If Elu had considered her life a happy one before, the next few weeks that followed she came to look upon as the most delightful days of all her life. These were sweet days, days untainted by madness or folly, by war or by bloodshed. If she had known days such as these were not to last, she would have clung onto them as something precious, like a child onto his last clutch of cherished sweets. If any of them had known, they would have run away and hidden. But what would that have solved? Most times, what you run away from will only live to hunt you down. Sometimes, Elu came to wonder, would they have been able to run away? And how far would they have run before the darkness had caught up with them?
It was not easy at first to accept the changes in Mirulas. Elu always expected him to bump into her while rounding a corner, shoes unlaced and hair amok. Every time she did bump into him, it was not for the once desired effect of irritating her. Such events had now been relegated to the discreet and the clandestine. She was amazed at just how adept he had become at not being the old Mirulas. He wooed her with a single-mindedness that at first she did not know how to react to. He was extremely deferent to her, respectful and courteous, but his underlying ardency could always be felt thrumming beneath the surface. She had never regarded him as being a particularly affectionate boy, but here he was, devoted and attentive, and with every one of those impassioned feelings directed solely at her.
It was not that she did not enjoy the attention. It was simply that she had never been used to it, and sometimes the intensity with which he would approach her was enough to send her reeling. It took a long time for her to recover the presence of mind to respond to him; she would pay more attention to her clothes and her appearance. Mistress Eldeen would feign surprise and confusion whenever Elu would come to her craving a few drops of her best perfume. She was wise enough to see what was developing between her son and Elu, and wise enough not to let it show. After all, she had been young once. Let them manage things their own way.
It soon became clear to the villagers of Welle that something was afoot between Elu and Mirulas. There was a lot of talk, but everyone really knew what that ‘afoot’ actually meant. There was much gossiping amongst the older women in the village, and many tears shed by the younger ones. There was a general agreement that things could not be better timed. After all Mirulas was the elder’s son, and the sooner he got married the better. And Elu was a fine girl, a bit strange in her own way, a bit skinny, but of childbearing age. As far as they were concerned, the match was perfect. Elu, of course, was not deaf to all this talk. Being a sensible girl, and also an uncommonly proud one (as everyone had noted long before), she pretended that she didn’t know anything about the whole affair. But it was not a surprise to her when Mirulas came knocking at the door of her room one afternoon after he was breaking from his woodshop.
“Elu, there is something important we must discuss,” he spoke in a rush without any greeting. He was flushed as though from running and embarrassment. Elu stared at him.
“Mirulas, are you all right? You look as if you needed a drink of water. Shall I go downstairs and get you a mug…?”
“Oh no!” he cried, a mixture of desperation and excitement in his voice, “I’ve no time with that. Come with me to the Oak Tree, won’t you? There’s something I must speak to you about.”
Feeling very surprised and suspicious about it all, Elu allowed him to lead her to the Oak Tree. It was a large tree that stood just outside the village, and was commonly used for secret or private meetings amongst the village folk, but more often amongst young couples and lovers. Elu always got the strangest feeling whenever she came to the Tree. It was as though she knew it, or had known it – it was as though it had lived or witnessed a thousand lives before, and every life it had witnessed thrummed through it like a hidden energy source. Often she would run her hands against the bark, trying to connect with that feeling, trying to tap into it. Mirulas would often complain that she spent more time being concerned with the Oak Tree than with him. Old Eldeen had laughed and said that some people were more sensitive to the Tree than others. When Elu had asked him what he meant, he had replied that all living things were alive in more than one sense – they all had a consciousness, they all had a heart, and they all had a soul. Those that lived longer had a larger consciousness and were more ‘aware’; they picked up other people’s thoughts and feelings, and retained and kept them, locked away deep inside. Most humans, Eldeen said, didn’t live long enough to gain this power. But Oak Tree, he added, was more than a thousand years old, maybe even older. It had seen and retained much.
Now Elu and Mirulas sat under its sprawling boughs, and she had tried to pay attention to him as the quiet rustling of leaves and voices tickled on the edge of her consciousness. She could not help herself from staring up at the towering canopy of the tree. It seemed to go up, forever and ever, up to the sky. A shiver coursed down her spine. For a moment, it was as though she could almost hear those words again, whispering in the motion of the leaves: at last, you are here. She shook her head, and the moment was lost.
