubt? I hear it clearly enough in your voice, as if some dread weight drags out your every breath, each one spent against your will. Why?’
Thalo did not know how he might respond to this, but Seyglena would not let him be silent.
‘It is a strange fear,’ he said, speaking one truth to hide another, ‘to be the reason for this meal.’
‘Then take comfort,’ said Seyglena. ‘You are not the reason anyone is here. They are here for dinner. Your marriage is incidental to that, but an excuse for three drinks more. Do what you must to enjoy it, for we each have only so many feasts held in our honour. You have one more after this, and you will not be there for it.’
Then Seyglena rose and left the room. If she had meant to provide Thalo any comfort, she had not done at all well.
Now Thalo combed his hair and made his way into the hall. Karvalo was already sitting at the middle of the high table. Thalo sat one seat along, and they said nothing to one another. When Awldano arrived and sat between them, Karvalo arose, had one of the musicians toot his horn, and the hall fell quiet.
‘Oy-oy!’ he said, and the room cheered it back. ‘Hear me! We gather this evening, to feast for my son, Awldano, that greatest and most honourable man, and also his husband. I invite each of you to partake of my food and my drink, to make merry and spread good cheer on this happiest of days. But I encourage you likewise to hold yourselves with the grace and dignity expected of my hall. I will not be saying it twice, and there will be no warnings. Oy-oy.’
The room cheered in return, and they all got on with other things.
As Karvalo spoke, Thalo saw Ormana come into the hall with Kolmago at her side, but not Esleyna. He gave her a nod, and she returned it, then sat at a bench near the end of the hall.
Later on, Karvalo had the wedding horn fetched. This was brought forth and placed at the front of the high table, a most marvellous vessel. It was carven from the horn of a bull, bound in silver and wreathed in gold, and etched with many images of the lovers Lota and Gaydea drinking against the troll Nawko. Karvalo arose again, called for quiet, and then urged Sedweo to stand up and sing a fitting song.
‘At once!’ said Sedweo, and bouncing up and down, he spoke these verses:
‘Hark ye and hear my tale to tell,
of love, of drink, of things gone well!
Gaydea did so long to wed
her Lota fair, and so she said,
“Loffalo proud, my lord so stern,
might we be wed if we two earn
the father’s favour, e’er held back,
the only love our lives yet lack;
if we poor two, together one,
with horn of highs, with blood of fun,
should best thy best in that gay game,
whate’er their stock, whate’er their name?”
‘Loffalo now long thought, and stalled,
until he swore an oath and called
his favoured drunk, that choicest sot,
the guzzler troll, the grouch, the grot;
how Nawko roared, so fat and broad,
and as he sat, the drinks were poured.
‘Gaydea first put back her part,
those thoughts of love bound in her heart.
She gulped and glugged and downed with zeal
each fresh-poured horn, each drunkard’s meal,
while fastened in that girl-grabbed head,
she held her hopes that she’d be wed
to Lota dear, her brightest hope,
but ‘spite that love, she could not cope.
She was no match for wet-tongued boor;
for all she drank, he drank yet more.
And though she drank and drank so well,
she toppled quick, and down she fell.
‘Left senseless, she was dragged away
while Nawko saw as clear as day;
she boaked and spewed and hurled in fits,
while Nawko thought with all his wits.
He laughed and croaked in pleasured tones,
with joyful jokes and moistened groans,
to see his foe, the girls’ best chance,
sprawled on the floor in soaken trance,
then looked to Lota’s face of care
above her love, hands round her hair,
so keen to free her dearest mate
from wretched throes of mullered fate.
‘“Arise, my love,” she said with pain,
beneath the gaze of drink-fain thane.
“I beg that thee, my love-laid dear,
should kindly words with clear head hear:
this foe we face must be laid low,
but in my breast, I fear I know
that I alone, the softer tongue,
willn’t see this match be rightly won.
So heed me, dear, on bended knees:
arise, my love, I beg thee please!”
