Eleventy-One!!! (And 'Sons of Cwendor' Returns)

Yes, this is blog post eleventy-one, an occasion of great significance to a devoted Tolkien fan such as myself. My blog has now reached a very respectable age for a hobbit, but is not planning on disappearing any time soon! Many thanks to everyone here who reads my ramblings and scribblings, you are wonderful!

Wishing to make it special, I have chosen to update 'The Three Sons of Cwendor' with this posting, and thank you all for being waaaaay too patient! (Not that you had any choice in the matter, I suppose . . .) I am now resettled in Hawaii, classes are in full swing, and I will be resuming my regular-ish blogging schedule. 

I will almost certainly be rewriting this section of the story after the entire thing is finished, because I'm still not happy with it, but enough is enough, and after struggling through months of writer's block I've decided that it's good enough for now. And thus the plot thickens. Hopefully you enjoy it, and if you've forgotten all the characters and the plotline by now, I do not blame you in the slightest. Below are links to the previous installments, for you to ignore or refresh your memory with, whichever you please.

Comments and critiques are welcome as ever. I plan a follow-up post later today to fill you in concerning the future of this blog and changes I might be making (for change /is/ in the wind, dear ones), but for now just know I am BACK, that I am back to STAY, and that it feels great!

Cover Art

The Three Sons of Cwendor, Part One

The Three Sons of Cwendor, Part Two

So came their second day in Faery, and all that day they travelled through a fair country, and yet saw no sign of any living thing, though at times there welled from hidden places afield the sweet-piercing songs of the wild birds of Faery, who sang unseen. When first he heard the song of the birds of Faery, Ichail stood enraptured, listening, and moved not until the voice of his brother urged him onward, and then he sighed, and passed his hand over his bound and blinded eyes strangely, as though he awoke from gazing at some far and beautiful thing. Ever Malbun watched the surrounding land with the eye of a hunter and the eye of a guard, and Neirenye went with her hair unbound, and that hair bright as the sun and light as the wind, and her face bright as a flame in the morning. It was her face that Eldreth saw first, as he returned from the long path he had run alone, and from the dark thoughts and fey thoughts which had pursued him through the night. And she smiled, for he had returned swift-footed and clear-eyed once more, and looked no longer like a man recently come near death, and he looked upon Neirenye Ebon’s daughter as though he looked upon the sun in heaven, but did not flinch away. And this Malbun saw. 

Soon after they came to the very foot of the mountains, and the sun was midway across the sky, so that its radiance ran down the stone sides and peaks of those mountains like rivers of gold and rivers of white. And at the foot of those mountains, carved from the stone and yet not carved, smooth and cold and hard, was the gaping mouth of a tunnel. Bright was the noontime of Faery, yet no light entered that place. The darkness there was thick as a pit of blood, but gave no smell. They came to the very lip, and then stood looking into that window of the earth, and the words of the Captain rang in the mind of Neirenye like an echo. Ichail stood with his head lifted, as though listening, though there was no sound. And Malbun gave at first no sign of his thoughts.

But then he set foot upon the lip of stone, and would lead the way into the darkness.

Then Eldreth argued bitterly against going forward, for he had little reason indeed either to trust or to love the folk of Faery, and the darkness pooled at the feet of his brother like blood or black water.

Malbun answered him: “Yet thither goeth the path.” But his voice was sad and weary.

And Eldreth replied: “Why then follow the path? Wide is this world, and not all wish us well--Yea, in truth, no one.”

But Malbun steadfast only replied, “It is the only guide we have. There is no choice.” And he said, “Fear not the darkness. For in the darkness Ichail also might lead us for a time, for he has no need of eyes, and sees both in the dark and in the light. Is this not so?” 

And Ichail answered only: “It is so.” But his face was somewhat troubled, as though something he heard touched him with unease, and he said, “What saith the daughter of Ebon? For what Neirenye says do I also say, and where she goes, so shall I go. If it be her will, I shall guide you.”

And Neirenye was loath to give reply, but at last she spoke and said: “Malbun speaks the truth of it. Perils indeed there may be. Yet shall we not find peril no matter where we go? Here at least do we know where we are going, for the dwelling of the Queen is at the ending of the path. That much I know to be true, for Faery does not lie.” Ichail bowed his head to her, but Eldreth looked at Neirenye the daughter of Ebon and that look came into his face again which she had seen when first their eyes had met in the darkness of the shepherd’s hut. But he said nothing. 

And so it was that they descended into the mountain. But ere they left the sunlight, Malbun laid his hand upon Eldreth’s shoulder, and that was a strong hand and a firm comfort. And he, with thought of the woman and thought of the darkness, set his hand upon his brother’s shoulder and said: “Do not fear.”

This is how they entered the mountain: First Ichail, then Neirenye, then Malbun, and last of all Eldreth. And this is how they journeyed in that place within and under the earth: Ichail leading, and Eldreth close beside him, and Neirenye following close, and Malbun last. For Eldreth was ever the swiftest; that was his curse. Malbun followed like one heavyhearted though intent upon his purpose, watchful for those who went before him, listening to the darkness. 

And now I shall tell of how the three sons of Cwendor and the fair daughter of Ebon came to the heart of the earth, and what befell them there in that darkest of places.

Ichail led them well and sure for a time, and though Neirenye bore with her still a tinderbox and a parcel of rushlights that she had taken with her when first she left the palace, they lit no light, trusting rather the youngest of the brethren to guide them, and saving the fire until it was needful. And though they saw nothing, there sang at first weird shrilling songs of the wind winding amongst the stones, and once they heard the rippling sound of water flowing. Yet deeper into the earth went the sons of Cwendor, and deeper the daughter of Ebon, and soon there was no sound at all, and no smell, and no light, but only the great, pitiless dark. A darkness beyond all nights and dreamings was this darkness.

For lo! this was the way to the heart of the earth, and in the heart of the earth is no light, no life; only a deep, old, crushing will, as ancient as Faery and as strong as Man. No love for any living thing hath the heart of the earth, nor of light, nor of any thing of loveliness, and there it fashions of its hatred from the slow-congealing blood of its heart the bright gems of the earth in mockery of the bright beauties of the world, for men to covet and murder and ruin kingdoms for. 

Though they went for a time well-guided by Cwendor’s youngest son, yet the darkness grew steadily, a madness and a fear, a weight of malice and despair that dragged at their limbs and seeped into their thoughts and fed from the light it found there. And there came a time at last when Ichail halted, and this was the first time upon all that black road that his feet faltered. He held out his hands to halt also his brethren and the lady who followed him, and he said uncertainly, “I thought, a moment, that I knew not the way--” and the sweat was cold upon his brow. For so would the darkness of the heart of the earth strike against him first, the blind man who near all his days had read the darkness unafraid, and who never before had felt his senses dulled by lack of light. Soon enough the moment passed, and reading again the path in the darkness he guided the others onward, but a fear had entered into his voice that had not been there before.

So went they onward, yet slower than they had been before. And now the path ran like a river down a swift and steep incline of loose stone and treacherous footing, and down washed the darkness like a wave. And that incline was riddled too with many pits and chasms gaping, like worm-eaten holes in rotting cloth, and Ichail as he guided his brethren and the woman must needs feel in the shape of the air and the touch of the earth to find the safe way of the path which they followed. With both hands he tested the lightless air and the lightless ground, and the hand of Eldreth was upon his shoulder, and Neirenye held Eldreth’s other hand in her own, and her other hand held that of Malbun, who with his quiet strength guided her footing as best he might. So benumbed now were their fingers by the darkness that they could each scarce feel the touch of the others’ hands, and their voices fell dead from their lips.