“Elu, there’s something I want to ask you.” She was aware of Mirulas speaking to her. With an effort she broke her concentration on the tree and turned it to him. “But first,” he continued quickly, “There’s something that I’ve got to say first.”
She stared at him, waiting. He was nervous. It showed in his movements. He could hardly keep still, and he could not look at her. After a moment though, he took her hands firmly in his own, and seemed to draw strength from that. He swallowed and met his own green eyes with her grey ones.
“I love you, Elu,” he spoke on a rush, his voice wavering with emotion, “I know it seems funny, but I think I always have. It just took me this long to find out. I was a brainless child back then, and I treated you abominably, I know. I only hope that you will forgive me, Elu, and that you will forget it all. Because I love you so very much.” Elu floundered, unable to speak. She had known for days now that this had been coming, but somehow, to hear him say it, so fervently and so simply, moved her beyond anything she would have said. So she simply waited for him to continue.
“Well, now that I’ve said all that,” he began again, looking even more flushed and excited than he had before, if that could have been possible, “I suppose I should ask you my question. Elu, will you marry me?”
That knocked Elu totally off centre. Had she been expecting it? In some ways yes, in some ways no. She had known it was inevitable that he would ask. What she had not known was the shock it would give her.
“Elu?” he ventured when she did not answer.
“Mirulas,” she spoke at last, “you know I would love to. But have you asked your father’s permission yet to marry?”
He frowned. This was evidently not what he wanted to hear.
“Well, not yet. But I wanted to ask you first, Elu. It’s you I want to marry, not him. And I’m sure he will agree anyway. He loves you as much as he does me, Elu.”
Somehow she managed to recover herself. She smiled up at him, her eyes shining. “Then Mirulas, I accept. I accept with all the love in my heart.”
A grin crossed his face, one that he could not contain. In a rush he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, then gave up all formality and kissed her on the lips instead. She laughed, almost caught up herself on his joy and excitement.
“Oh Elu, you shall not regret this, I promise you! I shall make you the happiest bride in all of Éadan.” He paused and seemed to remember something. “Aan confound it, I almost forgot! I have some pupils waiting for me at the woodshop! But I shall be back this evening to confer with my father! Until then!” He stooped and kissed her hand again, then ran off towards the village, looking back only once to wave at her.
Elu stood, watching him until he had gone far into the distance. It took a while for it all to sink in, but when it had, she realised that she had never been happier. It was all she could do to contain the joy inside her. She did not care about her past now, she did not care about the darkness of her dreams. Whatever she had been, wherever she had come from, it didn’t matter anymore. She would turn her back on it all and leave it behind. She would marry Mirulas, and become his wife. They would have a family, they would be happy together. That was where her future lay.
She almost believed it. Until she began to walk away from the Tree, and she felt the snake-like hands of his consciousness groping out for her. A cold chill went over her back where it touched her. At first she did not believe that what she felt could be real. But something was there; the return of doubt, of fear. The return of that all-consuming darkness, the first thing she could remember. She pressed them away sharply, her breath heaving, and walked away from them. The snake-like hands followed her, clawed at her. She ran.
No, came the voice behind her. No! You must not do it! You must not!
That afternoon Elu busied herself with helping Mistress Eldeen to cook the family supper. She managed to ruin the sauce and burn herself twice. Despite her mistress’ scoldings, Elu could not manage to concentrate. On the one hand her mind was caught with the rapture of knowing that soon Mirulas would be home and would be formally announcing their betrothal to his parents. On the other hand, she could not seem to get out of her mind the strange happening by the Oak Tree that day. It had seemed so real. But how could the Tree talk to her? And how could it have actually reached out for her? Perhaps it had all been her imagination. She sighed. She would have to learn to let go of her past if she was to be happy in her future with Mirulas. It was no good on dwelling on it. She had given herself up to the fact that she would never remember. So what was the use in worrying herself with it?
Evening came and Mirulas returned home. Elu tried to ignore him and act normally, but it was very difficult, especially at the dinner table, when he would not stop passing her meaningful glances. When they had finished, Mirulas turned to his father.
“Father, there is something I would like to speak to you and mother about, a very important and urgent matter. Do you think we could go and sit by the hearth? I wish to speak to you both privately.”
Eldeen looked both confused and grave at the same time.
“Of course, my son,” he nodded. Then he rose his head and addressed Elu kindly. “Elu, if you would not mind leaving us for a moment…”
“No,” Mirulas interrupted him quickly, “I would prefer it if Elu were here, father.”
