Free Far Isle Half-Elven Story

Mariah and Renna

Artwork: Igor Glushkin

Renna's Tale:

When Gorsfeld Courted Mariah

In the beginning days, deep empty forests filled the valleys and mountains of the Marches, and proper mates were hard to come by. Five steadings settled in the valley near the river Fleer where the elf-lord,Teemon, lived with the two sisters and their sons. The other main holder in the valley was the renegade, Jonketon, my friend Mariah's foster father. My own grandfather had settled nearer to the Feld clan.

By the time Linden, Ashton, Mariah, and I were striplings, a wealth of dried apples, grains, and hard cider from the valleys floated down the Fleer to the Soleismouth, where the Felds controlled the port as they do now. The harbor made the Feld family rich enough to make them think they should rule the rest of us. Only the Felds' control of elf powers was weak ... so their lord thought to ally his son with a family hold strong magic. Mariah's reputation for beauty and power drew them to Jonketon's steading.

I was a frequent visitor at Mariah's homestead at the time because her foster mother, Griselda, knew as much about plant dyes as she did healing herbs. She taught me the beginnings of my weaving skills just as she taught Mariah healing skills. So, I was there, working in the kitchen with Grasilda, when Martonsfeld, the lord of the Soleis family at the time, came calling with guards following behind him.

"Hallo, the house," called Martonsfeld as he led his party to the open door one warm fall morning.

Grasilda glared at the Feld lord even though all steadings were duty-bound to offer hospitality to travelers who came in peace. Custom also said you hailed the house from the landing, not the doorway. The men made me nervous since most of our people where out in the orchard raking the falls for the pigs.

Wiping her hands on the sacking tied around her waist, Grasilda asked, "Aren't you a little early to trade? We've just begun the harvest and are still sorting."

Martonsfeld waved his hand. "We decided to get an idea about the size of the harvest early this year so we can plan for the ships. May we claim hospitality while we visit the valleys?"

The excuse seemed flimsy to me even though I'd never seen an ocean-going ship at the time. I admit I stared like a bumpkin at them. I'd never seen such fine clothes as the Felds wore. Gold-threaded lace draped from their sleeves almost to their fingertips, and gold threads created a fascinating pattern in the weave of their coats. Broad brimmed hats with sweeping feathers obscured their faces. My fingers itched to touch the cloth to see how it was made.

The longer the traders stared into the house, the more nervous I got. Grasilda and I were alone and being human, she had no way to contact Jonketon. My elf abilities were just appearing. While I could transfer hop, my mindspeak was too weak to call for help.

"Travelers camp in the lower meadow by the landing," said Grasilda as she moved to close the door. "You can talk to my man when he returns."

Sticking his foot over the threshold, Martonsfeld said, "Perhaps your daughter could take my son, Gorsfeld, to see the orchards while we set up camp?"

"My daughter's out with the raking crew."

"Then, ... your servant ...?"

"My apprentice has better things to do than entertain ... as do I."

As they glowered at each other, my evil genius spoke. "Mam, perhaps we could take the meal to the harvesters early. It would take care of two chores at once."

At my words, Martonsfeld pushed the youngest of his crew so he stumbled over the threshold. Grasilda gave in and waved towards the food sacks we had readied for the harvesters. I gave the boy the two heavy sacks hold the jugs of cider and clay bowls. I draped the straps around our necks so the sacks fell to our sides.

Gorsfeld jerked the topmost strap over his head. "I'm not a servant."

"Here, everyone pulls their own weight." Griselda snapped. "Why should my apprentice who is younger carry more than her share?"

After a glare from his father, the young trader stomped out of the side door after me.

"See that pattern on the barn?" I asked. "That's the landing mark for Jonketon's holding. The orchard landing has a red design in the center. You can transfer first if you want."

"Transfer? Only the elf-tainted mover through the air."

"This is the Marches," I said.

"Well, I can't transfer."

Thinking him a poor excuse, I shrugged. "So, we'll walk. It's not far."

When we arrived, sweating from the warmth, the harvest crew was spread out over the orchard raking the apples into piles for the pigs coming down from the high valleys on their way to market. All had taken their shirts off, even the women, in spite of the wasps flitting around. Gorsfeld's blue eyes bulged as if he'd never seen breasts before.

Linden, Ashton, and Mariah worked near a rock at the edge of the field, spreading honey on fresh baked bread which they laid out for the meal. The three of them gawked back at the newcomer. I don't think they'd ever seen gilded lace and feathered hats at that time, any more than I had. Gorsfeld dropped the jug sacks on the ground by the rock. His finery faded in comparison to the well muscled brothers and Mariah's flaming hair.

"Hey, careful there." Mariah scolded him, but Gorsfeld stared open-mouthed at the sweat trickling between her breasts. "Who are you anyway?"

Hiding my grin, I said, "Sorry. This is Gorsfeld. He's part of Lord Martonfeld's trading crew setting up a camp by the landing. These are Mariah, Jonketon's daughter, and Linden and Ashton, the elf lord's sons."

Reaching for my sacks, Ashton grinned at me. "You bring pasties? What kinds?"

"Venison and apple. What else did you expect after you brought down a deer, and the apples just harvested."