Here Ichail halted a second time, and this time longer was the struggle for mastery. Eldreth bade Neirenye strike a light, yet even as she slipped her blind fingers from the hand of Malbun to seek the box in her girdle Ichail found again the path, and though he shook in every limb, as a man with a deathly fever, still he led on, though slower, seeking out the truth of the way in the darkness that sought to swath and slay all light. 

Thus it was that they came at last to the very heart of the world.

And it was a great cavern which was the very pit and center of the earth, and darkness filled it and ran through it and from it, as blood flows through the body of a man. Yet here also was nothing, a vast abyss, a devouring darkness that swallowed a man from the inside out. And such a blindness and an emptiness was there welled that they staggered as though all struck at once with the same bitter sword, and the darkness leapt up in boiling wrath at their coming.

It seemed to Neirenye that she heard Ichail cry out, and then her stumbling foot struck against him where he had fallen bowed to his knees in the black pit. And he said only “I can lead you no more. There is nothing here; nothing; I know not where to go.” Dimly she felt his hands against her face, trembling and seeking like the hands of a blind man, and she recoiled, afraid, for never had he seemed blind before. Faintly she heard Eldreth’s voice in the dark, and he was speaking to her, and said, “Neirenye, light the brand.” 

Now the tinderbox Neirenye carried wound in her girdle had been her mother’s, and was an heirloom of her mother’s house, and had been gifted from woman to child in that line for years beyond recall. Any flame struck from that box would burn white and fair, and give forth no smoke, and no fire from that box would burn the hand of the woman who lit it. Neirenye drew it out, and drew out too the little brand of rushes. Yet no light would come from her shaking hands. 

Ichail moaned like an animal, and Eldreth cried out to her: “Neirenye! The light! We are all dead, save only that you make the light!” She knew he was holding Ichail, seeking to comfort the blindness of the one who could not see, and as though from far away she wondered how long he had remained there, exerting his will, and remembered the hue of death in his face when the Captain of Faery had ordered him bound. And she felt his life, too, failing and draining away from her like a river.

Neirenye struck the flint until her hands bled. But this was the heart of the earth, and that black blood of darkness seeped into the brand and the flint, and no light could she make, though she struck with bleeding hands until rushes, flint and box all fell from her benumbed fingers and she knew not where they went, for the darkness pressed upon her eyes and her mouth and her mind, and she could not stand. 

And there they would have died, but lo! Suddenly there sprang up a flame, white-hot, and it burned in a small, beautiful lantern like a silver cage, and this was held in the hand of Malbun, eldest of the brothers. And then was the first of the three signs broken, for fear danced in his eyes like firelight, and he gasped in agony.

The silver light grew and grew, and the shadows and nothingness recoiled away in terror of that Fay light, and Eldreth staggered up and sought to quash the flame with his hand, but Malbun gripped the lantern in his left hand and would not release it, nor let the flame go out, though it burned his life away.

Fiercer and wilder shone that Faery candleflame, and their minds cleared and strength returned to their limbs and wills. It was a light and an airy beauty and a clear, pure radiance, and it was everything which the earth desired and hated, and it was everything the earth could never have as its own. There was a sudden shaking and a wrenching in the darkness, so that all were flung to the ground, and yet lo! --There was Eldreth afoot again, and Neirenye heard his fierce voice clear above the clamor, and he supported with his arms and his body the body of Malbun. And in the light of silver and pearl-flame the way was made clear, and with a cry to follow Eldreth sprang forward, and behind him close-followed Neirenye and Ichail, hand-in-hand like children, across and beneath the shattered, twisting earth. And it seemed as though the very roof of the earth would fall crashing upon them, but Neirenye said, “Thou shalt pass through the earth,” over and over, in breathless litany, and struggled on, for as it had spoken, so she knew it would be, and Faery does not lie.

They fled from the heart of the earth as it broke, and all about them jewels lit afire by the Faery candle fell in liquid streams. 

With each passing moment the darkness grew lighter. Neirenye, as she stumbled forward, smelled the salt of the sea. And sudden were they through, and the sun shone golden and red in a deepening sky, and cold as steel was the air upon their skin after the heavy darkness beneath the stones. And Eldreth bore the body of his brother as though he carried a child in his arms, but the eldest of the sons of Cwendor was the strongest, and the tallest, and Eldreth’s face was drawn and as white as the light of the candle, burning. Neirenye took hold of the body of Malbun by the arms, and helped lighten Eldreth’s load, and they bore him down to where the stone shale of the mountain’s feet met the smooth pale sand of the shore. 

There they laid Malbun shuddering upon the sunlit stone, and Eldreth skimmed like a seabird over the white sand to fetch salt water, with which he cooled his brother’s brow. And Ichail held his one hand and was silent, and Neirenye knelt upon his left. 

But a little wind caught the dying, guttering flame, and twisted it in the air, and he moaned and convulsed upon the ground. And then his eyes opened, and the curse light within them was gone, and his face flickered a little, and the candleflame went out, and then the eldest of the sons of Cwendor was dead. And the Fay candle was black in its silver cage.

Then Neirenye wept, and said “Now is my debt blacker than ever before, for lo! I have killed him.” And Ichail said nothing.

But Eldreth carved out a grave and would let neither the woman nor his living brother near him, and the bitter salt ran down his face, for he could not cease his work to kneel beside his brother’s body. And when he had done, he lifted the body of Malbun and bore it to the grave, and laid it gently down. And then hiding his face, he walked away.

Neirenye and Ichail then were the only two left to mourn the dead. And Neirenye would have gone to Eldreth and pled his forgiveness, but Ichail then spoke at last. And he said: 

“I never in all my days beheld his face. And now he is gone.”

And before she could stay him, he reached up and tore from his eyes the blinding cloth, and looked down to his dead brother’s face, and wept, and his eyes were as bright as his brother’s had been. But Neirenye was afraid. For first of all, he had seen the Sea.

And this was their third day in Faery.

The Three Sons of Cwendor, continued

Here is a little more of the story. I honestly thought I would finish it over Spring break; sadly that was not the case. However I am devoting most of my free time to writing this story, as I too want to see it finished, because an author does get satisfaction and happiness from reading her own completed story . . . or, well, I do, anyway!

Note that there are really no 'parts' to this story; it's supposed to be one continuous tale. But as I seem to be posting it in sections, I will call these sections 'parts' for convenience's sake. Linden, I will send the final project to you in it's continuous form.

Also: This part is not quite as long as the last part, but it is important, because it sort of sets up everything which comes after. So it took more work than anticipated to get it right, which I think is why I'm not as far along as I should be. But more of the Tale will be posted as soon as possible, which I think will be soon indeed. I also have decided to post this story on my Facebook account in 'Notes', since the formatting there is easier on the eyes. It's only 'Friend' visible there though, I'm afraid, so I'm continuing the posting here too for those who don't have Facebook or haven't contacted me on Facebook.

Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy it!

Cover Art

Part One

That was a merry morning! For though overawed and wondering in the beginning, soon did their hearts lighten as they walked upon the fragrant earth and beneath the glittering roof of the wood called Dor-Aelen. Silent now was that fair forest, for none dwelt in those trees since that long-ago day of slaughter wherein the seven kinsmen of the Queen were slain. Yet though it was now merely an image and a yearning for the marvelous beauty it had once possessed, still was that place fairer than any wood of mortal lands, and the scent of the air was sweet. Like wine and water was the air of Dor-Aelen, and the leaves falling upon little breezes were like jewels of green and gold.

