The Scribe and the Sword
Part One
“Tell me another story,” the cub demanded.
“The sun’s coming up soon, and you need your rest. So do I. Another night.”
“Please!” the cub whined plaintively, bouncing on the little wooden stool with impatience. “Tell me the story of Clearbrook and the sword.”
“Again? You only like that one because you’re in it.”
“Please? I promise I’ll be good.”
“I’ve already told three howls tonight–”
“Fine!” The cub got to her feet, shaking out the folds of her patchwork leather dress. “I’ll go ask Wesh to tell me!” she informed her with a haughty toss of the head. “He tells it better anyhow!”
Kit sighed. “All right, cubling. Come here.” She gathered the six-year-old in her arms and set her on her lap. “Now this howl took place not too long ago–”
“Eight years ago!”
“Am I telling the story or are you? Though I daresay you know it well enough to tell it yourself. Now... where was I? This story took place not too long ago... on an evening in the leaf-fall not unlike any other. I suppose you could say it began with a dream... or a thought... a wish to become more than we are, and a will to see it through. But those words are the makings of a dull tale there, aren’t they, cubling? No... let’s tell it plainly. Because really, it all began with Clearbrook’s broken sword...”
They had planned the hunt well. The hunters had been eyeing the great stag for several moons now. He had shepherded his harem of females through the summer and defended his herd against intruders during the autumn rut. Now many of the females surely carried his offspring. The old stag had lived a long life, and the elves knew he would never see a leaf-fall in so noble a condition. It was right that he should die now, still just in the prime of life, before old age and starvation thinned his fine bones and clouded his clear eyes.
They chose only their finest hunters and their fastest wolves. They set out before dusk, to catch the herd off guard in the late afternoon mist. Clearbrook and Nightfall harried the stag on wolfback, separating him from the herd. Woodlock and Redlance held the other deer away as the wolves drove the stag straight for the elm tree where Kit and Strongbow were waiting, arrows nocked.
But suddenly everything went wrong. The stag reared up, trying to box Skitter in the skull, and the young wolf panicked, throwing Nightfall hard on her tailbone. Redlance rode in, spear at the ready. In a haze of adrenaline, Skitter threw himself on the stag, trying to seize its jugular. And then Clearbrook leapt clear off her own wolf to land on the stag’s shaggy back.
The scene became a wild melee of fur and limbs. Neither Kit nor her father could get a clear shot at the stag. The stag bucked once more, kicking out at Clearbrook’s wolf. Then it reared on its hind legs and toppled over. The hunters rushed in to finish the kill. When the dust cleared, the stag lay dead with Clearbrook’s sword imbedded in its shoulder, while Clearbrook herself lay some distance away, clutching her sword arm.
“Don’t – ahh!” Clearbrook cried out when Redlance tried to assess her wound. “Nngh... popped it clean out of place...” Redlance removed his cloth shirt and lashed it around Clearbrook’s arm, binding it to her ribs.
“Woodlock. Take her back to your lifemate,” he commanded.
Woodlock bore the injured hunter away, while Redlance paced over the stag. A good hunt, he thought to himself as he reached for Clearbrook’s sword. A hard chase, a worthy prey, and a clean, swift kill.
He took hold of Clearbrook’s sword and tried to pull it free, but it was lodged deep in the stag’s shoulder. Planting one boot on the animal, he yanked will all his might.
The sword broke free, but only half the blade came loose with the hilt.
“Oh, puckernuts...” Redlance moaned, examining the shattered blade. “Clearbrook’s going to kill me.”
But it was not the chief’s fault. When they butchered the animal later that night they found the broken pieces of brightmetal scattered throughout the fat, and the tip of the sword still lodged deep in the bone.
Rainsong righted Clearbrook’s arm by nightfall, though it was still badly bruised. But Clearbrook took the loss of her sword harder than the injury to her arm.
“I’m so sorry, Clearbrook,” Redlance said, offering her the remains of her weapon.
“It’s not your fault. It’s only... after all this time, done in by one bad thrust – just a hair off.” She weighed the metal in her left hand. “Look at how thin it’s worn... eight eights times eight turns of use... and then some.”
“Littlefire can make you a fine blackstone dagger,” Kit prompted. “Isn’t that right?” she looked to her lifemate, who crouched in the corner of Rainsong’s den, close to the door and the fresh air.
“Um... yes, yes,” Littlefire replied distractedly. “Or a spearhead.”
“Thanks just the same,” Clearbrook said. “But a stone dagger won’t take the place of a good brightmetal blade.”
“I want you to rest this arm,” Rainsong said. “I am not half the healer my father is, and I cannot promise you the sinew will not tear again if you exert yourself.”