‘But though these words were softly said,
no heart-loosed plea could soothe that head.
As Lota looked upon her friend,
that lovèd chum she could not mend,
she knew at once what must be done;
it fell to her to see this won.
So forth she came, one goal alone:
to shove the git from sodden throne.
‘Of wine she drank, that love-spurred lass,
her gulping grim, her coughing crass,
and Nawko too, he drank the same,
new horn and more, their hearts aflame,
each keen to be the winning throat,
to of their tongues soon rightly gloat.
All night and on they drank and drank,
till all was done, till Nawko sank!
The sot was down, too spiffed to think,
for all that booze and all that drink,
while Lota fair kept steady head,
but merried some and flushed all red.
‘Loffalo quickly swelled with rage,
but just as quick he wrought its cage.
Though hurt to see his best drunk lose,
an oath’s an oath—he’d not refuse
to wed to Lota, his dear girl,
Gaydea sly, the tawdry churl.
‘So wed were they with joy-starred eyes,
and time then passed, as oft it flies,
with each stood close by lovèd wife
to hold her dear, make good her life
with heartfelt care for cherished spouse,
that love which quelled the jeering souse.
And with that love they each had vowed,
they eased the heart of one e’er proud,
Loffalo grim, that heart so stern,
whose favour they had fought to earn,
that he, in time, his folly saw,
for ne’er had he been jolly more
than when he drank all gay and fain,
and laughed as one with dearest twain.
‘That is, fine folk, my tale to tell,
of love, of drink, of things gone well.
And since Gaydea longed to wed
her Lota fair, it’s e’er been said:
“Put up thy cup in earnest hand,
and drink thy love, that good oaths stand.”’
When Sedweo was done, he cheered an ‘Oy-oy!’ and received one in reply, and he did a little jig because he was very drunk.
Thalo and Awldano each stood up and linked arms, and Seyglena took up the wedding horn. She first presented this to Awldano, who took a long sip of the wine, and Thalo did the same, and then Karvalo drank for the witnesses. Finally, Seyglena spat into the wine, took a sip herself, and splashed the rest onto the fire. Thus was the marriage fastened.
Thalo later found his way to Ormana’s side. After she congratulated him, he noted that Esleyna had not come to dinner. He asked her how she was.
‘Oh!’ said Ormana. ‘How she maddens me! Utterly miserable! I understand that well enough—I often feel the same way. Not a day goes by without me thinking of my father, of what was lost, and what can never be regained. But that was some time ago now. I cried, and I smiled, and I got on with things, but she will not. I wish I could help her, but she will not allow it, and neither will she help herself. We, I fear, are stuck. Yes, it is as if we are in a bog. Kolmago is free of it—he is over in the grass, wishing he had taken another path, but glad at least to be beyond the worst of it—yet my mother and I are still in the mud. I am trying to get myself out, to push through and pull myself up, but I cannot. I have my mother’s hand in mine, and she is lying face-first in the peat, waiting for it to swallow. I dare not release her hand, Thalo—I dare not abandon her—but as long as I cling to her, I cannot free myself. I need to get her out of it before it consumes us both, but she will not allow it. It is a wretched place to be. I know not what I ought to do.’
Nor did Thalo know what he ought to say, so he put his arms around her and gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder. After a moment, Ormana stepped back.
‘No,’ she said, ‘this is a day for joy. You are smiling at last, and I ought not let my woes steal that from you.’
The wedding games were played on the next day. Thalo and Awldano led opposing teams in the rope pulling, although Thalo was very unwilling to take part in this. He only agreed because everyone else threatened to abuse him if he did not. I have been told it was once customary in those parts for newlyweds to lead opposing sides in a contest of this sort, but I have never heard of another such example.
There were many other games, and at the end of the day, Solmodo won the barrel, as he always did. A chap named Kettelo Brows took the rag.
There is absolutely nothing more to be said about the wedding.