Erov had was yonder questing for so long that all the king’s court, especially poor Annaléa, thought that he had either perished or abandoned his quest, exiling himself for shame. She prayed fervently to the Three, begging their mercy and protection for him.

Day and night passed over and over again, but eventually dawned the day when Erov was within the king’s hidden hall once again. He was streaked in dirt and mud, his hair tangled with twigs and leaves, his skin bruised and scraped. He heaved with exhaustion and shivered in his near-nakedness, and all who laid eyes upon him pitied him. Erov stumbled towards the king’s throne and all parted to make way.

“Majesty,” he began. All were silent and the entirety of the forest seemed to hold its breath, standing on tip-toe, tip-claw, wingtip and twig. “I have wrestled a demon, but I could not defeat him.”

“Was it not you,” the king answered sternly, “who claimed that you could not fail?”

“It was I,” Erov answered. The king nodded thoughtfully before motioning to Erov to continue speaking.

“I also drank of the Bitter Cup, and found that all of my strength was taken, that even as I tried to obtain the treasure of the final task I failed and fell into utter loss. It is that I bear only my worthless flesh and my sorry heart, for I have been stripped of all else.”

The courtiers looked down at the grass with sadness, for in the depths of their hearts they had truly hoped he would be victorious in at least one task, that the king might show mercy.

“So,” the king said softly, “you have deeds of telling, no strength, and no treasure? He who was so sure of victory has nothing but defeat.”

Erov flung himself at the foot of the Forest King’s throne.

“Oh King!” he cried as a child, “With the last drop of my strength I offer this plea, and when I have spoken it I shall have nothing left but the love I bear for your daughter, Annaléa! Banish me for all eternity if you must, but let me look upon her, my sun, before I depart into darkness forever!”

The king stood, looking down upon the low-lying Erov with pity and deep love.

“Erov, son of man, you have now laid before my feet the greatest treasure I could desire: a true heart full of love for my daughter. You are thus victorious in the third task.”

Erov’s sobs ceased in surprise as all present gasped and began to whisper excitedly. One of the king’s aids quickly ran off to fetch Annaléa. The king held up his hand to hush everyone and then continued.

“You have come to me with the strength to admit your weakness and poverty, a power that arose only after drinking the Bitter Cup. I would have a man who knows his strength to wed my daughter, for I need not some fool who thinks that doing great deeds will win her hand! In this you have proven your victory in the first fold of the second task and have revealed victory in the second fold as well, revealing to me the nature of your heart.”

“Majesty,” Erov said, “forgive me, but I do not understand.”

“Erov, you were sent to drink from the Bitter Cup and gain strength. You have done this, but in order to tap into this reservoir of strength you needed to know your own heart. The nymphs were not there to test your fidelity and chastity, but to reveal the heart which resides within you. The third nymph, all hidden in heavy furs, was not modesty but rather the guarded heart, too afraid of being wounded to reveal herself to the light of love. She stands idly by until someone reaches out to her, and only when they have proven their devotion does she reach back, and grasps only when she is utterly convinced that no harm can befall her. Thus she is the heart that cannot be known. The second nymph has been wounded several times by love, each instance becoming more and more guarded, clothing herself to hide her wounds not only from others, but from herself as well. She is cautious and skeptical of love and is quick to turn away at the slightest chance of harm and will one day, for lack of courage, become like the third and hidden away, never to be loved again, as unknown as the very roots of the mountains.”

“What of the first nymph, Majesty?” Erov asked.

“She is the heart that, though many times wounded, opens up to love again and again despite the fear of harm and rejection. She has been broken many times, but the promise of love restores her anew though she must always bear her scars. Always for love she will reveal herself, open herself completely and without reserve lest the object of her love receive only a pale shadow of love, which is not true love but only a false likeness of love that cannot be long sustained and cannot give life. She is no fool and does not merely offer her love to any passersby! But neither does she fear love in its offering or its withdrawal; do we fear the sun for its dawning or its setting, the tide for its ebb and flow? Even had you not chosen her, the wound you caused would have healed and she would have been ready to love again, would that love find her. It is she that your heart resonated with, revealing to me that you are of like heart, and it is this courageous and open heart that I wish to belong to my beloved daughter, not some hard half-heart afraid of weakness and flaw, too afraid of passing things to open itself to what is evergreen.”