“Listen to her, lifemate,” One-Eye counselled. “Stay in the Holt for the next moon-dance.”
“No worries,” Clearbrook sighed. “What good is a sword-arm without a sword?”
“Is that a riddle?” Littlefire asked. He looked to Kit for guidance.
“No, lifemate,” she said gently. “It’s just truth.”
Clearbrook shifted on the fur pillows. “It’s a problem... and it’ll become a serious one, soon enough. We’ve done well for ourselves with Littlefire’s blackstone. But as time goes on, the rest of our metal will tire and break. And blackstone is too brittle for anything larger than a hand-axe or a dagger-point.”
“Aye,” One-Eye stroked his little beard. “We’ve gone all these years without having to ask any trolls for metal. I’d hate to go begging for brightmetal now...”
“Sun Folk have metal,” Littlefire offered. “W-we could go see them.”
“Why shouldn’t we Wolfriders learn to forge metals?” Clearbrook asked the air softly. No one gave her an answer. She did not expect one.
The stag’s hide became new winter clothes for those in need, and One-Eye set to carving the bones into new fishing hooks, arrowheads and spearpoints. The snows settled in around the Evertree, and the Wolfriders fell into the idleness of the white-cold hibernation. The supplies of dried meat kept them healthy when prey was scarce, and the long winter nights were spent bundled inside their warm tree dens. Clearbrook nursed her sore shoulder, frequently returning to Rainsong’s den for new healings as the cold penetrated the bone and caused the joint to throb with pain.
“You’re not giving it time to heal properly,” the healer told her.
“It’s more than that. More than just the shoulder. My bones ache with the winter wind.”
“Don’t start howling for the old wolf, Grandmother,” Rainsong scolded her gently. “You’re not so ancient. What is it? You’ve been sick at heart since your sword broke. I cannot believe this is all mourning for a lost weapon.”
“No... it’s more. And the truth is... I was sick at heart before the sword broke. But I don’t think I realized it before I was forced to bed.”
“What is the cause?”
Clearbrook shrugged. “I don’t know. I only know... I feel restless. I find it harder and harder to live in the Now. I run in my dreams like a wolf chasing its own tail. I don’t know why.”
“Perhaps Kit can help you,” Rainsong suggested. “I hear Littlefire has a dreamberry wine for every mood.”
Clearbrook went to Kit’s bower at the canopy of the great Evertree. She drank Littlefire’s dreamberry wine and Kit’s memory tea. She closed her eyes and tried to relieve the dreams that disturbed her sleep. But she could manage nothing more than blurry images.
“I am deep inside Blue Mountain... searching for Swift...” she murmured through the haze of the drug. “Though I’ve been here before, I don’t know my way about. There is no scent trail to follow.... The stone walls... dark and covered with raised symbols – they come to life... threaten....” she frowned. “I know they’re not real... no... they are only dreams. But there are enemies made of flesh here... Winnowill’s Chosen Eight. At every turn... I am braced for their attack. I can see... something moving in the darkness – Two-Edge!” she cried out.
“It’s all right...” Kit whispered. “It’s only a dream. Come out of it.”
“I’m lost.” Clearbrook rubbed her forehead. “I can’t remember anything else... just... visions of rocks, the sharp scent of trolls...”
“It’s not unexpected.”
“What?”
“Your sword. The last time you wielded it in battle was at Blue Mountain, wasn’t it?”
“You know the howls well.”
“You’re reliving the old days... the times of danger and fear. Because even as you sleep, you mourn the loss of your weapon. You fear to be caught without it.”
“Sometimes... you frighten me, cub. Can you read me as plainly as you read your howling hides?”
Kit smiled and shook her head.
“So what do I do?” Clearbrook asked. “How do I ease this restlessness in me?”
“I think you know.”
“Do you?” One-Eye asked her as they lay in their bed of furs, watching the snow fall beyond the tree-shaped window in their bower. Clearbrook shrugged and buried her face in the furs.
“You do, don’t you?” he probed, twining a lock of her long silver hair around his finger. **Perth? What is it?**
**You’ll think it foolish,** she sent. **Crazy... far too cloud-headed for your steady Clearbrook.**
“Tell me...” he whispered gently.
She rolled over in bed to face him. Tears sparkled in her eyes.
“Even as we followed Swift... to the Frozen Mountains and the New Land... I could never quite understood what drove her on her quests. That... restless fever for something just out of reach. The fire in your heart. Swift has it. Rayek has it. Hah – Redlance’s little cub has it, and I’m sure he’s wished more than once she didn’t. But for me... I’ve always been the calm water.”
“Until now.”
