Withered
She stared again at the old tree outside, whipping in the wind. Long gnarled fingers scratched along the side of the sick house, whispering their dark promise in her ears. The tree outside the window was an old one, its leaves long ago fallen and never grown back. Twigs snapped off, one by one as it flailed against the side of the house, never to be replaced by new green shoots. The tree was dying, nay, was dead, held up only by its slowly rotting roots. She remembered watching the tree be planted here, just a few yards outside the healers hut. True, she had been but a girl then, barely up to her father’s waist, but she remembered even still. She still remembered the smell of the rich earth as it was turned over, the ever so fragile trunk placed so tenderly into the ground by her father, the feel of the dirt and rocks beneath her hands as she helped push the dirt back around the little sapling, to give it a firm base in which to grow. And now, she would see it crumble and wither. She shut her eyes to keep the tears in, refusing to cry now, refusing to let everything inside herself crumble as well. Refusing to wither, like so many other things she had seen in her long life.
Abruptly, she stood up, nearly knocking over the small stool on which she had sat, and left the sick room hastily, lest her tears spill over and never be dammed up again.
“Tirantha?” her mother called, quietly, so as not to disturb the man who still slept in the sick room. Tirantha turned her head away from her mother’s eyes, muttered an excuse about finding something to eat, and stumbled out of the door of the sick house.
She made her way through the scattered homes of her people, to where the cliff’s edge dropped away below her. She remembered when all the land near her home had been flat, save for the occasional hill and valley. She also remembered the day when the whole earth had trembled, and part of it had torn itself away and upward, thrusting part of her village nearly one hundred feet above and away from the rest. Since then, a crude road had been cut into the face of the cliff, allowing access to each half of the small but well-established village. Tirantha stood on the very edge of the cliff and looked out as far as she could see, over all the great trees of the Greyleaf Forest, all the way to the Sea of Knives, where, if she squinted, she could see the thin brown line that was the road that followed the sea south, toward the human lands.
It was on that thin brown line that he had traveled, those many years ago. Coming to see what adventure and excitement waited for him here in the Elven Lands of Tir’akin Grey Leaf. He had never dreamed that he would meet Tirantha here, as she was sent to spy out the small band of humans who came to trespass on the Elven King’s lands. And Tirantha had shadowed the band for two full days, learning of their intents and purposes, before showing herself to their leader, a brave young man. His name was Lordan, and he could not have been more surprised when Tirantha suddenly stepped out of the bush he was about to chop down in order to clear more room for the tents. She had stayed his axe blow with but a touch, but in that second, their eyes met, and Tirantha knew that somewhere in her soul a voice had cried out in joy. She had told Lordan of the bond her people had with the land, and that to destroy any plant merely because it was where you wanted your tent to be was to harm both the land, and it’s people. To her surprise, Lordan had seemed to understand, and called his comrades to stay their axes in clearing a place to sleep.
Ahh, there it was again, the memory of that first meeting, of his skin beneath her fingers, of his breath caught in his throat in surprise, of his clear blue eyes that had looked into her deep brown ones. The color of the earth herself, Lordan had once said. All of Lordan’s companions had left the Elven Lands within a month, but Lordan had stayed and learned much of the ways of her people. Tirantha remembered when Lordan had first whispered into her ear that he loved her. She had been shocked at first, not understanding exactly what he had meant by it. He understood her confusion even when she did not, and had left for a time, to leave her to decide if indeed she loved him as well.
And her father’s anger, when she told him of Lordan’s words, she remembered that too. She had not understood that either, then, until her mother explained that love between humans and elves could only end in heartbreak. Tirantha closed her eyes, and tried to remember exactly what her mother’s words had been.
“We Elves have been blessed with lives spanning many human generations. We watch human kingdoms rise, and fall, just as humans watch the turning of the seasons. Lordan will be old and grey before you are a full-grown woman, and will die, while seeing you ever young before him. You would do him a great harm to love him, a great harm to him, and to yourself. Your souls are too different for that.”
And she had listened to the explanations of her mother, and the lectures of her father, and cried many nights before Lordan had come back. She did not know which pain was worse, the pain of watching him grow old and die, leaving her behind, or having to live all of her life without him. She had not even realized that she loved him then, only knew this empty hole had grown within her when he had left, and she knew not what words to call it. But when she had seen a tiny black shape moving on the road by the sea, she knew in her heart that Lordan was returning, and had flung herself down the road through the cliff, and ran all through the long miles of the Greyleaf Forest, never stopping until she reached his small camp, just a few miles off of the road. She had nearly torn his tent down, diving into it, and, when Lordan had cried out, thinking he was being attacked, had silenced his cry with a kiss.
A kiss. That was all it had taken for her soul to know that this man was the one whom she would love forever, no matter what happened to either of them. And now, now he lay in her father’s sick house, being tended by herself and her mother, dying. It had been nearly 60 years since she and Lordan had first looked into one another’s eyes. And it was as her mother and father had said, he was an old man, and she had not aged a day. Sixty years was nothing to an elf, but a lifetime to a human. But she still loved him as much now as she had 60 years ago. She knew he loved her as well. Those years were filled with memories, some bad, true, but most she remembered as if through a golden glass, everything so rich and beautiful, and she had been truly happy.