Malbun walking beside Neirenye looked with glad eyes upon his brethren, for Ichail held out his hand to touch the smooth tree-boles as he walked, and breathed deeply of the sweet air, and the eyes of Eldreth faring far ahead had lost some of their bitterness. And Neirenye stirred by the joy in her heart sang a fair song, even that which has been remembered to our own day, which begins

O maidens, why goest thou out out to the field?

Why bear in thy fingers the sword and the shield?

Then suddenly Malbun asked her if she would give to him the long sword which she carried with her, sheathed and slim at her waist. This sword she had borne bound upon the saddle of her steed, but that mortal creature would not enter the Faerie, and therefore had Neirenye taken from it both bridle and saddle, and all her possessions, and spoken to it and bidden it return to the palace of her father. And it had obeyed, for beasts were wiser then.

Malbun said to her “I would not ask, but my heart hath not forgotten that the Faerie has its perils as well as that loveliness which I see now with mine own eyes, and I have no fitting blade with which to guard against it.” That sword which Neirenye carried was even the sword of Ebon her father, which the Queen gave to him on the night he took Cwendor’s crown. Yet Neirenye gave it gladly, and with good heart, and the eldest son of Cwendor  cast aside the poor shepherd’s dagger he bore and hung the great sword in its place.

As soon as this was done, the shadow of foreboding which had for a moment set upon those two lifted, and the weight of care upon Malbun lessened somewhat, so that he spoke blithely to Neirenye as they walked together. Ichail drawn to her laughter soon came to walk beside Ebon’s daughter, and she guiding his hand described as best she could those things which she found most lovely and which he could not see: the sundew glittering upon a soft deep moss, or a slim-veined leaf she caught from the air, or the spicy-scented maze of the patterned bark upon a great tree. Eldreth at times returned from his roamings ahead to walk awhiles with the others of his company, ere the restless curse that was within him drove him on again, and it is to be suspected that he did this so that he might thereby go from one beauty to the other, from the wood to Neirenye Ebon’s daughter. For such is the magic beauty of Faerie, that it does not diminish but rather adds in goodliness to those who enter into it, and Neirenye who had been beautiful in the mortal country was fairer still in the wood of Dor-Aelen. So passed the day. In aftertimes the sweetness of that day in the wood was to be Neirenye’s dearest memory, and the faces of the three sons of Cwendor as they had appeared to her then she would remember to her death, for the curses had faded out of them, and were forgotten for a little while. 

Now presently did those four reach the end of the wood, and that journey had taken nigh all of the daylight hours, yet neither man nor woman was wearied, for who could grow weary in the land where the immortals dwell? The sun was westering in a ruddy sky, and the wide fields of Faery were golden and red in the sunset, and red and gold were the rivers, and gold were the faces of the brethren and the maiden when they stepped from the twilight of the trees to behold the sunset on the fields. And this is how they stood: Eldreth foremost, and Ichail close behind, and upon Ichail’s left the lady Neirenye, and last of all Malbun. Wide-open and wondrous before them was the land of Faery on the edge of night, and they looked in silence. Scarce a spear’s-cast from the wood did they go, however, when there came upon them a sudden cold as though a northern wind had pierced them through. 

There came then tall warriors clad all in silver and white, with black hair unbound, and at their waists shone belts of silver, and each bore a silver sword, sheathed in silver. These were Faery swordsmen indeed, and so softly did they come that not even the ears of Ichail had heard the warning of their coming. Swifter than the eye could realize, the four travelers were ringed round with the flash of silver lances in the sunset, and some seized Cwendor’s sons, two of the Fay folk to each man, and held them there. Yet Neirenye they did not touch. There were perhaps a score all told, though some say more, and some say less.

Neirenye alone stood free, and her the captain of the Faeries approached, and it was a cold eye he turned upon her, though an eye of white flame. But she did not quail. 

And the captain spoke to her, saying: “There is a strange tale here which must be told. Speak then, and do not lie. Who art thou to enter the immortal kingdom without summons, man’s daughter, and what reason for the venture? Doth thine own land please thee so little?”

She replied: “I come as a suppliant and a friend to the Lady Queen of Faery.” And she said: “For I am Neirenye, only child and daughter of that man Ebon, who is known to the Queen, and he is now dead. Why then dost thou hold us?”

Then did the knight bow his head, and he replied: “Verily is that name and that man known to we of the Kindred. Thou art most welcome here, as are those who go under thy favor. Yet hold--” And he looked closely upon the faces of those three who stood beside her, and his face changed, and before any could speak or stir he stretched forth his left hand and touched the brow of the brother who stood nearest to him. And that was Malbun, who stood unafraid, and when the Faerie’s skin touched his own, his eyes burned suddenly silver-hot, with the doom that slept within them awoken. And he did not move.

But the Fairie knight turned fiercely to Neirenye, and he spoke and said: “Who art thou, to bring into the Immortal Realm the kin and bloodline of Cwendor thrice-accursed? For surely these are his sons.”

“They are guiltless,” she replied, “and therefore did I bring them, for I mean to plead for them before thy people, yea, at the feet even of thy Queen, and win for them a pardon and freedom from their wyrds.”

Then was the captain silent for a time. But at last he said: “Thy father, Neirenye, was a great friend to we of Faery, and a good and righteous king. Therefore I shall not turn thee away, nor let past deeds stir new ills. Come then! I myself, and these of my company, shall guide thee to the Queen’s very palace, and there you may make your plea--though I warn thee now, it shall not be heard lightly, nor, mayhaps, with much love. But you must suffice to let these the sons of Cwendor be bound, for no blessing lies upon them, and they are rightly prisoners under guard until the Queen declares her final doom.” And he motioned to his warriors. 

But Malbun said, “Wherefore must we go with thee? For if the lady Neirenye is granted leave to present her plea before the Queen, she is a free woman, and may wend her way as she wills. And where the lady goeth, there do we go. Therefore let us pass.”

The captain replied: “She we guide to protect her, lest wandering of her own will she become ensnared in the deadlier beauties of this land. Faery is not as the mortal lands, and it is perilous for such as thee. To come at last to the palace of the Queen, one must follow the right path; no other way is sure. For oft does this land change according to her will and pleasure, and I cannot say through what perils and wonders thy road shall take thee, yet peril thou shalt find wheresover thou goest, here. And for those of mortal birth the way is hardest. Yet as for thee and thy brethren, blood of Cwendor, thou art not pardoned yet, nor thy sire.”

And as he spoke a shadow fell upon the heart of Neirenye, though she knew not why. And though sorrow after befell, my father told me that in truth the warning was given to Neirenye for love of her father, and not as the snare which later it seemed to be. There is no malice of that kind in Faery.

But Malbun said once more: “Let us pass,” and in his voice was a slow, strange rage. And when there came no reply, he repeated, louder, “Aside, and let us go! He shall die if you do not let us go.”

Neirenye turning saw then the face and hue of Eldreth where he stood held beside his brethren, and even as she looked he fell forward to his knees. And she thought for the first time of his curse. But the Fay lord turned to see with cold eyes, and replied, “That I cannot do ‘til I take thee to the Queen, and she shall pronounce thy doom. Bind them.”

But then spoke a wild, fierce voice, which cried a warning, and there stood Malbun, who had drawn from sheath the mighty blade he held, which Neirenye had given to him in the wood. And that sword was set against of the throat of one of those silver-clad swordsmen, for all had seen Eldreth fall, and in that moment when all eyes were turned Malbun had sprung. Bright and beautiful was that sword in the evening.

“Stand aside,” he said, “ere I slay this man.”

And I have always heard it told that he looked in that moment very alike to Cwendor who was dead. 