**Yes! Oh, Sur... now I understand what it is that’s always burned in Swift’s heart. The hunger... the aching need... like Recognition. Can one Recognize a dream?**
He stroked her hair back from her face. **Share your dream with me, Perth. What is it you hunger for?**
**A sword. A brightmetal blade forged by my own hand. And not just because I miss my old weapon,** she added hastily. **Because... because there’s no good reason Wolfriders shouldn’t forge metal as trolls do, as the Sun Folk do. Because I chase danger in my dreams, and I long to... to get between my chief and my kin and all the dangers there are to face. Because...**
“What?”
“I’m afraid.”
“Of what, lifemate?”
She averted her eyes. “All these seasons... one holt... one territory. With no Recognitions since gentle Kit was born. It used to be different. There used to be deaths. And terrible battles. And new lives to replace those lost. We used to change with the seasons. Yet now we do not. We do not change. We do not grow. And I cannot help but fear.... Will we become another Blue Mountain... deathless but lifeless as well? Or will death and danger come back into the Holt, when we least expect it? Will we be ready? Will I be ready?”
“You’ve always been ready,” One-Eye reassured her, brushing a soft kiss against her brow.
“I feel stagnation’s approach sometimes,” she whispered. “I feel myself growing old and brittle as a leaf in death-sleep. I need to live again, Sur. I need to chance the danger.”
“You know I’ll be ever at your side.”
She smiled fondly up at him. Gingerly as always, she traced her fingertips around the shiny scar that covered his right eye socket. “I know. My dear friend. You alone could give me the strength to see this dream through.”
Clearbrook waited until the first thaw of spring to request the tribal council. The gentle sounds of meltwater trickling away filled the air around the Evertree as the Wolfriders meet deep within its living walls.
The council chamber was a great vaulted space in the heart of the Evertree, where Redlance’s treeshaping had held the founding oaks from merging into one trunk. Several little tallow candles threw great shadows against the wooden walls, yet scarcely illuminated the faces of the Wolfriders. It did not matter; save for Littlefire, they were all wolf-blooded, and their eyes glowed in the scant light.
“I ask the tribe’s leave to journey beyond the Holt’s bounds,” Clearbrook began, “and seek an answer to the mystery of metal-forging. Littlefire’s skill in stonework is unmatched among the Wolfriders, but even he cannot knap a sword’s blade out of blackstone. The trolls have always guarded the secret of their forges. Yet the smiths of the Sun Folk have proven elves too can learn to forge weapons of metal. I would like to learn that secret for our tribe.”
Her request caught some by surprise, while others simply smiled knowingly.
“I never would have imagined you’d be the one to hunger for metalwork, Clearbrook,” Redlance said.
“Nor I, had you asked me a few turns ago. But something’s burning inside me, my chief.”
“But why metal?” Moonshade asked.
**Aye,** Strongbow sent. **Why bother? What’s wrong with stone, bone and crystal weapons? What need have you for a sword in the forest anyway?**
“Perhaps we needed swords in wars and mad quests,” Moonshade said. “But those days are behind us. Wolfriders used no metal in the days of Two-Spear or Goodtree. The days of swords – of fighting humans and trolls – they were only abberations.”
“In the long line of chiefs, perhaps,” Nightfall said. “But that’s no promise those days may not return.” She slowly withdrew her dagger from its sheath and held it up to the candlelight. “I struggle to remember the day my mother gave me this. She always taught me that danger comes in many forms. One can never say what shape it will take. I fill my quiver with blackstone arrows every night. But I would never hunt with half such courage if I did not carry this metal blade at my side.”
“Well spoken,” Rainsong said. “It’s a worthy dream, Clearbrook.”
“It’s against the Way,” Moonshade argued. “Will you work in a troll’s cave, living off smoke and ash and forging weapons that Wolfriders were never meant to wield?”
“Now wait a minute,” One-Eye began. “Are you calling Clearbrook against the Way?”
“Enough,” Redlance said calmly. “There will be plenty of time to debate the uses of metal to a Wolfrider. And... it has always seemed to me that the Way was founded to tell us who we are, not what we cannot be. Clearbrook, we would welcome your gift of metalwork to the tribe.”
“Thank you, my chief.”
“And, One-Eye, I imagine you’ll be at your lifemate’s side,” Nightfall said.
One-Eye nodded. Strongbow scowled.
**Now we will be without two of our hunters.**
“Which is why we waited until the thaw to ask,” Clearbrook said. “We ask for no more than one turn of the seasons – time enough to seek a teacher, and learn the craft. I promise, we will return by this coming white-cold, before your stores are emptied.”
Redlance nodded. “We have been a tribe of eight before. We will continue hunt and howl when you are gone. But we will howl even louder for you when you return to us.”