Tirantha buried her face in her hands and tried to stem the tears that leaked out of the corners of her eyes. She could not cry, not yet.
Back in the small room in the sick house, Lordan awoke, coughing raggedly. Tirantha’s mother, Tirothea, hurried into his room, and helped him to sit up, holding him as the fit subsided. He looked up into her eyes, and whispered almost soundlessly, “It’s almost time, you know. I can hear the trees calling for me.” He looked out the window where the old tree's branches scraped against the glass.
Tirothea sighed and held Lordan close to her. She had known that this moment would come one day, but she had to admit, even though Tirantha had acted against her better judgment, she could not have chosen a more honorable and endearing man. She only hoped that Tirantha’s spirit would heal when Lordan’s left for the Summerlands.
Tirothea found herself remembering the enthusiasm that Lordan had shown for their way of life, and the bond that he tried in vain to form with the land, the bond all elves had naturally. She had petitioned her uncle, King Tir’akin Greyleaf, to make this man an Elf-friend, with full rights as if he were an elf. But Tir’akin was devoted to the Elves only, and refused to accept the responsibility of a human as one of his people. In respect to his niece, however, he allowed Lordan to live in her small village as long as he wished. Tirothea had never told Tirantha of her request.
And now, the man who should have been born an elf was dying in her arms. Lordan looked up at her once again as she gently lowered him to the pillow.
“I can’t... go on… like this anymore…” he whispered.
“Do you want me to…?” Tirothea’s voice caught in her throat.
Lordan was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded.
Tirothea nodded and stood up. She was a priestess of the Mother Goddess, she who watched over all the earth, and all the creatures within. The Mother was both Creator and Destroyer, and her priestesses were trained in midwifery, healing, curing, and also, poisoning. They were under strict oaths to only use these skills when necessary, and almost every time they were used, it was to put someone who was already dying to sleep peacefully and painlessly. Tirothea had played the role of Death Crone before, but she never dreamed she would one day have to administer one of those tinctures to Lordan.
She walked into the other room in the small healer’s hut, and nodded to her husband, Andrikai. He met Tirothea’s eyes for a long moment, then stood up to find Tirantha.
The wind blew cold today, Tirantha thought. It felt like fingers of ice working their way underneath her clothing to freeze her skin. They reminded her of the stories of the fingers of death. The dead tree still bent under the wind’s wild rush as it beat it mercilessly against the healer’s hut, snapping and tearing off the dead branches. Tirantha looked up from the base of the tree, remembering when it had been young, remembering when Lordan had been young. Now, both man and tree were dying, only hanging on by what roots they had left.
Her father, Andrikai watched her from the door of the sick house, trying to keep the tears from his eyes. He had known his daughter would only find heartbreak in loving a human, but she had been so happy then, he couldn’t bear to forbid their love. He knew it would have done no good anyway. He still remembered when he was a young apprentice healer, who fell in love with the daughter of the King’s sister. Their love had been forbidden, for Tirothea was supposed to have married some prince, and lived all her life in a palace. Instead she had run off with Andrikai to his small hometown off on the borders of the Elven Lands, and refused to speak to her family until they had revoked their forbiddance of her love. Their daughter still had the right for her name to bear the first syllable Tir, however, and when she came to be a full 300 years of age, she would have all the rights and privileges of the House of Tir’akin Greyleaf. Andrikai sighed. His mind was drifting again. Now, he must call his daughter to stand at the side of her beloved as he passed to the Summerlands.
Tirantha turned and saw her father watching her. He said
nothing, but she met his eyes, and could see that he knew it was almost time. A
sob escaped her throat, and was torn away on the wind, whirling above and out of
any mortal reach.
Andrikai walked toward her slowly, and took her arm, to lead her into the sick
house. Tirantha clutched his arm, steadying herself as she walked to the house.
Inside, Lordan lifted his head and drank the bitter tincture carefully. He lay his head back down on the pillow, feeling the potion’s effects already seeping through him. He felt warmer than he had in months, and the pain was lifted up and away from him as if it was never there. He turned his head to see Tirantha come through the door into his room.
“Ahh, Lordan!” she cried, hurrying to his side. She knew immediately what he had done, ordered her mother to give him the death drink. But she also knew that now, he could have a peaceful death, and would feel no more pain. She sat down facing him on the bed and took his hand and clutched it to her chest.
Lordan smiled gently at her. He had spent so many wonderful days with this beautiful elven woman. She had loved him even when his hair began to grey, and his skin to wrinkle. She had loved him even when his body had begun to fail him, and she had taken care of him for the last 5 years, when it had been hard for him to get around easily. She had never once become weary of him, never spoken a word against him. Lordan wished that he did not have to leave her so soon, for Tirantha was someone who he would have happily spent a dragon’s lifetime with. Everything about her transfixed him. He remembered when they had first met, her hand reaching out to stay his axe blow. He had thought some forest goddess had stepped out from the foliage, and his life was forfeit for daring to attempt to harm one of her protected flora. And then he had looked into her eyes, and he had known then that he was lost.