The Faery captain made no move nor sign of fear, but said presently, “We have no wish to shed blood in this land. In truth, t’were best for thee to come where I bid, and let thy hands be bound, lest thou craft thy own destruction. Perilous is this land of ours for mortal blood, and one day of joy hast thou had in this wood wherein the Queen’s kinsmen were slain by thy father. This one warning shall I give to thee: that to come at last to the throne of the Queen thou shalt first travel through earth, and water, and wood, and fire. The wood thou hast come through already; yet there are three tasks which remain. And therefore I say to thee, take care! for there are powers in this land of which you know not.”

But Malbun answered not, and in that silence the Faery captain stepped silently back, and his men with him. Whereupon Malbun spoke a word to Ichail, who took Eldreth’s hands in his own, and drew him to his feet, and they walked with halting steps through the press of silver-clad men and beyond. Neirenye followed, but slowly, and she did not look back. For in dismay had she gazed upon Malbun, who stood tall and strong and with a sword held naked in his hand, and this sword set in violence against the Faery people, and this sword of Faery make and gift. And she knew in her heart that this would not be forgotten.

That was the end of their first day in the Fay country.

Small joy did any find in the moonlit beauty of Faery as they went along the white-gleaming path, and they went long without rest, for ever did they fear to be pursued by those whom they had left behind. But of the captain and his men there was no more sign. Therefore at last, in the waning of the night, Neirenye and the brethren halted at last to sleep a little ere they continued on their way, and utterly silent was the night. Eldreth had spoken not at all upon the road, and vanished alone into the darkness, still somewhat pale, though with strength recovered. And the others slept but fitfully, and rose in the dawn-hour to pursue their way eastward, following the path.

And soon upon that journey, as the mountains came nearer and the light grew, Neirenye fell back so that she walked close to Malbun, and sought to speak softly of the deeds which were done at the closing of the day before, but though still those things wore heavily at her heart, she found she knew not now how to speak of them. Vivid in her memory was the face of Eldreth as the curse had crept upon him, but bright and terrible also in her mind was the sword of her father blazing in the sunset. But Malbun replied gravely, saying:

“I have been the keeper and protector of my brethren all my days.” And he said: “Even when we were children in our father’s House. For little love had he for us. I am the eldest, and always have been so, and that changeth not now, here in a strange country.

“And Neirenye, I say to you that I love my brethren dearly, and since the day our mother died they have loved no living thing save only me. Lightly could I have borne the curse upon me, as the heir, if I knew they were safe. As it is, I must do what I can to guard them, and Eldreth most of all. For Ichail chafes not against his blinding, for he can remember naught else, and ever has he been the most joyous of us three. But Eldreth knows our wrong.

“It was I who bound the cloth about my sleeping brother’s eyes, when we were children new-cursed, for the Lady spoke that by the thing which he sees first with his eyes shall he be slain. And so he has lived without fear. Eldreth I cannot aid so simply, for by his own curse he cannot be led by the hand, nor guided, but must walk his own path. So I do only that which I can--that when they sought to bind him, I could force them to let him go. You understand, Neirenye?”

“I do,” she said, but sadly. “Yet I fear the wrath to come shall be swift, and strong, and fear lest if fall hardest upon thee, who set my father’s sword against its makers.”

He said: “I think thou fearest truly. Yet nothing else could I do. And thus, I do not fear the coming.”

She smiled a little, and said: “Never do you fear, Malbun. And it makes me wonder. For that is not a cruel gift, nor seemeth to be a curse at all, if fearlessness is tempered with prudence.”

He said nothing, but his face changed a little, and after a moment he moved his hand to the breast of his jacket. And he pulled forth a poor, tattered pouch, such as might have been sewn with childish fingers from cast-off rags, and held it upon his palm. He opened it, and showed it forth wordlessly to Neirenye.

And there she beheld a small lantern, slender and shapely as a young tree, yet fashioned all of a silver metal which was not silver, for its purity and the radiance of its surface, and for the cunning fashion in which it had been carved and set, light and airy and yet adamant. The beauty of that lantern marked it as Faery make. And within was a candle of whitest wax, which glimmered in the dim light, and reflected back in bleached splendor the shining silver of the lantern’s bars. Malbun smiled at her, but there was something tight and strange in that smile, and he held it out to her.

“Touch it,” he said.

With hesitant curiosity she obeyed, and lo! where she had thought to touch wax, there was only hard coldness, the smooth chill of white marble. Silently he returned the beautiful thing to its pouch within his jacket, and he smiled no more. Something flickered across his face that made her think of Eldreth.

“A lantern of silver, and within a candle of stone,” said Malbun, still with that strangeness in his face. “That is my curse, Neirenye. Is it cause for wonder, then, that I fear naught else?”

“Stone cannot burn,” was her answer, but he replied: “At a word from me, cousin, it would.”

And she was silent, for she guessed at some dark, fearful doom behind those words, and Ichail who was close by surely heard those words spoken, but he said nothing. And then Malbun sighed.

“I said, lady Neirenye, that I do what little I may--merely that when my brother is bound, I can set him free. Yet I fear that even that I shall be unable to do, ere this tale finds its end.” And he looked upon her face with grave eyes, and smiled sadly, and would say no more to her.

Happy 18th, Linden!!

So this is your birthday present, Linden, at long last. Or most of it, anyway. I still have more to post, but I'm in the last stages of polishing it. It'll be up momentarily, and what a relief! This was a pleasure to write, where I really just 'let myself go' so to speak and abandoned all restraints of logic and 'realism' and just went as mythic and fairytale and fantasy as my heart desired.

Cover art, of course, can be found here.

The result might be weird, but I like it. I enjoyed writing this more than I've enjoyed writing anything for a long time, even though it's crazy long (this is, believe it or not, only about half of the final project) and has monopolized my writing attention for months now. Thanks for inspiring it ^_^

The Tale of the Three Sons of Cwendor

or

Neirenye and the Faery Queen

Very well, said Naiwe, I shall tell a tale that has been handed down through my father’s line for time almost beyond memory. It is a strange story, and sad; yet my father when I was a child told me that by these signs we know it is true. Perhaps it is so; I do not know. That will be for each man of you to decide for himself.

There was once a very many years ago only two kingdoms in all the world, and one was ruled by a man named Cwendor. He was a mighty king, proud and strong, and yet his power had rotted within him like dead flesh, and all his mind was turned wholly to evil. His wife had been a fair, gentle creature, but had died young, so that he lived alone in his palace of cold stone, and her name is not recorded here. The only other living things in that palace were his men-at-arms, and his knights, and these were as wicked as he. And there lived also his three sons, borne to him by his unhappy wife ere she died, but he did not love them.

Now the other kingdom of the world at this time was the Fay land, and it was ruled by a Queen. This Queen (or so my father said) was the most beautiful lady ever to walk the earth, and the magic within her glowed from her eyes and her fingers, and when she sang the colors of the sky bent to listen, and when her anger was roused the sea fled from her. For she was the Queen of Faery, and Faery is beautiful, but also perilous.

Now this Queen—and she has no name in the old stories—would gaze from her tower window to survey the world, for Faery, as all children know, is a kingdom unique in this world. For during the day, it has boundaries and borders as any land, and may be found or lost; yet at night the Fay world grows to swallow all the world in its power, and then is the Queen ruler of all the earth. And she would look out, and behold the kingdom of Cwendor with its slender towers like spires and ribbons, and its mighty walls, and gentle peasant folk, and shining halls, and she would see the trees of that kingdom dancing in the wind, and the strange and silent beasts running through the darkness, and she was pleased. 