“So...” Nightfall said. “You make for the Sun Folk’s Oasis.”
Clearbrook and One-Eye exchanged glances. “I... have in mind a closer destination,” Clearbrook said at length. “In my dreams, I find myself walking down familiar tunnels of Blue Mountain. I thought at first as you did, Kit. That the dreams were born of old fears. But I think they are telling me something else. Where better to learn the secret craft of the trolls than in halls of the Master Smith?”
“Two-Edge?” Strongbow sputtered out aloud. **You’d go to that – that creature who would have lead us to our doom in the Palace War?**
“You forget, Two-Edge helped us defeat Winnowill at Blue Mountain,” Nightfall said.
**He’s still mad!** Strongbow thundered.
“So am I,” Littlefire remarked calmly from his perch high above. Redlance had shaped it for him long before so he could listen in on council without being overwhelmed by his tribemates' presence. “So you say,” he added. “But he’s my father’s cousin. That means he’s my cousin too.”
“He and his family have lived peacefully in the ruins of Blue Mountain for many eights of eights,” Clearbrook said. “I am certain he would welcome our visit.”
“Would he?” Redlance asked. “Were I you, I would ask Sunstream to help you send to him. I’m as willing to forgive as any, but I do not know if I would simply ‘drop by Blue Mountain’ wishing for the best.”
Clearbrook flushed. “Well said.”
The council was all but over, with Redlance’s blessing sought and received. But Strongbow could scarcely help but end with one last ominous prediction.
**I don’t like it,** he sent. ** Nothing good has ever come out of Blue Mountain.*
Spring was in full bloom at the Evertree as Clearbrook and One-Eye prepared for their long journey. Their hope was to reach Blue Mountain before midsummer, learn the craft throughout the warm months, and return to the Holt before winter set in. “An elf can learn to tan leathers within a season,” Clearbrook said whenever anyone suggested the project might take longer. “And once we learned to wage war in the span of a moon-dance. Can metal-work be so different?”
The late afternoon hung over the Holt, cool and wet, as One-Eye woke to patrol the woods surrounding the Evertree. Many of the elves were still dozing, as were their wolves. One-Eye liked the solitude of the afternoon. It gave him time alone with his thoughts.
His young wolf Flintsmoke joined him as he waded through the carpet of new green ferns slowly overtaking the forest floor. The wolf flushed out a bird, and One-Eye craned his neck back to watch it take it flight.
An arrow whistled through the trees. The bird fell to the ground, pierced through the heart.
“Kit?” One-Eye called. “Hey, Flintsmoke, leave it!” he commanded the wolf.
A few moments later, the archer dropped down from the trees to claim her prey. “You’re up early,” Kit remarked cheerfully.
“Not as early as you, it seems.”
“Couldn’t sleep with all the larksong. Thought I’d catch myself a little something for later. The new-green’s come back to the land. Your travel to Blue Mountain should be without incident.”
“No travel is ever without its dangers.” He shrugged. “Shouldn’t take more than a moon-dance to reach the old mountain. Wouldn’t mind if it took longer, really. Can’t say I fancy the idea of sealing myself inside rock. but if it’ll help Clearbrook forge her sword... well...” he shrugged again, lamely.
“Do you believe in her quest?”
“It’s not for me to say.” He shrugged. “This is no sort of dream I’ve ever shared. No sort of dream I could imagine. Yet I will see it through with her... whether it comes true or no.”
“Clearbrook could not ask for a truer lifemate.” Kit gave his shoulder a friendly pat. “I’ll save the best hide of the season for your tale.”
“There’s no tale yet, cub.”
“Cub?” Kit raised an eyebrow. She could not help but tease him. “In the days of the old howls, I’d be a tribe elder.”
One-Eye had the good grace to look abashed. “Ah... I’m sorry. I guess... were you a lad you’d be sprouting face-fur by now, wouldn’t you? But you’ll forgive an old growler, Kit. I may have my heart in the Now, but I’m afraid my old head gets stuck in the past.”
Kit bent down to remove the arrow from the bird. “It’ll be a good tale, One-Eye. You’ll see.” She tied the birds’ legs together with a leather thong. She got to her feet and lifted the bird to sling over her shoulder, but One-Eye’s wolf leapt at her, planting his oversized paws on her shoulders and licking her face. Kit cried out in surprise, dropping her kill.
“Agh, Flintsmoke, get off,” she sputtered, pushing the wolf away. “Phew, what were you rolling in?”
“Flintsmoke!” One-Eye barked. “Don’t mind him.” He reached down to retrieve the bird. “He’ll be cured of his pup ways by the time we come back from the mountain. Here you go.” He reached up to hand Kit the bird.