And he remembered when he had returned after telling her that he loved her. He was certain that he would return, only to be turned away by her. He had rehearsed an entire speech, that he would not let his love for her ruin their friendship, that he only wanted the chance to be near her, and do what he could for her. And she had run through the night to meet him, and jumped into his tent, sweaty and covered in sticks and twigs from the bushes she had torn past in her haste. He hadn’t known what was coming into his tent until she had kissed him. Then, his heart had nearly collapsed from the all-encompassing elation that had spread over him.
Lordan smiled now, remembering that moment, cherishing it as he looked into Tirantha’s eyes. He gestured for her to lean down closer to him. When she did, he whispered into her ear.
“My love, don’t cry for me. I won’t be gone completely. Only my shell is gone. I will still exist, you just won’t be able to see me.”
Tirantha took his head in her arms. “Oh Lordan, how can I not miss you?”
Lordan struggled to keep his eyes open. He forced himself to focus on Tirantha’s deep brown eyes.
“You gave me the best life any mortal could wish for. I want to
thank you for giving me the best day of my life,” he whispered.
Tirantha looked confused for a moment. “The best day of your life? What day was
that?”
Lordan smiled. He was falling fast into darkness. “Goodbye my love. Remember that I will always love you.”
“No, Lordan, wait!” Tirantha cried. Lordan’s eyes closed gently, and his breathing slowed. She held him close, trying still not to cry. “I love you…” she whispered.
Lordan smiled, as if he had heard her, then, with one final
sigh, his breathing stopped, and his head became heavy in her arms.
“Lordan…” A single tear worked its way out of her eye and fell down upon his
forehead. She picked up his hand and pressed it to her forehead. With that, her
last barrier was broken, and she started to sob hysterically.
Tirantha cried until Lordan’s body cooled and her parents came
in and gently took her into the other room. She could not think, the only
thought running through her head was that Lordan was gone. Her parents left her
to herself as they prepared the body for cremation. He would be cremated today,
and Tirothea had insisted that he be given full rites, as if he had been an elf.
A few hours later, a still sobbing Tirantha walked with her parents to the great
pyre on which Lordan’s body already burned. She could not bear to see the
lighting of it, and had only come on the behest of her parents. She wished she
could crawl away into a dark hole and never come out again. She felt as if her
soul had been torn in half.
The blaze lept over their heads as her mother recited the words for safe passage to the Summerlands, the elven afterlife. Tirantha thought she seemed to be saying them rather woodenly, looking up, she saw that tears were streaming down her mother’s face as well. As the fire burned, and the rites were closed, the keening lament began. Even her father, who had always professed that Lordan was a human, and should be treated as such was singing the death lament, telling of the spirit of Lordan, and that he wished him a safe travel to the otherworlds.
Tirantha could not join in. She knew if she opened her lips, no words would come out, just an endless wail that she was not sure she could ever stop. She tried not to listen, to black everything out, but still the lament broke over her as if a wave, battering at her body, clawing at her ears, shrieking at her soul. She broke away from the gathering and ran blindly, tears streaming down her face, her sobs wailing through the village. She blindly ran past the old withered tree, scratching her face one of its outstretched branches. She was almost at the edge of the cliff, but she did not know it. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut, unaware of the hundred-foot drop that lay only a few feet in front of her.
Tirothea and Andrikai both screamed for their daughter to stop, but they were too far away, and she could not hear them. Her foot slipped on the rocks just before the drop, and she hurtled forward, over the boulders that had been set there to keep people from falling off.
Just as she felt herself tumble over the edge of the cliff, Tirantha felt strong arms wrap around her, pulling her back over the rocks to safety. She collapsed on the ground, and opened her eyes, only to see no one there. Then, she heard a whisper in her ear.
“My love, this day was the best day of my life.”
“Lordan??” she gasped in astonishment. His voice was young again; it held none of the hoarseness of old age.
She felt the wind blow against her face, this time, oddly warm, not cold as it had been earlier. It felt as if she was being kissed by it.
‘Every day with you was better than the last, my love. Don’t mourn for me, for I am not truly gone.”
Tirantha could only stare in wonder.
“And I’m not going to leave you. Our souls are too entwined for that.”
Tirantha’s mind flashed back to what her mother had said long ago.
“Your souls are too different for that.”
She started to laugh, smiling and laughing so hard that new tears streamed down her already tear streaked face. But this time, they were of happiness. Her parents ran up to her, asking her a thousand questions, but all she could do was laugh.
“You were wrong!” she cried happily. “He hasn’t left, and he will be with me until I grow old! Our souls are eternal, and they are entwined!”
She stood up and flung out her arms to the wind, which blew back, warm against her. She stood at the edge of the cliff and shouted to the entire world below.
“Lordan! I love you!”
And the wind answered back.