One thing only in all the mortal kingdom displeased the Queen, and this was the evildoing of Cwendor and the men of his house. Glad forests of fair trees were burned and their cries were drowned in the smoke; silently children of the poor wept for hunger, and their parents stood dry-eyed and dumb-mouthed when the knights of the king stole their goods away. Dark-clotted blood stained the torn earth where Cwendor’s cruel game-hunts ended, for he hunted and pursued beasts of the wood and field for his own amusement, and left the bodies to rot upon the young grass. Murder and deception whispered about his feet; fear and vanity followed him like a shadow, and the moaning of the condemned racked within his prisons no one heard.

No one save only the Queen of Faery, and she heard and saw all.

It was summer, and the night was soft and silent, and the Queen looked out from her high casement upon a world of charcoal and lavender. Yet in the gloaming glamor she heard a living voice, and she stood listening in amaze, for long had she deplored the muted and burdened agony of the people of Cwendor, and the wailing of the fields and the hills no ear heard but hers alone.

This voice was that of a boy, or a very young man, and it cried words of defiance and anger, and of a sudden steel rang. The Queen looked then to see the twilit silhouettes of a shepherd lad standing before a hut, and the shapes of three of Cwendor’s men tall before him, and they brandished forth long swords, and he a knife, and these glittered like stars in shadowy black hands of the youth and the men.

The Queen looked, and just in time to see the boy slain.

He fell and lay upon the black earth in his blood, and an old man who was his father watched silently as the knights of Cwendor stepped over the body of his son and led away a great part of the flock which had been in pasture, and they departed. But another boy ran up from the darkness, and threw himself weeping upon the body of the slain youth.

And the Queen knew then that the murdered shepherd had a brother.

Then was she wroth indeed, and the blood of the slain boy rang within her as his living voice had done, and she knew the king’s cruelty could no longer be borne. And so she departed from her window, and descended instead to her gardens. Very fair are the gardens of Faery, filled with scents and dreams to bewilder mortal mind, soft and quiet as a mist. And in the center is a pool of silver like a mirror.

It was to this pool that the Queen of Faery went, with her mind filled with steel and kindled fury, and there she worked such magics as had never been worked before, in that distant dawn of the world, and only seldom have been wrought since. For she took from her body her own living mind and spirit, and called to her the winds of the sea, and upon their white wings sent her soul flying across the dreaming beauty of Faery, and the shining waters, and fair forests, and across the green border to the mortal world, and thence to the very chamber of Cwendor, where he lay in deepest sleep.

Into that sleep she entered, and with her all the fire and beauty and power of the Fay country, and pierced his dreaming with her own being, wrathful and terrible and beautiful beyond all mortal understanding. She seemed to him tall and silver and ruthless as a sword unsheathed, and a great wind whipped round her, and her hair flew.

She stood gazing into his mind all that night, reading the malice and the evil and the fear there. Her silence was a flood and a terror to him, and in her steady eyes he read the full tale of his own wickedness, and the cries of all those he had destroyed--bird, beast, tree, hill, and above all the helpless defiance of the shepherd boy. And still she did not speak, and dawn came.

Yet ere she fled his dreaming she spoke five words, as her body melted into the wind of cold awakening, and only her eyes were left, burning, and her voice, burning, and she was the most beautiful woman to be since the beginning of the world.

She said, “O Cwendor, beware of Faery.”

When the Queen returned to her own land and her own body a great weariness was upon her, for to enter the dreaming of a mortal whose mind is shut is the most perilous and arduous of all things which magic can do, and this was the first time it had ever been done, and weariness was a thing strange to the Queen. So she betook herself to a glade of willows, where fireflies drowsed and little breezes played before embarking on their journeys to the sea, and there she laid herself down to sleep, that she might regain her strength. Deep and dreamless was her sleep, for immortals do not dream. And her maidens knelt and kept watch.

But Cwendor awoke in a frenzy of fear, and anger, and he stared about himself like a wild creature, the silver and ice of the woman’s voice ringing in his memory. She was gone, yet her voice remained. In his madness, only that voice was left, and the words spoken by that voice, that voice like a song of swords.

“O Cwendor, beware of Faery.”

The words filled his mind and consumed his thought, and yet rather than heed the warning he acted as a wild wolf would act when cornered.

He summoned to himself his knights.

It was day, and the sun blazed forth in a silver, misty sky, when the Queen awoke. Her maidens still knelt by, silently guarding, and the glade was silent, and nothing had changed. But the Queen looked about herself and said, “I dreamed.”

And she said, “And it seemed to me that I heard a great cry, and then only emptiness, a great emptiness.” She looked about her with her great eyes like bright moons, and she said, “I am burning, I am burning--” and she shivered like a dragonfly and leapt to her feet and went from the glade, making for the border, and her maidens followed.

She went to the green woods of Dor-Aelen, which grew then closest to the borders of the Fay land and that of the mortal people, and there dwelt there as guardians of the wood seven men of the Queen’s household, the fairest of her people and closest to her heart, and they lived there in the merry wood. Their songs in the sunlight carried sometimes to the mortal kingdom, and all men were glad who heard them, yet did not know why. It was here the Queen hastened, and of here the Queen had dreamed, she who of all living things never dreamt.

And there were the trees like ashen smoke, crumbling in the cleansing wind; and there rose a great reek of misery and blood and fire such as Faery had never known, poisonous and foul; and there lay the seven fairest knights of her house, pale and cold upon the stricken ground where they had fought valiantly for their Queen. 

Then did the garlanded maidens and shining women of the Fay court set up a loud keening and wailing, and  they wept for that immortal blood shed, and the darkening of Faery. And the song of sorrow which they sang flew as a freezing wind through the mortal kingdom of Cwendor, and in his great hall the king in the midst of his exultation shivered, and did not know why.

But the Queen was silent, and shed no tear, but knelt before each of her kinsmen slain, and silent kissed each death wound which had been suffered for her sake.

Now the day drew onward in the mortal kingdom, where Cwendor and his men feasted and made merry over their success in the wood. For so arrogant had the king become, and to such desperation had his dream of warning driven him, that he had led a raid against the Fay kingdom, and set fire to the wood, and with great slaughter of his own men had at last slain the seven knights of Dor-Aelen. Flushed with his triumph, he thought not of the Queen, nor of the reckoning to come, but only that he had shown he was strong, and he no longer feared Faery. 

Yet still darkness came, and the subtle night crept up from the sea and the hills, and lamps were kindled against the stars in the palace of Cwendor.

Upon the hillside in a place that was then called Merwon, there wandered a number of sheep, though less than had been there before, and watching them stood a boy of seventeen summers. And the boy’s name was Ebon. He stood guarding his flock, and facing Faery he sang a verse:

I knew a man named Ameron,

Knight-hearted, whom they killed;

His flock they stole away in blood

And me they left behind.

For this was the boy who had wept upon his brother’s corse, and the brother’s name had been Ameron.

As he sang in grief and anger there came to him like a fearsome light a woman, and she was a forest, and a great salt-wave from the sea, and ice from the mountains, and a battlecry, and yet fairer and more perilous than all of these, and she stood upon the grey grass and the sheep knelt at her feet and shone like lambs, and she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

And she spoke to the boy, saying: 

“Lo! I am she who is Queen of Faery, and you sang and called to me, and I have come. For I saw your brother and his death, and I know the men who slew him and the man who sent them. And now mine own kinsmen have they also murdered, and my woods set aflame. Come with me, then! and you I shall make king to rule in his place. For now has come the time of reckoning, and there are many hours yet until the dawn.”