Kit took the bird from his hand, but he would not release it. His eyes remained locked on her face.
“One-Eye...?” Kit asked. His face had become stricken. Kit felt a shudder run down her spine.
“You... look.. different,” One-Eye breathed. **Tayr?**
“Lifemate...” One-Eye whispered in Clearbrook’s ear, waking her from her slumber. She rolled over and smiled sleepily at him. But one look at his sorrow-filled face and she was wide awake.
“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” She stared deep into his single eye, puzzled at the strange new light glowing within. Beads of cold sweat dotted his brow. Unable to meet her gaze, he looked away, chewing his lip nervously. Clearbrook felt her heart sink as she remembered all the signs.
“Recognition?”
One-Eye nodded.
“Who?”
“Kit.”
“Kit.” Clearbrook struggled to remain composed. She slowly sat up, wrapping the fur about her shoulders. “Kit. Have you...?”
“No. Not yet. I could not without telling you first. And she is telling Littlefire.”
“Do the others know?”
“No.”
“Good.”
**Perth... this changes nothing between us.**
She glared up at him, suddenly seething with resentment. “You will have a child I cannot share with you. Don’t tell me nothing changes.”
He shook his head. “It will not be like that. Kit and I part ways once it is done. She will raise the cub in her den.” He laughed humourlessly. “Like as not the child will think Littlefire his father.”
Clearbrook looked away.
“This was not my choice, Clearbrook!” he insisted.
“I know. And the tribe needs new life. And Recognition... is Recognition. Only a fool would try to deny such a simple truth.”
She could not hide the bitterness in her words. **Perth,** he begged. **Please...**
**Go,** she sent. **Go to her. And then come back to me.** When she at last looked up, tears filled her eyes. **Please, say you’ll come back as my Sur.**
He embraced her fiercely. **I will,** he promised. **I will still be your Sur. And you will be my Perth. Nothing can change that. I swear it!**
One-Eye found Kit waiting for him at the Crow’s Nest, the lookout shaped at the very summit of the Evertree. She sat against the tree wall, her knees drawn up to her chest. Reading the discomfort plain on her face, One-Eye sat opposite her.
“You look like a cornered ravvit,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
“I feel like one,” Kit ground out.
“How... how did Littlefire take the news?”
She laughed suddenly. “Better than I! Asked me if we were still lifemates. Asked me if it means I’m going to have you sending in my head all the time. Then he told me, ‘You should go do it.’”
“Mm. An unpleasant task to be completed as soon as possible.”
“You’re a dear friend, One-Eye. You know that. But–”
“But...” he nodded. “You’d rather a child with your lifemate, as I’d rather a child with mine.”
“I don’t think Littlefire can sire cubs,” Kit said. “He... he is too much like the ancient Firstcomers... his mind... I don’t think it could understand Recognition anymore than it understands the rest of the world.”
“You never know,” One-Eye said lamely.
“No. You never do. But to tell the truth, One-Eye... it never mattered a great deal to me whether I would have a cub with Littlefire or not. I’m not like Nightfall or Rainsong... I’ve never felt a burning need to have a cub. And I’ve never much enjoyed the prospect of Recognition. Oh, it makes a fine howl, Recognition. Except for the times it is unwanted.”
One-Eye flinched. “The child we will make is unwanted?”
“Unasked-for! Timmorn’s blood – even the wolves have more choice than we! A wolf can seek his own mate. A wolf is never... forced!”
“You know I do not mean to force you, Kit.”
“No, you do not. And I would rather it be with a trusted tribemate than a stranger...if it must be...”
“But we are both forced by the bloodsong,” he finished for her.
“I do not like this bloodsong. It’s a shrill pain in my ears.” Suddenly she looked very young and vulnerable. One-Eye felt his heart go out to her. It wasn’t right. Recognition should be a joyous affair. He at least had the memories of two such joys to comfort him. For all he knew, this would be Kit’s only time, and it brought only sorrow.
He struggled to find words to comfort her. “I’ve Recognized twice before,” he said slowly. “Sired two fine cubs... and they’ve gone on to have cubs themselves. I have done my share of child-rearing. This... this cub will be yours... and Littlefire’s alone. I... will not interfere.”
Kit smiled sadly. “No. This cub will be as much yours as mine. We... will find a way to share the child... between the entire tribe.”
“It’s a small Holt,” he agreed. “There’s no reason we cannot share the burden, and the joy.”
“With our lifemates,” Kit said pointedly.
“Exactly.”
