Catan receives a gift of light

Catan had left the door open, but Cynewulf knocked anyway. Cat twisted her head around to look.

“Old Man!”

“Good evening, Catan,” he bowed. “I hope you are well.”

“I am now! We haven’t seen you around here in a while.”

“I’ve been waiting until my father could bring me in the evening. May I help you rise?”

“Certainly,” she cackled and held up her hand. As soon as he took it, she pulled him down on top of her, and with the other hand began tickling him everywhere she could reach.

“I knew you would do something like that!” he squealed and squirmed. “I knew it!”

“You still fell for it!”

“I always try to—be a—gentleman,” he grunted as he wriggled away, “but you never try to be a lady!”

“How do you know I don’t try but fail?”

“I had not considered that possibility.” He sniffed and straightened his tunic, looking so much like his father with the gesture that Cat started laughing again.

“I shall have you know that I am here this evening on serious business.”

“That’s right!” She clapped her hands. “What sort of business do you have here that can only be transacted in the evening? I don’t suppose you have a sweetheart in residence, do you?”

“I do not. I do not have a sweetheart at all, even though Haakon does, and he’s younger than I.”

“A pity!” Cat sighed as she flopped into the chair beside the fire. “I was hoping it was I.”

“You could not be, because you are older. Also because you already have a sweetheart who is much taller than I am, and who could pick me up and turn me upside faster than I could say ‘Fists or blades?’”

Cat tried to laugh, but Cynewulf was the last little person from whom she had anticipated a mention of the elf—though it was true he lived in the shadow of Cynewulf’s father’s castle.

Moreover, it was queer to hear him referred to as “her sweetheart”… one almost always spoke of “Cat’s elf”, as one might speak of “Cat’s horse”. Occasionally he was “Cat’s friend”, and everyone who pronounced that phrase briefly wore the expression of one who had bit down on something sour.

That something, she thought, was the word “husband”, and they bit down on it to prevent it from leaving their mouths in her presence.

“However…” Cynewulf shook his stubby finger at her. “I am come on a delicate mission pertaining to sweethearts.”

“You are?” she murmured.

“Yours. He entrusted me with a small token of his affection,” the little boy bowed, “and I had better give it to you tonight, for tomorrow I must go read some Latin to him, and if I haven’t done as he asked he probably won’t talk to me afterwards.”

“Oh…”

“But it is a gift best given when it is nearly dark, so I must ask you to extinguish the candles for me, as I am still too small of stature to do you the service.”

Now Catan was trying not to laugh, even as anxious as she was about receiving any sort of gift from the elf. Indeed, she thought she could only have accepted it from the hand of a child too young to understand the awkwardness of the situation.

“It’s not a kiss, is it?” she asked warily as she worked.

“No!” he gasped. “Why? Are kisses better when it is nearly dark?”

Cat snorted. “Ask your father on the way home tonight and see what he says.”

“Is this a trick?” he asked dubiously.

“No! But I wish I could hear what he says.”

“Why? Because he is a man who knows a lot about kissing?”

She laughed. “You will have to ask your stepmother about that when you get home.”

“This sounds like a trick to me!” he groaned.

“It’s not!”

“I can never trust you, you know. You have tricked me too many times.”

“Then I have earned your distrust as the wages of my mischief,” she shrugged. “I shall have to start working on David next. He still thinks I’m an angel. Now what’s your delicate mission?” she asked, as brightly as she could. “Must I close my eyes?”

“No! I want you to see. Open your eyes and open your hand.”

Cat first lifted her right hand, but she quickly swapped it for the left, across which ran the purple scar. She tried to think of some explanation for this she could offer Cynewulf, but she did not know why she had done it herself.

Nor did Cynewulf demand an explanation. He only reached into the little pouch he wore on his belt and pulled out a tiny bundle of cloth. This he unfolded to reveal an even tinier pebble, which he placed on her palm with a flourish worthy of an emerald.

In the dim twilight coming through the window, however, it appeared to be only an ordinary pebble.

“What is it?”

“It’s supposed to light up!” he said. “It’s supposed to glow! I saw it. It’s magic! He said you would know how to make it light up again.”

Cat shook her head.

“He said it is prettiest when it’s getting dark—and you see? It’s not quite dark yet! He said you would know how to make it glow. Don’t you? Didn’t he ever teach you some magic?”

“No, honey…”

“It’s not a trick! I swear! I saw it! He said you should take it out when it’s getting dark and think about him.”

“He said that?” she whispered.

“Say! Perhaps that’s what you have to do. You must think about him to make it glow. Try it!”

Now she could almost wish he had an adult’s understanding.

“Honey,” she said slowly, “I think perhaps it was only a manner of speaking when he said it would light up…”

As she spoke, it was Cynewulf’s face that lit up, as if the pale twilight of the window behind him was stealing slowly around the curve of his cheek and overspreading all his face.

Then she saw that the source of this mysterious creeping twilight was lying in her palm.

“Jupiter!” Cynewulf breathed. “It’s pink! It was blue when he did it!”

Cat could not say anything, though she soon saw she must have been wearing a horrified expression.

“Don’t be afraid!” he said quickly. “It won’t hurt you. It’s only light.”

“What is it?”

“It’s only light that he put in the stone somehow. Jupiter!”

Cynewulf began jumping in the air and clapping his hands, in excitement in seemed, but she found his claps were coming rather too close to her face to be tolerable. However, as soon as she ducked her head away, she jerked it back the other way, for something flashing zipped past her face.

“Whoa whoa whoa! You have the sparklies too!”

“What’s this?” she wailed. She was afraid to drop the stone—afraid even to move the hand that held it—and meanwhile her head and shoulders were surrounded by a swarm of twinkling gnats that she was afraid to swat away.

“Don’t be afraid! It’s only light. It doesn’t hurt!”

“But what does it do?”

“I don’t—suppose—it does anything!” Cynewulf panted as he clapped and clapped his hands on either side of her head. “I think it’s only pretty. That’s probably why he gave it to you. Ladies like pretty things, don’t they? And there aren’t any flowers in this season.”

“I suppose…”

“But I like this much better than flowers. Even if I were a girl. Jupiter! A gift of light!”

“And he can’t even see it, can he?” she murmured.

“I suppose he already did see it before, since he knew how to do it. And he said that is how elves keep their babies from crying. Say.” He stopped hopping. “Did you ever know him when he could still see?”

“No.”

“Jupiter! He must really love you, then, if he never even saw what you look like. He doesn’t even know whether you’re pretty or homely. Though you are pretty, of course. I shall tell him so tomorrow, in case he is worried.”

“Oh…”

“Anything else I should tell him?” He rubbed his hands together, as if the idea of being a messenger on such delicate missions pleased him very much.

“Give him my thanks.”

“Certainly,” he bowed.

“No—don’t. Tell him I shall come and give them myself.”

“Why don’t you come tomorrow with me?”

“No, no,” she said quickly. “Tell him I shall come… soon.”