The fire that burned in the heart of the youth leapt up in answer, and glad and amazed he vowed his allegiance. And yet this was not enough for the Queen, for she spoke further and said that she would with him go to the palace and that very night take vengeance for the spoiling of her land, and the vengeance would be eternal and upon Cwendor and all that was his. And vengeance she would take also for the death of Ameron and the theft of his livelihood, and set Ebon himself upon Cwendor’s throne, and a king beloved of Faery shall not come to grief. Yet first she would have him swear to do her bidding in all things, without protest, and to obey her word and honor her will. And this he swore eagerly.

He swore the oath, and she stretched out her hand to accept it, and with her fingertips touched lightly his brow, and then time froze, and a great light arose about the two motionless figures upon the hillside.

When Ebon next drew breath he found himself standing in a great courtyard, and this was the court of Cwendor’s own palace, for the guards upon the walls were all asleep. That was Faery magic.

Before him stood the Queen, and in her hands she bore a mantle of shining white, which she commanded him to don. And he obeyed.

Then she took in her hands a crown of silver and misty jewels, and told him to set it upon his own head. And he obeyed.

And last she held out to him a great sword, which shone like a thousand stars, and this she girt upon him with her own hands. 

And lordly now indeed was Ebon the shepherd’s son, the chosen one of the Faery Queen. All around him sudden thronged a mighty battle host, of men with silver eyes and clothed in silver mail, and their banners were white. Each bore a sword and each had his hair free, and flowing black in a wind that Ebon could not feel. These were the people of the Fay kingdom, who had come at the Queen’s bidding, and it was with these silent warriors that Ebon rushed upon the palace of Cwendor king of the mortals.

Cwendor’s knights were thus taken unawares, and were all of them slain, some by the enchanted steel, and some by terror. Ebon himself searched the hall of feasting for the king, and yet could not find him. Straightway then he sped up the darkened stairs from the great hall like a star and burst open the door to Cwendor’s chamber, and sprang within with sword upheld.

Yet he was too late. For there before him stood the Queen, and at her feet, writhing in the last throes of death, lay Cwendor. When he first heard the clamor in the hall below he knew his peril, and knew at last that Faery and its Queen had come for him. In his terror he had then gone to the chest where he kept such things and had drunk deadliest poison, and so expired.

Ebon, sick at how the king had taken his own life craven and perished by venom, lowered his blade and would have turned away. Yet the Queen then spoke.

“A swift death.” Her voice was like the singing of the wind in the cold grass. “And the merry wood, in flames. That death will be slow, ah, that death will never end. It has sickened. I can keep it alive. But never shall it be what it was. Never. Of all my kingdom, that place only has known death. It will die forever.

“Bring to me the children.”

So Ebon went forth from that high place and descended to the living quarters of the palace, where all about there lay men like shrouds, and standing over each a flaming shadow of white. And at last he came to a small stone chamber, hung with tapestry woven by the young queen who was dead, and with one window, and a tallow candle burning beside the door. It was here that the heirs of Cwendor slept.

And there he found the three sons of Cwendor, and seized them, and brought them to the Queen. And that most beautiful lady smiled when she saw them, but her eyes glittered as she remembered the fires in the sweet forests of Dor-Aelen, and the blood upon her hands.

Then she bade all men leave the high tower, save only Ebon himself, but he covered his face with fear. For very tall had she become, and masterful, and her eyes were like crystal, and her hair was harpstrings, but her song was a sword and the tolling of an awful bell, and the wind ran through her and the moon drowned in her. And she spoke and sang softly words of power, thrice only, for there were three sons, and her words were for them alone, that the revenge of Faery upon Cwendor and all his line and deeds might be full, and the mark of the Fay curse upon them burned in their eyes everafter.

Then she departed, for the stars were flickering like embers in the grey sky, and day was stirring. But first she commanded her new king to cast the three sons from the palace “that they might come never more to the dwelling places of men, and the last of the royal line perish utterly.”

This, however, Ebon did not do. For when she had gone, and he stood alone in that high chamber, he looked upon the three sons of Cwendor and pitied them, for the eldest was not yet seven years of age, and the Fay light in their eyes haunted him. He took them therefore upon his horse, and rode secretly forth in the cold dawn, until he came to the house of his father, and without a word he left the children there, and wheeled his horse about in haste to the palace, and in all his life did not return.

When Ebon had been king nigh on five years, he wedded a noblewoman of high rank, and she bore him one child. He was well loved by the people, and lived a full, peaceful life, and made the purpose of his whole reign to bring joy to his subjects. Yet he died younger than was the wont of the men of that ancient line. Some say it was because of his having seen the great Lady in wrath, and that when she touched him that night upon the hillside she so harrowed his spirit that it surged ever after within him, aching to be free. 

Be that as it may, when his last illness came upon him he had been king for close on thirty years. And he summoned to him his wife, and his knights and lords, and his child—and she was a daughter, but more I shall not tell yet—and they stood all before him, silent.

And the king upon his throne smiled sadly as he gazed upon those beloved faces, and felt his death, wild and glad, surging within him, and the crown heavy upon his brow. And he cried: “O my people! I have served thee long and striven always to do what is best for you. Yet if ever I have made your hearts glad—if ever I have driven away a fear—if ever I have granted a petition, or healed a wound, or saved thee in any way—hearken to me now! For I have a request I must beg of thee. The time has come for me to reveal to thee my deepest sorrow, and my deepest guilt, of an evil deed I committed the night I became your king. I swore long ago that I should do so only at my death, for then the Queen will be unable to take her revenge for my disobedience, and my sleep shall be calm.”

He told, then, for the first time of the strange death of Cwendor, and the Queen who had come to him like a dream that long ago night upon the hillside, and of the oath she had made him swear. And he told too of the children: the three infant boys with Fay eyes and three terrible weirds. 

“My friends and my kindred, I did not do as the lady commanded. Perhaps I was too weak, but now with my death approaching I feel it was not so; too human, perhaps. For as a man, I have my weaknesses, and she, a deathless Faery, with aptitude and understanding only of goodness and beauty—she could not understand truly the subtle snares of evil, nor fear a reckoning after death as I do. I left the children in the care of an old man in the hills, my father, who certainly is now dead. I implore thee, therefore—find the sons of Cwendor. Bring them back to this place, which is their rightful home. Their father’s evil was not their own . . . I would have them rule after me, when I am gone. Neirenye—attend to me.”

Neirenye hastened forward and helped her father rise from his seat, and murmuring amongst themselves at the strange tale their king told, the men departed from the hall, and most were displeased that the daughter of the king should be denied her birthright, for she was well-beloved. And the queen mother also departed. But Neirenye paced beside her father, and together they climbed the long stair to the white chamber at the height of the tallest tower, and standing at the window they gazed out together into the sunlight.

“It was here,” the King whispered. “In this place, that she laid the curses upon them. Ah, Neirenye! Faery is perilous, not because it is evil, but because it is only good. Do you understand?”

His daughter said nothing. 

“I did not tell the others,” he said after a moment in which he paused to breathe, “the words the Queen spoke. I wished to save that last fragment of the tale for your ears alone, my daughter. You are my child; I know you will also ride out to seek the sons of Cwendor, and some of the men of my house, alas! I do not fully trust in this matter. Hatred for the house of Cwendor runs deep. I wish you therefore to be the one who finds them. So you alone I will the three signs by which you shall know them.

“The first sign is that the eldest of the brothers will show you no fear, no matter what his peril, and he shall flinch before neither beast, nor sword, nor water.

“The second sign is that the second of the brothers will never rest, not even in sleep, and he shall be swift as the wind, and he will love no woman.

