David Policar 1991
"I was an infant when my parents died, I barely remember them.
"Cassandar -- my father -- was a large man. He could fill the room with his voice, with his thoughts, with his feelings. His anger was terrifying, his laughter infectious... he was a true king.
"Mother was in many ways his opposite, his complement. She was what you call an empath; it was her gift to share the feelings of those she loved.
"I remember one of our nurses exclaiming once that none of the king's children ever cried -- she thought it further evidence of Cassandar's greatness, but it was really Mother's doing. There was never any need to cry; Mother was always watching. Before I hungered or thirsted, she was there. When I fell, I felt her presence soothing me before I really felt the pain.
"I was with Siril on a trip to the country when the plague killed her -- I discovered then the gift was double-bladed. I felt her death, and father's, and those of many of my brothers and sisters, and I could do nothing... 'Marilana' . 'They are dead.' That's what I said to Siril, while we sat in the woods. Marilana.
"I remember, she patted my hair and smiled... 'Einherolti! Einhaloherolti, lehalonyar, bal nyarti aet.' She couldn't know, of course, that it was too late -- their deaths were already named before I spoke.
"They were already true, but I couldn't convince Siril of that. I screamed, ranted, yelled for my mother, my father, my brothers; I fought, kicked and punched; in short, I behaved a perfect wild elf, but Siril held me throughout it all. When I had exhausted myself, she continued to point out the leaves and the herbs and the grasses, as if nothing had happened.
"When the royal messenger found us and gave us the news, Siril was stricken. She ran from us, screaming and sobbing, crying to the spirits of the wood 'Swallow me, kill me, take my guilt from me!' It was weeks before she recovered."
"'my guilt'? I do not understand. What did she do?"
"Siril felt for years that she should have believed me that day, that she should have returned to the palace and helped somehow. Even after she knew that the cursed plague had wiped out all who were in the palace and sickened the tree itself, she would burst into tears thinking that the royal family had been destroyed while she was elsewhere.
"When it was time for me to appoint a banleldorioin , she begged me for the chance to redeem herself. By helping Leadrian, she felt she could make up for the responsibility she felt for Cassandar and Mother's deaths."
"She has ruled Leadrian, since then?"
"Yes, in my place, until I could rule it in my own name." An uncomfortable silence descends over him, as if this topic is more disturbing, even, than the deaths of his parents.
"But you are not pleased with her rule?" I venture.
"Siril? Of course I'm pleased with her! She's taught me more about being a ruler than anyone else in Leadrian, and she's forgiven herself for what was never her fault. And she has helped the nation, immeasurably -- she was one of the few survivors of Cassandar's household, and many of the noble elves needed that reassurance that the old ways were still strong. Without her they may well have despaired utterly and left Leadrian altogether.
"What made you think I was displeased with Siril?" His voice is sincere and curious, and I realize I have made an diplomatic error. At this rate, it is no wonder I am no traveller!
"I apologize for my presumption, leneral . You seemed uncomfortable with the Lady Sirilissana ruling in your place, and I leapt prematurely to a conclusion."
His brow is knit for a moment before a look of understanding crosses his face. Again, the silence becomes oppressive.
"I understand. No, it is not Siril who disturbs me."
A long pause ensues, and the young elf appears to struggle with his words.
"You are familiar with the elven tongue. You know, then, that the elves do not have names for objects, that the language contains no nouns?"
"This appears beside the point, high one. But if you insist -- no, I do not see this. Sirilissana's title, for example: banleldorioin . It means 'beside the liveoak,' literally, does it not? Meaning, in the elven tradition, one who assists the survival and leadership of an elven city. I grant you that the word itself is not a noun, but leldorioin , the liveoak -- that certainly is."
"No, observer, it is not. This is difficult to explain in your tongue, so peppered with nouns, but leldorioin is not a thing. It is a property. It is derived from the word eldor . Your people would translate it as 'forestlike,' giving the thing dominance over the property. To the elves, the property exists of itself: eldor . To describe the thing with that property, we say le-eldor , or leldor : 'that which is forestlike,' or 'forest.' It does not name the thing, it describes it.
"To name a thing, you see, is to anchor it to one state of being, to deny it a potential for change -- or so goes the tradition. It becomes halinyar : stable, mature, unchanging, fixed. And the word halinyar , itself, means literally 'having been named.' To destroy a thing is einyar : to unname it. The traditions of the shamen reflect this -- to know the name of something is to have power over it. To speak the name of something thrice is to bring it into being. Names are important to us.
"Because of this, every elven city has somewhere near it a lenyar , a place of naming, where every elven child goes when he or she is ready to become an adult and join the society of the elves. We do not speak of what occurs there, but every elf who returns from his trek is halinyar .
"The sages say that every name has meaning. They review the geneology of our people, studying those elves who have had similar or shared names, and seeking meaning in the comparisons. Many elves go to them for advice, seeking to understand the meanings of their own names, seeking manielnyarhalo -- a prophecy, or an oracle... there is no clear equivalent in the common tongue.
"Once in a long while, an elf will have a name whose meaning is clear. Nine centuries ago, an ancestor of mine was named Adrian: 'to guard.' The Aerie knows of him; he founded Leadrian in the following century, and his line has ruled it ever since, and always we have been the Guardians -- of what, from what, we do not know."
Again, silence descends.
"I see. This is all very fascinating, leneral , but I do not see its relevance. You may, of course, remain silent on the matter if you wish."
Again, he seems to struggle with himself. In the end, however, he remains silent.
"May I ask a question on the subject of names, though?"
He nods.
"What is yours?"
It is clear I have struck my target, but rather than answer, he walks away. Again, it seems, I have much to learn.