“Majesty, it is hers by your blessing!” Erov exclaimed, rising to his knees.

“Remember these lessons well, Erov son of man,” the king responded, stooping over to raise Erov to his feet. He then placed his hands upon Erov’s shoulders and spoke to him as a father to a son, “For I see a long life full of much trial yet much love ahead of you. Again, noble son of man, you have passed the second trial. Walk with me.”

Erov walked beside the king as they left the courtyard and followed a well made path to some other part of the forest. The king continued speaking.

“When you first came to me, you were full of pride, and I will not wed my daughter to a man so in love with himself that she would have to contend with it. Therefore, I sent you to wrestle the Demon of Pride. The only path to victory is to overcome yourself and admit your weakness, accepting defeat. Many a proud man has gone into that cave and unto his death, unwilling to surrender and instead choosing death over some small shame. You, however, chose shame over death, and in that choice you are truly victorious.”

“My lord,” Erov began, dumbfounded, “I do not understand.”

“Erov, most humble Erov, in failing at each task you have truly succeeded in them, as I had secretly hoped you would. The Erov that stands before me now is worthy of both being her husband and my son. Return to your home and prepare yourself and your gifts. In three days, in the meadow where your love for each other first took root, you will be wed to Annaléa.”

All the forest erupted in joy at the king’s words and Erov wept, embracing the king without shame. The good elf embraced him in kind, laughing heartily.

As he stood in the embrace, Erov spied afar his love Annaléa, standing atop the trail far ahead, her blue dress like a violet amidst green grass, her hair outstretched as a banner of beauty’s triumph. She raised one hand in greeting, wiping tears with the other, and Erov raised a hand to her as well as the king hurried him off to find food and clothing, for much was to be prepared for.

Three days passed swiftly by and lo! what a sight was there to see in that blessed meadow, where was arrayed the mighty family of Erov, men and women of renown and the regal Elven kin of Annaléa, splendid in silks so fine as to have been spun from rainbow and gem. Their joining that day was cause for celebration throughout heaven and earth, and only one event in all of history has surpassed it in splendor and won so great a victory for Good in this world.

 

Erov awoke to find himself alone in the beautiful glade, the soft song of the fountain’s water filling the air about him as a bird chirped softly here and there. The nymphs were nowhere to be seen, and though he was utterly spent, he rose to his feet and departed in search of a great treasure that would, perhaps, purchase for him the hand of Annaléa despite his previous failures. Muscles once near bursting with strength were now begging him for rest, though for all he knew he very well may have been asleep for the entire passing of a moon. No rest would rejuvenate him, no root, nut or berry would rekindle the flame of his prowess; Erov walked upright and forward on naught but love, with desperation prodding him along at the spearpoint of fear.

Many days of wandering through the forest and then across a great and hilly plain brought Erov to a grove-crowned hillock where met a noble centaur. From this vantage point he could see the foothills of mountains from which flowed a broad river.

“Good creature!” said Erov, “I seek the world’s most valuable treasure. Do you know where it lies?”

“Of course!” the centaur replied, “Follow the river into the toes of the mountains and go until you reach a great and thundering waterfall, and there beneath the curtain of foam, within an ancient dragon’s nest, you will find a great golden egg filled and heavy with jewels!”

Erov thanked him and followed the river into the foothills, and two tiring days later he came to the waterfall of which the centaur spoke. The remnants of the ancient dragon’s talon marks, which served Erov nicely as handholds, brought him up a steep, slippery cliff face just behind the falling water. Though his strength, still weak from the Bitter Cup, nearly failed him he was able to reach the hidden cave and discovered the nest within which sat a great golden egg, large enough to birth a young boy were boys born of such things.

Taking vines from the walls of the cave, he wove them around the egg as a basket, and he fashioned also two straps by which he could wear the it on his back and climb back to the riverbank far below.

As he began his decent, Erov spent the absolute last of his strength, encountering for the first time in his life the utter limit of his humanity. He fell, plummeting like a stone and so robbed of strength he had not even a scream within his lungs, plunging eventually into the murky depths of the river, the egg’s great weight dragging him quickly to the muddy bottom.

Erov thought quickly as to his next action. Should he try to drag the egg up to the bank, holding his breath as he trudged across the river bottom? Or should he release himself from the treasure and surrender, living long enough to perhaps see his dear Annaléa again even if it was only to tell her goodbye forever?

