Cynewulf tucked his book under his arm and bowed. “Good morning, sir. I am the Duke’s son, Lord Cynewulf, but you may call me Old Man.”
The elf laughed in astonishment. “You’re the Old Man! You sound rather young to me.”
“I am nine years old. I am called the Old Man,” he explained patiently, as he had countless times before, “because I was so bald and wrinkled when I was born.”
The elf stepped inside and allowed Cynewulf to follow, but he asked skeptically, “Does your father know you’re here?”
“Yes! Father Brandt said I might skip my Latin lesson today if I come and read some chapters from the Gospels to you instead. Do you truly know Latin?” Cynewulf asked, equally skeptical.
“I do, but not many elves do. When we were boys we used to speak Latin to each other so our parents wouldn’t know what we were plotting.”
“Say, that’s a good idea! Even though my father speaks more languages than I do. And anyway I don’t know many words for being naughty in Latin.”
“We invented some! All the Latin we knew was in your books. There’s a lot of violence in your Bible, but not much naughtiness.”
“Did you already read the Bible?”
“Yes.”
“The whole thing?”
“Several times over the years.”
“Well then.” Cynewulf slid the book onto the table. “I suppose I don’t need to read you any chapters. Let’s talk about something else!”
“Oh, no!” the elf laughed. “That won’t help with your Latin and it won’t help me become a Christian.”
“But you already read it all,” Cynewulf whined.
“And now I must think about it all.”
“All?”
“Not the part where this one begat that one. The important parts.” The elf’s hand patted across the table until it found the book. “Let’s go sit by the fire, and you can read me whatever part Father Brandt decided was important today.”
Cynewulf followed, momentarily distracted by his admiration of the blind elf’s self-assurance. He moved as if he could see—as if he knew by heart where everything stood—and he pulled a deerskin out of a chest and spread it on the floor without fumbling with his hands. More than that, he walked with such a straight back and high head that Cynewulf thought of the King, when the King was in a mood to get things done.
“Do you have kings and lords and knights, among the elves?”
“What about that Bible?”
“I know, but I want to make certain you know what I mean, if I talk about King David or something.”
The elf laughed. “You’re clever. We call him Khór Davíd. Now, let’s hear about him.”
“What about knights? Do you have knights? Are you a knight?”
“First let’s hear your chapters, and then, if you don’t put me to sleep with your dismal Latin, I might feel like chatting a little.”
“But can’t we talk, first?” Cynewulf smiled his most convincing smile before he remembered that the elf could not see it.
“You’re as bad as I was, when I was nine.”
“I know, I know, but listen! Think about this: what if my father comes to take me home before I finish reading? Then when I see Haakon and Heaf, and they ask me what I talked about with the elf, I shall have to say that we talked about the time the people cut a hole in Jesus’s roof and dropped a sick man through it, still in his bed.”
The elf laughed. “That sounds almost like a naughty thing to do!”
“I know, but that’s what I have to read.”
“Who are Haakon and Heaf? Are they your friends?”
“Yes! And they will be so jealous when I tell them I talked to you. But not if we only talk about the Bible. So… why don’t you tell me about something else? Why don’t you tell me about what kind of magic you have? You have magic, don’t you?”
The elf leapt to his feet so abruptly that Cynewulf was unable to see how he did it.
“Whoa!” he gasped and scrambled up after him. “You’re not angry at me, are you?”
The elf violently shook out his hair and scratched and patted his tunic, as if under a sudden assault of fleas. He seemed to be flinging out a cloud of dust worthy of a miller at the end of the working day, but the dust sparkled and shimmered and hovered around his head and shoulders, unlike any dust Cynewulf had ever seen.
“Whoa whoa whoa!” Cynewulf cried. “Jupiter! What’s that?”
“What’s what?” the elf asked mildly. “Had an itch.”
“What’s that?” Cynewulf clapped his hands against his cheeks and danced in excitement. “Is that magic?”
“What’s what?”
“All those sparkly things around you! What is it?” Cynewulf leapt up and snatched at them, but it was very much indeed like trying to capture dust.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes you do! Jupiter! What a show! Wait till I tell Haakon and Heaf! It’s like stars!”
The elf finally left off pretending and laughed at him instead. “That’s what we do to amuse babies!” he mocked.
“Well, I never saw it when I was a baby, so it’s new to me now. Can’t you teach me how to do it?”
“You’re not an elf! You don’t have magic.”
Cynewulf clapped his hands over a cloud that darted lower than the others, and to his surprise he felt something warm and faintly buzzing between his palms.
“Jupiter! I caught one!”
“You did?”
Cynewulf could scarcely stop giggling for excitement. “Will it fly away if I peek?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Is it alive?”
“No, no. It’s only light.”
Cynewulf slowly lifted one hand from the other. On his palm was a speck of blue light, no bigger than a star, but almost bright enough to read by.
“What is it?” he breathed, too awed to invoke the names of any pagan gods.
“Light.”
“May I keep it to show my friends?”
“It won’t last with you. Bring me a pebble, and I shall put it into it. It will glow for a while.”
“Long enough to show my friends?”
“An hour or two. But…”
Cynewulf was so lost in the study of his little light that he let the elf’s hesitation hang for a while. Finally he noticed it and asked, “But what?”
“Do you ever see Catan?”
“Sometimes.”
“Could you give the stone to her after it goes dark? I think she will know how to make it light up again.”
“Does she have magic too?”
“Something like magic. Will you?”
“Is it a present to your sweetheart?”
“Yes.”
Cynewulf winked at him, though he could not see it. “A delicate mission. I see.”
The elf smiled. “And tell her it’s prettier when the sky is getting dark, but it won’t work at all if it’s quite dark and cloudy. It needs at least the light of stars. So, will you tell her to take it out when it’s getting dark? And think of me when it’s getting dark?”
“If you like. Do you think she’ll show me?”
“Perhaps. Now, hurry up and get a pebble to keep it in, and then get your Gospels. You will have to read quickly if you want to finish in time to show the magic to your friends.”
“Oh, no!” Cynewulf groaned.
The elf laughed wickedly. “That’s what comes if you try to have your fun before you do your work!”
Chapters
I'm glad "the elf" is all right. He was looking very pale there for a while. I so wanted to hear the answers to those questions Cynewulf was asking....