Kit licked her lips nervously, and One-Eye felt a sudden flush. It wasn’t desire. But it was something equally undeniable. A primal need. Like thirst. It had been this way with Clearbrook. But there had been love too. With Kit there was only confusion. His blood burned for her, but his heart ached to his lifemate, alone and crying in their den.
“One-Eye... can I ask something of you?”
“Anything.”
“Do not use my soulname again. Please.”
Her voice was so pleading, her eyes so filled with fear. He could not help but nod in assent.
It had to be done quickly. He had to silence the voice screaming “Tayr” in his mind. Then he could return to Clearbrook. Then the trust Recognition had shattered between him and Kit could be rebuilt.
She was as nervous as he. He could practically see her pulse throbbing at her throat.
He held out his hand. Kit hesitated, then took it.
“I... am a little out of practice,” Kit mumbled, blushing. “It’s been ages since I’ve been with anyone but Littlefire.”
Curiosity overcame him. “But... you and he... do join?”
Kit risked a shy smile. “Not quite as you do.” She tapped her temple for emphasis.
For a moment he strained to imagine a lovemaking of sendings, as it surely must have been for the ancient High Ones. For a moment he felt a wolfish flash of jealousy that she would give her soul to a waif like Littlefire and not to him. But then the moment passed and he realized it was just the drug of Recognition.
“It will be swiftly done,” One-Eye said lamely.
“Yes,” Kit replied without illusions.
It was a shaky truce. But Recognition needed little more.
Littlefire was still dozing in bed when Kit climbed back into their den. “Hmph...” he mumbled as she crawled back under the covers. “It over?”
“Yes.”
“So you’ve got a cub in you?”
“Yes.” The same toneless response.
“Kit?”
“Yes?”
“I think I’m going to keep sleeping.”
Kit closed her eyes tight and bit back a sudden laugh. Or perhaps it was a sob.
One-Eye returned to his den to find Clearbrook gone. Her leathers and weapons were missing too, and the furs carefully rearranged over the den floor.
Secrets could not be kept in the Evertree. Word of the Recognition spread throughout the Eldertree, and Redlance called an informal council to congratulate the parents-to-be. And if their tribemates found it odd that the newly Recognized pair were sitting well apart from each other on the low hanging tree branches, no one mentioned it.
“At last!” Moonshade exclaimed. “The Evertree will ring with the laughter of young! A Holt is never truly a home until it has seen the birth of the next generation.” She reached up to touch Kit’s hand. “And you, my daughter, the youngest of us, to bear a cub to our eldest Wolfrider. How mysterious Recognition is!”
**No reason to it,** Strongbow affirmed, watching One-Eye carefully. **But we must trust its ways.**
“Our tribe has always been a little small for comfort since Spar left us for good,” Redlance said. “Let us hope this will be the first of many new Recognitions.”
“There are precious few of us left to Recognize,” One-Eye said cryptically.
“How are you, my daughter?” Moonshade held Kit’s hand in hers. “Oh, your poor head must be spinning. Nothing will ever be the same for you, now. Ah, I envy the adventures you will have now. I remember when I recognized your father for the first time – I knew I had changed forever.”
“Kit didn’t need to change,” Littlefire threw back pointedly from his perch. “She was fine the way she was!”
“It’s never easy, making the adjustment,” Moonshade insisted. “But you and One-Eye have years to learn and understand each other’s differences.”
“I know One-Eye,” Kit said defensively. “We’ve been friends and tribemates for years.”
One-Eye got up from his branch and walked over to sit closer to Clearbrook, who had chosen a seat across from the tribe’s healer. Strongbow’s careful scrutiny became a glare.
**And what’s between you two now?** he sent.
“Well... it seems Recognition has a plan,” One-Eye said. “It always does.” He smiled fondly at Clearbrook. “Gave me two precious cubs with my lifemate, and now.. it’s chosen to give me a third with an old friend. And though it was unexpected and unsought, I consider a honour to be the sire of our howlkeeper’s cub.”
**Then you consider your part over?** Strongbow sent.
**Wyl, please,** Moonshade touched his arm. **Not now.**
One-Eye shrugged uncomfortably. “I follow Kit’s lead in all things. I’d never ask for more than she’d offer freely.”
Kit smiled hesitantly. “I was... quite unprepared for this. I suppose most are when Recognition strikes. But now... I think I am beginning to... adjust. As for the cub... I hope we will all take our turns bringing up the next Wolfrider.”
**Then you and One-Eye...** Moonshade locksent.
**No, Mother.**
“I suppose your quest to Blue Mountain will have to wait now,” Redlance said to Clearbrook and One-Eye.
Clearbrook shrank visibly in her seat. One-Eye looked flustered. His gaze darted to Kit, then back to his lifemate. “Uh... we haven’t yet –”
**You intend to go off to Blue Mountain and abandon my daughter – your Recognized?** Strongbow sent furiously.
“Of course... I’ll stay... if Kit wishes...” One-Eye stammered.