The prospect of seeing her again, even if only for a moment, even if only to view her blurred shape through an ocean of tears, drove him to release himself, and in an instant the furious current of the river drew him swiftly away from any possible success and further into certain failure. Eventually the river spat him onto the shore amidst the weeds and detritus, and Erov wept for an entire day, knowing that he had failed in a quite final and irredeemable way and had only this failure to offer the father of his beloved. Even the scroll of his charge had been lost, the river leaving him only his loincloth and his life; what remained to him once his tears had been released was naught but a heartbeat, an ache that waxed and waned with each of its sorry pulses, and the promise of a weary journey with only a deeper loss at its end. 

 

Erov wandered far for many days, hardly able to lift one foot in front of the other, and he slept much on the way to regain what little strength remained in him. The match with the demon had drawn on reserves of might he did not know he possessed, but now those too were depleted. No sweet water could slake his thirst, and no fruit or root could fill his belly.

When it seemed that his hope was lost, Erov stumbled into a glade, in the center of which was an ancient nymph-made fountain. The enormous trees at the edges of the glade towered overhead and seemed to curve toward each other like a living dome, the height of which was nearly open to the sky save for a thin veil of leaves lacing the oculus. Through this a great dappled beam of golden light pierced the slight dimness of the [lace, illuminating any bird that flew or leaf that fell through the shaft in a sudden flaring flit, or a gentle shimmering as a fish in clear water.

At this time it was that the light shone most upon the fountain, which was carved from a single great piece of stone into three bowls of gradual sizes beginning with the smallest at the top and the largest at the bottom. Water burbled from a spout at the height and filled up the smallest bowl, which spilt into the next in a crystalline curtain of water, which caused that bowl to do the same until the largest relinquished its supply into the deep basin that seemed never to fill quite to overflowing, for the vines that reached into its transparent depths and crawled all about the various ornamentations of the fountain drank enough to keep the surrounding earth dry.

Beside the fountain there was a grotto of sorts built up, a shrine of smooth river rocks cemented together to venerate a simple wooden cup with a handle on each side of the bowl. Vines climbed all upon this structure and partially veiled the cup’s alcove, adding an air of sacred mystery that confirmed in Erov’s heart that this was indeed the Bitter Cup of which the Forest King spoke.

The son of man approached the grotto and, parting the curtain of vines, took the cup by both handles. Turning toward the fountain Erov stopped, for suddenly before him stood three nymphs.

Each was as rich in beauty as they were in mystery, and Erov gazed long and thoughtfully at each, kneeling in awe. The first nymph rose from the water and was completely uncovered, her body young, firm and slender, her skin the color of clean beach sand, and the clear water ran in rivulets over every curve of her beauteous landscape. The nymph’s hair was a pale gold as is the noon sun on a clear winter’s day, the ends dark and curled from the water though all else was dry, and her eyes were silver as ice in the same light. She smiled in a manner that seemed as one step away from a cry for joy, and the very corners of her lips quivered with self-restraint.

The second nymph reclined on the edge of the water, her shapely legs tangling in the coolness of the pool. She was dressed in a simple gown of unadorned deerskins, and her skin was near to that of the House of Endéa, for it was darkened by the sun. However, it was not reddened but rather enriched from the color of the first nymph’s skin to one like the color of the skins she wore, though slightly darker. Her hair was the color of a deer’s fur and long, flowing gracefully onto her shoulders and spilling down her back. Her eyes were dark and doe-like and watched him intently, as if to see whether he would bring her harm.

The third nymph stood silently by the fountain, clothed entirely in thick furs, her face obscured by a great hood. The furs spilled all about her feet so as to hide them also, and there was nothing to be perceived of her but for the fact that she was there.

“We are the Ways of the Heart,” they spoke as one, “You must choose one of us to fill the cup for you.”

“Oh please, choose me!” the first nymph burst, holding out her arms to invite him to her. Her limbs trembled as she stood in the waist-deep pool, and Erov noticed that she seemed to stand somewhat uncertainly, but from weakness or fright he could not tell. Yet, her stance generally displayed confidence and certainly expressed all of her physical beauty as courageously and unashamedly as does the sun.

“Choose me,” said the second nymph said in a rich voice. She brought her feet out of the water and onto the edge of the pool, drawing a knee near to her breast so as to lean her head upon it. She was relaxed and confident, but spoke and displayed herself with little or no passion.