“The third sign is that the eyes of the youngest brother will be bound. 

“And the eyes of the brothers shall burn with Fay light, my daughter, for it is a Fay curse which burns within them.”

This the daughter heard in silence, and then called for two servants, to help her father the king return to his bedchamber. And there she and her mother tended him for nigh on another full week ere he died.

After the death and burial of the king, his knights and lords were divided amongst themselves on what their conduct should next be. Some for the love of Ebon determined to take up the quest he had given to them and to hunt for the three sons of Cwendor that they might be brought back to the palace and take up rule there, yet most preferred that Neirenye the lady princess should now take the throne, and rule as regent in her father’s place (for her mother was a beautiful creature but frail, and desired not the throne). And some further told loudly their loyalty and summoned their squires and horses that they might also seek out the three lost sons, and yet their true intent was to slay the blood-descendants of Cwendor when they were found, for small love had any of the knights for that bloodline.

Neirenye was but eighteen years old, yet she presided as heir and regent-apparent at her father’s burial feast, and read all these thoughts in the minds of her father’s men, and smiled to herself, for she knew now that her father was wise, and he had told the secret of the three signs to her alone. And after the men had departed, each to his own bed to rest ere their journeying began at dawn, and after her mother too had retired, Neirenye returned to her own chamber. She was princess and most beautiful maiden of the mortal people, yet here she set aside her fine gowns and jewels and clothed herself in a riding mantle and gear and bound her long hair about her head. Wondrous fair was the hair of Neirenye Ebon’s daughter, like spun gold, and heavy and soft. She had been named for it at birth, given as her name that of the golden eastern wind. Yet this she bound tight, and then taking in secret sword and provisions she led from the stables her own mare and leapt into saddle and rode away ere the sun rose, to fulfill the quest her father had left to her, and she was gone before the men awoke. Great was the dismay of her mother and the knights when they discovered her gone in the morning, for Neirenye was high-hearted and proud, and lovely of face and form, and they knew not where she had gone.

Neirenye rode many days through the mortal country, searching in the hill-lands for any sign or word of three brethren and mindful always of the three signs. Yet no sign of them could she find, and the year drew on. Some men she found who claimed fearlessness indeed, but she found them all to be liars, and swift men there were also, yet all of these slept. And blind men she found, but these were truly blind, and none had eyes like her father had told of.

Days passed, and at last it was autumn, and growing bitter cold, and Neirenye sought a lodging for the night. Yet she had ridden far from the hill-villages that day, seeking ever more remote places in her hunt, and nowhere could she find a place to stable her mare nor to beg food from. At last, weary and hungered, she met a lone man upon the road and stayed him, asking if there was any place she could reach to shelter at before nightfall.

He answered her that there was no place, save only his own dwelling, and then seemed to hesitate. But when he spoke again his voice was grave and courteous.

“We are not the fittest of hosts, lady,” he said to her, “for there dwell only my two brethren and myself, and we are poor. Yet there are two rooms. One you may have for the night, and your steed may sleep in our stable, but on the morrow you must go on your way.”

He was courteous and kind enough, but not welcoming, so she might not have gone, but she was cold and weary, and when he spoke of brothers she remembered her quest anew. So she thanked him, but he made no reply, only motioned her to follow him and led her to the cottage where he lived.

Once on the road she spoke to him, asking him how he and his brothers came to live in such a lonely place, far from aid if trouble befell. He answered that they were shepherds, and said no more.

She said, “There are thieves in the land. Your flocks could be plundered. There are only three of you, and no other dwellings near. And yet you do not fear?”

He wore a cowl. Yet his eyes glittered in that darkness when he replied: “Not I.”

And she believed him.

They came at length to a narrow wooden hut, rotting and old, and dusty red light of a fire shone from the single sagging window. There he left her and took her steed himself to the poor stable beside the house, and bade her enter. She went in.

Inside was no furnishing save only a wooden table and three stools set around it, and nothing else save a dirt floor and a bed of rags and a pot of clay which was hung above a fireplace cavernous which gave forth great heat. Tending the pot was another man, more slender than his brother, and with tresses so fair they seemed white. This hair seemed to her to be tied back from his face with a band of cloth.

When she entered, he said “Who is it that enters here, yet has not the step of my brother?” And he turned his face towards her, a young face, and she saw the cloth was wrapped about his eyes, so that he might not see.

“I am a traveler, and your brother has offered me shelter here for the night,” said Neirenye. And he smiled in welcome, but said no more.

When the first brother entered, he had put down his hood, and drew off the cowl about his head to show the face of a man not yet forty, strong and dark-featured, and his hair was dark. He smiled warmly at Neirenye and said, “This is my brother,” but said not his name.

“Is he blind?” She asked. He answered, “He can not see.”

They invited her to sup with them, and she willingly accepted, and helped set out their poor dishes. When they had set three places she hesitated, but then the elder brother set out another, and said to her, “Not for many years have we used the fourth.”

This emboldened her so she inquired, “You told me that you live here with your brothers. Yet only one I see. Where is the other?”

And he answered, “He will come.”

Yet they ate and the fire dwindled and still the third brother did not come. And when the meal was done, the elder brother showed her to the only bedchamber in the house, and gave it to her for the night, saying he and his brothers would sleep in the other room. And suddenly the younger brother spoke from where he stood motionless against the wall, and he said: “He is coming.”

The eldest of the brothers then left instantly and vanished into the night outside. The younger did not move or speak again. Neirenye then gathered her bag of meager possessions from where it lay by the door and went to the chamber alloted to her, but at the dark doorway she lingered, for curiosity overcame her, and the front door was opening.

The third brother, entering, was near full as tall as the eldest of the three--for he seemed younger indeed, yet not as young as the one who was blind--and he was clothed in poor garments as his brothers were, like a shepherd newly come from the field. His hair was dark and gold, and his face was the face of a hunter and a hawk, fierce and beautiful.  He did not speak, and scarce glanced at the woman. Yet in the swift stare of his eyes upon her face, Neirenye felt the bewildered anger and fear of a betrayed man. She closed the bedroom door, and lit a stub of wax candle with shaking hands, and wished she had not looked back.

That night as she fell asleep she thought she heard voices, speaking softly.

“There is a doom upon that girl,” said the first in a grave, kind voice, “and as she has found us, so shall it. I should not have taken her in, perhaps. But come what may, I do not fear it.”

“Neither do I fear,” said an answering voice, light and young. “For never have I heard a voice like hers. It is like the feel of firelight.”

A third voice she did not hear, and silence fell as the house slept. But in her dreams she heard footsteps, and this was the second brother, who paced before the fire all night, and did not sleep, for his mind was filled with the face of a woman, a woman with eyes like amber and sea-glass and hair like the eastern wind. 

The next day Neirenye slept late, but rose refreshed. She went out quietly, and there found the youngest of the brothers sitting at the table and he was alone. And he said: “Thou shalt not get far on thy journeying today, lady, for thou hast slept the day, and soon it shall again be night. Therefore stay with us yet one more night, and then on the morrow take thy leave.”

This Neirenye was glad to do, and so inquired where she might find the eldest brother. But the youngest shook his head and said that he was tending to the sheep. And concerning the second brother she did not ask. 

It was dusk when they returned, this time the two brothers together, and the eldest greeted her with warm kindness, but the younger said not a word. And he would not look upon her, nor hear her when she spoke, but paced the room restlessly. There was sweat upon his brow.

Neither of his brothers paid him any heed, and they ate as before without offering food or drink to the man who would not rest. But Neirenye watched him. And when the meal was done, and the eldest brother asked her concerning her journey, she laughed and said it was done.