Clearbrook’s face fell. “Lifemate–”
Kit shook her head. “There’s no reason for you to stay, One-Eye.”
**No reason?**
**Father, enough!** Kit snapped in his head. Aloud and for all to hear, she said, “I’m hardly a cub in need of minders. I think One-Eye and Clearbrook should go. The matter of Recognition has been answered. The cub will not be born for two more turns. Time does not stop because someone is caught with child.”
“Nothing should be decided hastily,” Rainsong offered diplomatically. “Perhaps with time–”
“The seasons are turning,” Clearbrook said in a whisper. “If we hope to return before the jaws of the white-cold grip the land, we should go now.”
**And if you and One-Eye meet with disaster?** Strongbow demanded. **You’ve more than your own dream to think!**
“We are Wolfriders,” Clearbrook said. “We live in the Now, not in the 'What May Be.'”
“Kit, why aren’t you more concerned about this?” Moonshade whispered to her daughter.
**You have a responsibility to my daughter, One-Eye,** Strongbow insisted.
**I don’t need you to tell where my duty lies.**
**You cannot simply walk away from the bonds of Recognition.**
“There are no bonds between us!” One-Eye shouted, startling everyone.
Clearbrook got to her feet and strode away from the circle. One-Eye chased after her. Kit rose from her perch and began to climb the tree in search of Littlefire. Moonshade sighed into the palm of her side. Strongbow looked around, completely baffled.
“Ever the tactful one,” Redlance sighed.
**Perth,** One-Eye called to his lifemate. **Perth, wait, please.**
Clearbrook slowed her pace to let him catch up with her. He took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face him. “I meant what I said,” he told her. “There are no bonds between us. Not anymore. The deed is done.”
“Can you unlearn her soulname? Can she unlearn yours? Then do not tell me there are no bonds between you.”
“She is not my lifemate. You are.”
“But if she asked you... you would stay.”
He furrowed his brow. “If Redlance asked you to stay here... to abandon the quest... you would, wouldn’t you?”
“That’s not the same!” Clearbrook shoved his hands off him. “And I wouldn’t! I mean to make a brightmetal sword, and I’ll not stop until I have!”
She turned and began to storm away through the ferns. One-Eye hastened to keep pace.
“Clearbrook, please–”
Clearbrook collapsed to the ground with a cry, and tore up handfuls of new growth. “I hate this!” she cried. “I hate this fever in my blood! I hate this confusion. I know I should be happy for you and Kit. I do! And I should be thinking of the tribe. But I cannot think of the tribe now! I cannot feel joy!”
He knelt down beside her and rubbed her back as she wept. “Beloved...”
“You have two cubs with me – why wasn’t that enough? I know I’ll never Recognize again – my days of bearing young are far behind me. I’ve accepted it. But to watch you Recognize another – to know you’ll have a cub I cannot claim–”
“Kit’s cub!” He took her by the shoulders again. “Timmorn’s blood, you know I would have refused if I could have.”
“I know that!” she wept. “I know I am wrong to rage. This is not the Way. And that makes the pain even worse. But I feel, One-Eye. I feel!”
“I know! Oh, lifemate, I know.” He embraced her closely. “Believe me... I would have spared you this pain if I could have. If Recognition had to strike our den, I would have gladly borne the grief if you could have been the one to breed new life.”
“I am lost,” Clearbrook repeated, her voice softer as she spent her angry sobs. “I don’t know why. I can’t begin to explain...”
“You do not have to. Not with me.”
He held her until her shoulders no longer shook. At length her tears dried, and she rocked back on her heels. “I am selfish...” she murmured.
“No, Clearbrook–”
“I am. I would keep you fast beside me no matter the cost. But it’s wrong. You will be a father again. No matter what any other says, you alone can say where your place is.”
“At your side, lifemate.”
“I must go to Blue Mountain. I cannot explain why. I only know... this fever in me will never abate until I see this dream through.”
“Then go to Blue Mountain,” he told her. “And let me come with you.”
“What of Kit’s child?”
“The child won’t be born for another two turns of the seasons.”
“What if the quest takes longer? Many have doubted metal-work can be so quickly learned.”
“Then I will see the cub’s birth through whatever sendings Kit chooses to share with me.” He took her hands in his. “But my place is with you. Nothing can alter that.”
Clearbrook began to weep anew, now out of gratitude. One-Eye’s arms came up around her once more and they held each other tight.
“Take care,” Kit told One-Eye as they clasped hands in farewell. “I want my cub to know his sire... and not just through howls.”