Both Eldeen and his wife shot each other short, quick glances. But they showed nothing on their faces.
“Of course,” Eldeen was graver than he had been before. “Come Elu. Prepare our chairs by the fire.”
Silently, Elu rose and did so. Once the fire had been stoked in the grate, and the family was comfortably ensconced in their seats, Mirulas spoke with an impatience that clearly gave away the amount of time he had given over to thinking exactly how he was going to phrase this.
“Father,” he began, “Mother. I would like to ask your permission in an endeavour of mine. It is of the utmost importance.” Elu could not help but steal a glance at him. Judging by the way he had left his seat, and was now pacing up and down, she was certain that what he had just said wasn’t exactly the way he had wanted to word it.
Eldeen simply hid his smile.
“And what endeavour would this be, my son?” he asked.
“Well, as you know, I’ve only recently returned home, and this may seem a little sudden, but I’ve been thinking about it a long time, perhaps longer than even I realised, and I know the villagers have been talking, and that this probably isn’t going to be a surprise to you, but…” He stopped suddenly, realising that he had been blundering. “Oh, Badan confound it!” He strode over to stand behind Elu’s chair and she felt his hands upon her shoulders. “Father, I have asked for Elu’s hand in marriage. She has given her consent. I wish to ask for your permission to marry her as soon as I possibly can.”
There was a silence. Eldeen looked strangely grave. Not even the twitch of a smile broke his face. His wife sat still, expressionless. After a moment, Mirulas became puzzled and not a little annoyed. “Well, father, what do you say?”
Eldeen shifted in his chair, leaned forwards. “Mirulas,” he spoke softly, calmly, “before I say anything on this matter, I should like to ask you a question. Have you thought this through? Properly, I mean, and with all the attention it requires?”
Mirulas was outraged. “Of course I have!” he burst out.
“I do not think so,” Eldeen sighed. “Mirulas, have you never considered Elu’s past? What may or may not be her heritage? Remember how I found her, my son. What if she is of noble blood? What if one day, her parents were to find her? Would they agree to a match such as yours? Or what if one day she were to remember her past? Do you think she would still be content to be your wife, to be wedded to one below her station?”
He let the questions hang over Mirulas like an ominous cloud. They sank into him, one by one. Even Elu herself had not thought of such horrible dilemmas. She watched on in dismay as Mirulas’ face fell. “For her love I would be willing to take that risk,” he replied sullenly.
“You may be,” Eldeen spoke grimly, “But what if she is not? Would you be willing to take her life to yours so selfishly if she herself had doubts? Mirulas, I tell you, such a marriage would never breed happiness.”
Mirulas was silent and frowning. He would look at no one. It was Mistress Eldeen who broke the silence. “It seems to me that no one here has seen fit to ask Elu herself.” She leaned forward in her chair, and looked at Elu kindly. “Elu, child, what have you to say?”
Elu was silent a moment, thinking on all that Eldeen had said. Well, if her parents did come along and try to win her back, she could not help that. She did not remember them; she certainly did not care for them. She would simply refuse to go back with them, whatever they said. She did not care for riches or wealth. She only wanted to be happy. And what if one day she did remember? Elu did not think that likely. The past was the past, and she would let it remain there. She would no longer wonder on it, or seek it out. Her future, she told herself once again, was here in Welle, with Mirulas, whom she loved. She knew what she wanted.
But even as the resolution came to her mind, a doubt gnawed at her. It was a doubt carried on a memory, a voice as insistent as the wind: You must not do it! Elu, you must not! The thought of it almost took her breath away. She held it down.
“Master Eldeen, Mistress Eldeen,” she began quietly, “I have considered everything you have said. Indeed, I have thought on it often myself. I do not know my past, neither do I have any memory of it. And I think that, were I even faced with that past once more, I would choose your son and his love above it all. I should like very much to marry Mirulas, to make him happy and to have a family with him. I should also like to be your daughter, and to do everything I can to make this household an agreeable one. I have considered your son’s pledge and accepted it with all my heart. I should be honoured and very happy to be his wife.”
Eldeen sat quietly as she spoke this, listening gravely to all she had to say. When she had finished he looked upon her with a stalwart gaze. “Then if it is so,” he began softly, and then his face broke into a smile, “I too should be very happy indeed to see my son married to so wise and seemly a young maid.”