"Ugh, you used the bad ones," said Linden as we were still using as many of the damaged apples as possible. "You sure you cut out all the worms and bruised spots?"

While we discussed the food, Gorsfeld sidled next to Mariah. A wasp landed on her shoulder. Mariah ignored it, but the trader boy gave a squeal. He doffed his hat and swatted at the insect, trapping it between the brim and Mariah's skin. Obviously, she got stung. Mariah grabbed the hat and crumpled it as the wasp flew away.

"What do you think you were doing, you dolt?"

Static sparked along her spine, but she stalked over to the water jugs to make a mud poultice. I grabbed one of the venison pies I had slaved over all morning and pushed on Gorsfeld's shoulder so he noticed it. Though tempted to leave him to Mariah's wrath, I figured we'd only get into trouble if something happened to him.

"Our business is finished here, boy," I said. "Time to go back to the steading."

Gorsfeld glanced around at the workers homing in on the food. "But we just got here. I haven't seen the harvest yet."

"The harvest is back at the steading. These are the falls we're raking for the pigs," growled Mariah. "Don't you know anything?"

The next two days spun out like a dance where you tried to avoid an unwanted partner. Gorsfeld kept appearing at the oddest times and places. We did our best to duck out of the way. Mariah even bound her breasts, pulling the laces on her shirt tight to her neck. Still, Gorsfeld would sidle up to her. Bumping into her. Touching her. The bantam rooster made me glad my woman's curves were slow in coming.

On the third day, Gorsfeld cornered us in the byre while we did the morning milking. Mariah was dumping milk in the cheese barrel when he pushed her against the wall and tried to kiss her. Eyes closed and lips puckered, he didn't see Mariah raise the empty bucket to clobber him. I don't think he saw me in the shadows, milking the two butter cows, neither because he tried to wrestle her to the ground in spite of the blow. Mariah turned and kneed him where a man's most sensitive. Gorsfeld ran sniveling to his father who roared his displeasure to Jonketon.

The adults were livid at Mariah for breaking the hospitality code, no matter her attempts to explain. Somehow, her father thought she should have pushed him away and gone back to her work. Or, transferred out of reach. The little slime smirked when the four of us were forbidden to lay a hand on Gorsfeld for as long as the traders camped at the landing.

Did Gorsfeld learn his lesson? Of course, not. He continued his sly touches, but never when the adults were near enough to catch him. It was a game with the smug little fart. We didn't know how to get even with him until the pigherds arrived to rest and fatten their pigs on the rotten falls in our meadows before they drive them on to the Soleismouth. Mariah and I helped herd a batch of pigs into the fenced cider pear orchard so their dung would improve the soil. Ashton and Linden helped with transferring the useless apples to the pen because the cider pears were so bitter not even the pigs would touch them.

The night before the Soleis party left, Mariah took the kitchen slops to the pigs, alone while I went to meet Ashton and Linden to transfer more sacks of apples to feed them. Gorsfeld lay in wait for Mariah and offered a jeweled necklace gaudy enough to intrigue the Trestemontan king. The gormless idiot thought Mariah'd be impressed and let him fool around or even take him as her partner, as if we were thinking of such things at the time. ... Well, maybe we'd thought about them, but we hadn't put our thoughts into actions ... yet.

By the time we arrived with the apples, Gorsfeld had back Mariah into the corner of the fence. His body pressed so close to hers that she couldn't transfer without harming him. Mariah's power sparked as we landed close to the pair.

Gorsfeld's nose wrinkled. "You lot stink of rotten apples."

Ashton grinned as he approached them. "Those are the best kind. Haven't you seen the pigs fight over who gets the greatest share?"

The trader boy sneered as he stepped away from Mariah. "It's a wonder you aren't down on the ground fighting with them."

"Here, you forget something." When Gorsfeld turned, Mariah tossed him a gorgeous necklace. "It's a little grand for pig keepers."

"You're too stupid to appreciate beauty when you see it."

Gorsfeld began a diatribe about what rubes we were. We could do nothing but clench our fists and listen with expressionless faces since we were in sight of the traders' camp. When Gorsfeld took a breath, Mariah stooped to pick up a fresh fallen cider pear. Her face gave no clue as to what she was thinking.

Brushing the pear off on her pants leg, she said, "Maybe we should apologize for not treating you properly according to your proper position as a lord's son. Here, have a pear since you don't like apples."

The silly git grabbed the pear and took a huge bite. His eyes bulged further out of head as he tried to spit it out, but his lips puckered tight together. The faint glow around the stern-faced Mariah was almost lost in the sunlight as she forced his mouth shut. Gorsfeld had no choice but to chew the pear until the pieces were small enough to swallow.

When he threw the rest of the pear away, Mariah asked, "Don't you like it? Most of us like pears better'n apples. Guess our country ways don't suit you."

Gorsfeld stomped off without another word. We didn't laugh at him ... at least within his hearing. But, he must have put ideas into Mariah and Ashton's heads for they soon shared a bed, with Linden joining them close after. I can only imagine what Gorsfeld thought when he heard of that.

Artiwork: GoDaddy

How the unclaimed land along the river Soleis might look to
a Half-Elven standing on a hill.