Douglas Niles - Circle at center

“They don’t say why?”

“I don’t think they even know themselves. It would make for a tale, I imagine.”

For some reason the news caused Tamarwind an unseemly agitation. He and Ulfgang departed the inn after their single drink, and he looked at the elves he saw meandering along the streets or tending their hedges and gardens. There seemed to be as many people here as ever, but he couldn’t dismiss the bright teacher’s suspicions so lightly.

Ulfgang seemed to take a great interest in the elven city, prancing along with ears perked and head held high. Several of the fox-faced wolfish dogs favored by the elves barked or sniffed at him, but Ulf remained aloof, the long white plume of his tail waving proudly in the air.

They reached the massive arkwood tree which included Tam’s house in its many apartments, and rather than using the central lift, climbed the long outer stairway toward his rooms. The wooden steps were comfortingly solid, and circled the tree trunk in an ascending spiral. As the ground fell away, they were dazzled by the hanging gardens of the middle terrace, and finally climbed out of the foliage to the balcony of the upper trunk. Here they were higher than most of the trees and buildings of Silvercove-only a few dozen arkwood trees and several ivory and glass towers jutted above the forest canopy. Long bridges of rope, beribboned with flowers and frequently supported by small balloons, connected some of the lofty realms into a giant spiderweb of walkways.

Tamarwind maintained his apartment just above treetop height, and soon they had reached the door. They found the rooms musty, since they had been closed up for several cycles, but otherwise clean and… lifeless. The scout was surprised by the realization. He had his artworks, numerous paintings and sculpture, his crystal and silver and soft furniture, with little gardens beside the windows and a small fountain in the water room. Yet somehow, after the splendor of Circle at Center and the changing scenery of the road, he found his walls stifling, his possessions gaudy and irrelevant. As he walked from room to room, or gazed listlessly at the magnificent vista from his balcony, his mind kept returning to Belynda. Odd how that recent visit had reawakened long dormant emotions. Their time of coupling together was long past, hundreds of years away now… yet he found himself wishing that she was here with him. Her presence would have brightened the view of towers and trees, added luster to the burnished gold decorating his walls.

Perhaps she would even have quickened the beating of his old, old heart.

E very day Natac learned more about Earth, and about Nayve. He was frequently surprised to realize that facts about his own world seemed far more amazing than details he absorbed about this place to which Miradel had brought him. The Seventh Circle was a wild and untamed place, and he remained horribly fascinated by the inexorable energy of great nations. He knew from Miradel’s displays of the tapestry that these powerful states were on courses of inevitable collision, and he spent fascinating hours watching the intrigues in the courts of England, France, and especially Spain. He followed the ships of the exploration, the surging outward that was carrying the influence of Europe into all corners of the globe.

He was also impressed and awed by the variety of combat techniques that had been developed on his world. Diligently he studied these every chance he got, observing wrestling and boxing, watching other men fight with whirling hands and lashing feet. The steel swords of the Europeans struck him as the deadliest of all weapons, though the booming arquebuses showed the potential for great lethality as well.

But despite the sessions in the darkened room, with the candle flaring and the Wool of Time transformed into magical pictures, Natac spent most of his time learning about the place that was his new home. There were times when, amid the activity and new experiences, he almost forgot about the life of blood and sacrifice that had been his previous existence.

Then he would lie in bed at night, well after the Hour of Darken, and he remembered the hearts, the captives. He relived the sensation, an awareness in sinew and nerve and perception, of driving his obsidian blade through soft flesh and brittle bone. And always, when at last he slept, his dreams were haunted by the image of Yellow Hummingbird.

All he could do was apply even more energy to the next day’s activities, and it was in this fashion that he drove through the tendays and amassed an increasing body of knowledge about this place called Nayve.

Much of his time was spent in exploration, starting with the view from Miradel’s hilltop villa. He learned that the city and island in the middle of the great lake was called Circle at Center, and that the metal spire rising from the island was at the Center of Everything. There were two great causeways connecting the city to the lakeshore-one in the direction of metal, the other running in the direction of wood. He saw many splendid structures in Circle at Center, but when he speculated that these must be temples and palaces, Miradel informed him that they were simply the houses and halls of the city’s elves, as well as museums and galleries displaying a host of wonders. The place seemed vibrant and compelling, but for the time being he resisted the urge to go there.

On the inland side of the villa rose a range of rugged highlands. This ring of hills encircled the great lake and its teeming island. Many trails coursed through the hills, and he hiked and trotted along numerous different paths, alternately skirting the lofty, snowcapped peaks that formed the spine of the range, or winding his way down to the innumerable little coves and fjords along the shore of the lake.

Though the heights were rocky, covered only with sparse brush and scrawny trees, many of the valleys were well-watered, home to lush groves and fertile meadows. He encountered animals that he knew, such as deer, turtles, and birds, and others that he had never imagined. There were herds of massive, shaggy beasts that grazed upon the grass, and tall, spotted creatures that stretched long necks far upward to munch on the leaves in the treetops. He saw monkeys in more varieties than he had ever imagined, and once caught a glimpse of a lumbering, sharp-toothed animal slashing fish out of a stream with blows from a huge, taloned paw. The latter beast was a bear, Miradel said, as she gave him the name to add to his list of buffaloes, giraffes, and other exotica.

He was especially fascinated by the small herds of horses that seemed ubiquitous in the nicest pastures. The animals were wild, and quick to spook, but he was reminded of the visions he’d seen in the Tapestry, the spectacle of these animals trained by humans, ridden with a speed like the wind. Miradel told him that several druids had learned how to tame horses, and he resolved to eventually seek them out, to learn the secret of that wonderful skill.

Several times the two of them walked down into the valley for an evening with Fionn, Owen, and the band of druidesses who dwelled with them. These young women, all of whom were stunning beauties, cured the two warriors of their many wounds, shared in their bouts of drinking, and-to Natac’s surprise and embarrassment-coupled delightedly with either of the big men.

As to the pair of burly warriors, Natac observed that Owen and Fionn seemed ready to fight for virtually any cause except over the women. It was at their third dinner together, while two druidesses worked healing magic on Owen’s badly burned back, that Natac finally broached the question to Fionn.

“Why should we fight over women… there are plenty for each of us!” declared the Celt, though he cleared his throat and looked awkwardly at the floor.