“For I know who you are,” she cried. “You are the sons of Cwendor, who was king of this land, and was slain by the Faeries nigh on thirty years ago. I know your names: Malbun, Eldreth, Ichail. And I have come all this long way to find you.”

Then fell a great silence, and Ichail’s blind face was turned to her, and Malbun who was across from her at table looked at her without speaking, and Eldreth the swift covered his face. But the eyes of Malbun were suddenly silver, and the light that was in them burned like silver, and Neirenye remembered the words of her father and shivered. Slowly he spoke.

“Thou hast named us truly,” said the eldest of the three brothers, “but in this thou hast the advantage. For we know not thy name, lady, nor from whence you come, nor thy errand here.”

So she told them then her name and her father’s name, and spoke of her secret errand and her father’s death. “I was to be Queen,” she said, “but on his deathbed my father gave to me his long secret, and so I fled from my home to search for thee. I was to be Queen, but I desire no longer that high name, now that I know how it was won for me by my father.  For I know the full tale, and know ye that I hold thee innocent of any evils. I wish only to return you to your rightful thrones in the high city, where you will be hailed as princes.”

The brother with the bound eyes laughed then, and stood and left the little room of fire. But the eldest looked mournfully at her with his grave face, and the second spoke, and he was the one named Eldreth.

“We knew already our father’s name, and our father’s home, and our bloodright, lady. And yet we live here in poverty. Not from cowardice, nor from ignorance, nor from any reluctance on our parts to take up our father’s rule, but from necessity. For the Queen was content not merely to take our father’s life, but ours also. O woman who knows so much, surely you know of the three curses?”

And for the first time his eyes flashed to meet hers, and they burned as brightly as Malbun’s, but seemed bright further with a hopeless, trammeled anger, raw and pleading in his firelit face. And she lowered her gaze, confused.

“Yes,” she said at last, quietly. “I do know.”

“Lady Neirenye,” Malbun said kindly, “your gesture is a noble one. But go; return to your father’s house and take your place there. For never can we return to the house of our birthright, which was forsworn by the evil of our sire. Not unless the Fay Queen would relent and lift the curses which she laid upon us. And that shall never be.”

But Neirenye answered: “The throne is not mine to claim. It should have been thine. Fare well.”

And she stood and strode to the doorway. Behind her, one of the brothers spoke, and said, “Where then shalt thou go?”

“East,” she replied as she walked out into the darkness. And by this, they knew she purposed to journey to the kingdom of the Faeries, there to plead for them before the Queen.

Tears of anger and pity burned upon her face as Neirenye saddled and loaded her mare, and led her from the poor stable. Yet when she stepped forth from the low-hanging doorway she beheld before her in the darkness three shapes, and they were the shapes of men. And their eyes flamed silver as they watched her, save for those of the third and last, for they were hidden.

“We shall go with thee,” said Malbun.

Now do I pass lightly over some days of travel, said Naiwe, for the night grows deep and cold, and there is much yet to tell. (Ipelo, light the western lamps, and set new wood upon the fire.)  Let it suffice to say that Neirenye and the three brethren set out together towards where the border of Faery lay, and they met with no trouble upon the road in the mortal lands, for Eldreth was swift as the dawn, and Ichail the youngest could listen even to the wind and tell from which direction it came, and Malbun feared no thing. 

This is how they journeyed. Eldreth ran always far ahead to seek out the best paths, and returning would speak to his elder brother and so guided them well. Scarce did Neirenye see him in these first days, and never did he speak to her. Malbun then came leading the other two, and to look upon his face was to forget fear. Yet it was with Ichail that the daughter of Ebon became swiftest friends, for his was still a young heart and a glad one, and she would walk beside him and would sing for him songs from her childhood and lays of her people, for he delighted in the sound of her voice. 

It was the night of the seventh day, and the stars were pale and scattered in a thick haze of sky like precious jewels set as queenly ornament in a woman’s cloudy hair, when the daughter of Ebon and Cwendor’s three sons came to the very edge of the mortal world. It was dark, and they spoke not, yet they halted all of one accord, and they lit no fire that night, for upon the next day they would pass from the country of men into that of the Fay people, and morning light would show the glitter of the sun upon the leaves of the wood of Dor-Aelen.

Ichail laid him down upon the earth and slept like a child, with a clear brow, and Eldreth could not be seen in the mirk, though he was surely pacing silent and watchful about the place where his kinsmen and the woman slept, for he did not rest. Yet Neirenye was restless with both fear and a wild eagerness which surged like the sea within her breast, a longing and a wonder for the day to come and the land of Faerie yet to be ventured. And a wind like steel sang coldly in the darkness, and she lay shivering with the cold, for her garments had become thin-worn with her long journeying, and there was an icy dew upon the grass. It was a long time ere she slept.

When she next awoke, it was under the blank sky of a starless dawn, and she was warm, and found that a thick cloak of the stout sheep’s wool weave had been spread gently over her body as she slept. She looked about herself, but Malbun yet slept, and Ichail also. But then came Eldreth walking towards her, for it was his wont to waken the sleepers at dawn, he who kept the watch alone. And she saw then that Eldreth unlike to his brothers wore no cloak nor any warm wrapping, and there was frost in his hair. 

In sudden glad wonder then did she smile, and Eldreth with eyes unwilling saw that smile, and the sweet beauty and startled gratitude upon that fair face and flashing from those eyes which were like a pale-burning sunset upon the water, and he made no sign as he passed her, yet he bit his lip until blood flowed.

But she, in the moment when her eyes saw his--and this meeting was the third time those eyes had met--mustered all the strength of her heart to rebuke the thought that whispered to her that his face was the most beautiful of any man’s that she had ever beheld, and that he did not then despise her as she had all this time feared. He spoke not to her, and she made no move to speak to him, respecting his pride. Yet she wound  his cloak closely about her shoulders, and he did not ask for its return.

When Ichail woke, he smiled and lifted his face towards the growing light in the east, and said: “Now truly do I know that we near the Fairy kingdom. Do you not smell it, the salt and wind and living smell of that magic place? There are strange flowers blooming in those vales.”

And even then did Eldreth cry aloud, for behold! The sun turned the sky golden, and there before them lay the land of Faery. 

Ah, how shall I tell to thee of the wonder and beauty of that place? There rose the slender trees, in whose boughs danced the youngest and merriest of the winds, and the movement of those boughs were the shuttles upon a loom of sky, weaving the dawn’s colors. And beyond the glittering trees ran rivers of silver and palest blue, clearer than mirrors and thrice as cold, but whose draughts might make the witless man wise, and the wise man mad. And strange indeed were the flowers and beasts of that country, and the jeweled insects flashing in the sunlight, and the gentle hills. Faraway there rose the lavender-grey mountains, running with gold in the fair morning, and there too came a shiver and a shine that was the sea.

It was a beauty that was nearest perhaps to terror which met the stricken eyes of the sons of Cwendor and the daughter of Ebon, and it was a wine and a gladness and a pain like death, and yet none of these. Their tongues failed them to describe it to Ichail, the one who might not see. 

Malbun said: “It is the sweetest song ever sung, which makes the heart within a man laugh for very pain.”

Eldreth said: “It is the goodliest sword ever forged, which would both reflect the sunlight and drink a man’s blood gladly.”

But Neirenye said nothing, for her heart was too full, and she took his thin, blind hands in her own, and her tears fell upon them. And then did he smile, and he said “Verily, now do I understand,” and stood with the sun upon his face.

And this was the coming of the Sons of Cwendor and Neirenye the maiden daughter of Ebon to the land of Faery. . . .