In a moment Elu was caught up in a warm bear hug of an embrace by her mistress, and then was passed on to a just as thrilled Mirulas, who kissed her very gently on the fingertips before hugging her to him tightly.
“My dear Elu,” he choked, but could say no more.
It was the law of the land that an engaged couple be handfasted in a special ceremony, and it had been as such for so long that no one remembered the origins of that ritual. It was said that it had begun in the gardens of Arinfól, when the goddess Eithé had pledged herself to the god of the earth, Badan, by twining her hand to his with a cord of the flower heartsweet. It was no more than a legend, but throughout the centuries the ceremony, which came to be known as handfasting, had become common amongst nobles and common folk alike. Even royalty followed the ritual, though with a deeper sense of aplomb than the village folk had, and instead of using the heartsweet they would use twines of gold thread embroidered with tiny red flowers.
The flowers of the heartsweet plant were small and many, hanging close to the stem in branches, with petals of deepest crimson hue and adorned with centres as of white stars. Other folk called them redstar or bloodstar, but most knew them by the common name of heartsweet, due to the ancient legend that was still attached to them. They grew as low-lying crawling plants in forests and wooded land, so their stems were long and supple, and suited well to the twining of the handfasting ceremony. Both the man and the woman of the couple that had been pledged to one another would lay one hand on top of the other, and with their free hands throw the twined flowers over their palms in the form of a cross. This symbolised not only the binding of their lives and their bodies to one another, but also the binding of their hearts and their souls. Once the acting priest, be he a temple-man or a village elder, had blessed the joining in the name of Aan and the six Elder Mithlonei, the couple was officially acknowledged to be a couple pledged to wed. After the ceremony, the couple would retire from one another’s company for three months until the wedding ceremony had been performed. If there was any transgression of this waiting period, during which the couple may unlawfully bide together, their marriage pledge would be broken until the three months were over. If the acting priest and village elder saw fit, they would be handfasted again, and they would wait another three months to be married. If their re-pledging was not seen fit, then there would be no hope for their marriage. Such was the law of the land.
The preparations for the handfasting ceremony of Elu and Mirulas lasted the best part of a week. It was midsummer, the perfect occasion for a pledge ceremony. There was certainly a celebration to be made of it, since there were rarely marriages of this importance to be held. Most of the women of Welle moved away from their homes upon marriage, marrying into the more comfortably situated families of the nearby villages of Töngel and Pedrell. Furthermore, the marriage of the elder’s son was of great significance to the folk of Welle. Whoever he married would one day be the mistress of the village and an important figurehead for the womenfolk. It was said that if the elder’s wife conceived a child in her first year of marriage, the harvest of the following year would reap a surplus. Such stories were only superstition, but vital to the livelihood of the village. To have a young wife in their midst once more was no small matter.
And so the hustle and the bustle began. A feast was prepared – there was honey taken from the nearby bee farm, butter, milk and cheese made from the cows. Meats were cured and cakes and bread were mixed and put into ovens. All sorts of alcohols were somehow bought in bulk, though Elu never discovered how they had managed to cart so many barrels into Welle. This had been mainly the province of the menfolk, and she was sure most of it had been bought out of their own pocket. Heartsweet had been gathered in abundance, both for the all-important pledge-twine, and for decoration. Flowers of pastel hue were chosen to reflect the tenderness of the event. Pinks, whites, creams and fuchsias were gathered into bouquets and posies by the dozen. Then there were the entertainers to think of, the minstrels, the bards, the storytellers, the jugglers and the conjurers, the dancers, acrobats and singers. Word was sent out to the various surrounding villages that any entertaining folk that could be spared make their way to Welle in time for the handfasting. Every penny that could be spent on the day was spent without hesitation. No luxury was to be passed on.
More important were the matters concerned with Elu herself. In no time at all she found herself besieged by a horde of women, intent on measuring her up and telling her which fabrics suited her best. It was all rather unnerving to Elu. Having been used to her endless supply of blue and brown and grey chemises and skirts, she was amazed at the cloths they had in mind for her. Fine linen, they said. She had no idea where on earth they had managed to get such expensive cloth from, but she suspected by the look on Mistress Eldeen’s smiling face that she had had something to do with it. Perhaps a word with her sister, a tailor in Töngel, had secured her the bolts of white and crimson material. But as the women began to formulate the dress over a period of days, Elu kept silent. She knew it was dangerous to intervene in anything the women of the village did, especially if it had anything to do with weddings.