“Neither of us have any intention of falling afoul of danger,” One-Eye assured her.
Strongbow maintained a resentful silence as the rest of the farewells were exchanged. When One-Eye glanced at him, his only answer was a stony glare. The meaning was clear enough. If you die and leave my daughter’s cub fatherless, I swear I will hound your spirit across this world forever.
“I do not see the reason in this quest,” Moonshade told Clearbrook as she offered the gift of new summer leathers. “But I’m sure it will be hot in the forges of Blue Mountain.”
“Thank you, Moonshade.” Clearbrook glanced at Kit, now returning to her mother’s side.
**He loves you as ever,** Kit sent to Clearbrook simply.
**I know. And thank you, Kit. For your blessing.**
**He’d have followed you without it.**
There seemed nothing left to say. Still the two travellers lingered apprehensively at the outskirts of the Holt, their Wolfrider blood urging them to stay. Few wolves ever willingly left the pack, and fewer still returned easily.
Finally they turned and mounted their wolves. Their few supplies were wrapped in the softest hides and strapped to their backs. The lifemates travelled light.
“Safe journey!” the Wolfriders of the Eldertribe called. “Ayooah Clearbrook! Ayooah One-Eye!”
One-Eye turned to wave back to them. But Clearbrook kept her eyes to the journey ahead.
The weather was fair and the two travellers made excellent time. Within a few days they had left the familiar surroundings of Holt territory. They followed their small stream until it joined a second stream to become a wide river. On their journey they crossed several more forks in the river, and each time the waterway grew. By times gentle, by times raging with rapids, the river was their guide. They followed it through dense woodlands and empty plains. The elders had to struggle to clearly recall the days of the first quest – the hunt for Swift which first took them to Blue Mountain. But they remember that eventually the faithful river would shatter into countless rapids and waterfalls as it neared the sea.
“Beyond where the Death Water falls...” Clearbrook murmured to herself.
After a moon-dance of travel, they entered human territory. They travelled only by night and slept fitfully by day. One-Eye suggested their leave the riverbank. “Surely the humans use the waterway – remember the rafts at Father Tree? If we continue towards Sun-Goes-Down, but a day’s ride south of the river.”
“No,” Clearbrook shook her head. “No. We stay with the river. It will show us the way. We stay by the river.”
Clearbrook was forever restless, fidgetting if poor weather or sore feet slowed them down. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, One-Eye wondered if perhaps one could Recognize a dream, and if this was the sickness of Recognition denied.
“Why a sword?” he asked her one night.
“It has never been done before. Not by a Wolfrider.”
“I thought Swift was the Chief of Changes. Since when does my Perth want to blaze a new trail?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.” After considering it a moment more, she continued, “Perhaps I want to be more than one leaf on a branch. I... I want to start a new shoot of my own.”
The nights were growing shorter and the dew fell lighter on the ground as they left the plains to return to forest. After two moons of travel they came to the Deathwater Falls. Before them lay the dark woodland of the Forbidden Grove.
“Blue Mountain used to sit on the horizon there,” One-Eye said. “Still hard to believe... that the old snake could bring a whole mountain done. And that we were there to see it. Easier to think of it as a dream.”
They found a path down by moonlight, not directly over the falls on vines as Swift and Rayek had done, but along a game trail trodden by deer and small cats away from the water’s spray. By morning they had reached the outer edge of the Forbidden Grove, and they stopped to rest in its dappled shade. One-Eye would have been glad for a nap, but Clearbrook was too nervous to lie down. Their goal was almost in sight.
They hiked through the grove all afternoon. The sun burned an angry red-gold in their eyes as they finally left the forest behind them and began to climb towards the foothills of the old mountain. They turned north and scrambled over blue-grey boulders. Smaller, worm-shaped bits of rock littering the floor underfoot.
“Still hard to believe...” One-Eye murmured as he struggled up a natural staircase of bare rock. “Harder still to believe anyone could live here. Would want to live here.”
“Ayooah!” a chipper voice bounced off the rocks. Clearbrook shaded her eyes from the sun as she looked up the hillside. Shenshen was standing on a rocky ledge above them, waving her arm wildly. The sun glinted off her shiny bodice made entirely of small gold coins. Gold glinted at her throat and topknots, and her hips were encircled by a fine belt set with precious stones.
“Shade and sweet water!” she called. “Welcome to Blue Mountain!”
Elfquest copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. Elfquest, its logos, characters, situations, all related indicia, and their distinctive likenesses are trademarks of Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Some dialogue taken from Elfquest comics. All such dialogue copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Alternaverse characters and insanity copyright 2014 Jane Senese and Erin Roberts