The day of the handfasting came quickly, dawning brighter and clearer than any day that year so far. As soon as Elu was awake she was whisked off by a grinning Mistress Eldeen to dress. It was the first time that Elu had seen the finished article. She stood staring at it, dumbfounded. Somehow, the women had managed to work a hemline of gold thread into it. She felt a slow warm tingle up her spine. She had not known that the village folk thought so well of her.
“It is lovely, is it not?” said Mistress Eldeen, her smile so big it almost seemed to engulf Elu.
“It’s absolutely beautiful,” Elu breathed, “Oh mistress, how can I ever thank you for such kindness?”
“By being the wonderful daughter you already are,” she answered, then hugged Elu tight. There were tears in both their eyes.
A gaggle of women later descended upon Eldeen’s house, and with great enthusiasm Elu was pampered as she had never been before. Her hair, cut short as all young women’s were, would now be allowed to grow as a symbol of her soon-to-be-married status. It was entwined with a crown of flowers, while a liberal amount of scents were poured over her, mostly orange blossom and meadowfold. The dress, a long flowing gown of blood red and white, was typical of a bride’s costume at a handfasting ceremony. And lastly, she was made to drink a cocktail of crushed orange blossoms and heartsweet, in order that the Guardians bestow their luck upon her for the coming marriage.
It was the custom that handfastings and weddings be performed by a natural rock pool or a lake, seeing as life was said to have sprung from the first rock pool, the Holy Well. But the only source of water in Welle was an underground spring, whose waters were drawn up by an old well that had once served the neighbouring villages before Welle had been built. Since a ceremony could not be performed by such a site, most handfastings took place by the old Oak Tree. There Elu was led by a procession of the womenfolk, to an already large gathering waiting by the Tree. The path was sprinkled with flowers and blossoms that the children had scattered before her. And there, already by the Tree with his father standing proudly before the assembly, was Mirulas, dressed too in white and red, his face flushed pink as he saw her approaching. She smiled with reassurance as she came up beside him, led by his mother. And when he smiled back, there was no doubt in her mind that what she was doing was the right thing.
The next few moments passed like something akin to a dream. There was a great speech made by Eldeen, who was taking the role of acting priest, since a temple priest had not been able to be found in time. He spoke of his son, how he had brought him up, how he had been a troublesome boy, but had grown up to be a son he could be proud of and could rely on. Then he spoke of Elu, who had been like a daughter unto him and his family, who he had found and taken in, and who had served them well. It was his pleasure, he said, to see the two joined in wedlock, since he could think of no greater match. He hoped the village folk would think the same. There was a murmur of agreement, and then the precious pledge-twine was brought forward. Eldeen took it and bade Elu and Mirulas outstretch and cross both their hands. When they had done so he lay the twine over their palms.
“If thou wilt take her as thy wife,” Eldeen spoke solemnly to his son, “then bind thy hand to hers and show thy devotion.” Without hesitation Mirulas took his end of the twine and wound it over her palm.
“And if thou wilt take him to by thy husband,” Eldeen continued, looking at Elu, “then bind thy hand to his and show thy devotion.”
Even as Elu reached out to take her end of the twine, she felt it. The Oak Tree, or what she thought was the Oak Tree, clawing at her, pulling at her, tugging at her mind as though to draw her away. No, Elu, you mustn’t! But even as the doubt filled her, she did not stop her hand from folding the twine over his palm. No one saw that doubt on her face. No one even suspected that it had been there. As swiftly as it had come, it was gone. For a while, Elu was not even certain it had been there at all.
Eldeen’s face broke into a smile.
“And so they have pledged themselves, and I bless their pledge in the name of Aan, the Elder God, and his blessed children, Badan, Eithé, Rimûl, Maya, Erdé and Ranya. And so shall they be recognised as pledged by all who live, be they man or god.”
And at those words there was a great cheering, and a great cascade of petals were thrown up into the air, and as they whirled about like snow on a winter’s day, all smiled to see Mirulas take Elu into his arms and kiss her. But one there was who did not smile, one who stood on the edge of the group, and who leant against the heavy trunk of the Tree and looked on. But he said nothing, and noted all; and most of all he noted Elu, and there was a frown upon his hooded, wrinkled face.