“Choose,” said the third nymph in a near whisper. She stood as mighty and imposing as a mountain, and it seemed to him that she was as strong as any creature he’d ever met.

It is obvious to me, Erov thought, that this is a test of my fidelity to Annaléa. I must, therefore, choose the third and modest nymph.

He took a step toward the nymph bedecked in furs, who in turn stretched out her hand. As it came out from beneath the furs he saw that her flesh was fine and strong and her skin flawless, but pale and yellowed as if deprived too long of sunlight. The second nymph sighed and the first nymph whimpered and fought her trembling lip as a tear rolled down her face.

Erov thought for certain that these things were to cause him to falter, for his own father had warned him of nymphs. He therefore boldly took another step toward the third nymph, bearing the Bitter Cup before him. At this moment, too, the third nymph prepared to step toward him, the fur robes parting as a ribbon of perfect but pale flesh was revealed, showing him a view stretching from her shapely waist all the way down her thigh to her foot. Her head lifted and the light shone partly into the recess of her hood, and though her sallow face was beautiful in shape, her eyes were encircled in darkness as if they had only beheld the moon and nothing else. Excepting her pale skin, she was the most perfect creature he had ever seen.

The second nymph turned her face away from Erov, clutching her legs before her as she looked intently into the waters. As he was approaching the third nymph, he could also better see the second and though she too was perfect and looked healthier and more sun-kissed than the third, Erov could see a few dozen scars, all partially hidden by her dress. She sensed his gaze and pulled on various parts of her dress in order to better hide not her nakedness but what was truly hid, until the scars were no longer visible. The second nymph then turned so that her back faced him and her feet dangled in the water, her arms to either side of her as she hung her head low from her shoulders. Long hair enshrouded her face like a veil, and she sighed softly to herself.

Much to his heart’s distress Erov could better see the first nymph as well, and at this time her eyes were overflowing with tears and she trembled weakly as she continued holding out her arms to him in silent begging, bearing them aloft on courage alone. The nymph’s seemingly flawless skin was in fact etched in every place with a variety of scars, some very fine while others were large and jagged. Upon her cheek glared the red of a fresh cut and he somehow knew it to be of his own doing by making the third nymph his apparent choice; a wound of rejection.

“Please… I beg you choose me,” the first nymph managed to whisper to him.

“Choose as you will,” the second nymph said in resignation, looking over her shoulder to speak to him before away again to peer into the waters.

“Choose,” stated the third.

His mind said to take the third and final step toward the modest nymph, but everything in his heart cried out for the first. Trusting his heart Erov strode quickly to the fountain, splashing into the water and to the waiting arms of the first nymph who sang in delight and joy at his coming, weeping without cease upon his shoulder. He held the poor creature as she went limp and wept and wept in his arms, saying to him over and over again, “Oh Master, oh Master!”

The other two nymphs vanished without a trace, and finally the remaining nymph took a step back and placed a warm and gentle hand upon his cheek.

“Of the three of us, you chose me. Now you must drink of the Bitter Cup and receive your strength!”

Erov offered the cup to her and, accepting it she kissed it and placed it beneath the curtain of water spilling from the bottom bowl. It filled quickly, and soon it was that she offered it to him, grasping both handles. He took it and she watched with silver eyes wide as he drained the contents into himself. The water was indeed bitter, but so thirsty was he that it yet quenched him.

When the cup was empty, the nymph received it from him and together they walked to the grotto and placed the Bitter Cup back in its alcove. Nearby, previously hidden by the grotto, was a long stone partially buried in the ground like unto the manner of a reclining couch. She led him to this stone and he lay upon it while she knelt beside him, whispering into his ear. As she spoke, he felt what little strength he had regained fade as if leeched from him, and sleep rushed in upon him as an avalanche of darkness.

“Oh Master, sweet Master, it is indeed a bitter cup, but great strength will come when you are most in need of it. Rest, for you have much labor before you.”

As she bent over to kiss his forehead, Erov saw that the cut upon her face had healed, and when she stood again it seemed that all the strength that had fled him had entered into her! Before he was overcome by sleep he wondered if, perhaps, he had not chosen wisely…

 

Upon waking, Erov found himself refreshed and ready in body and spirit to conquer any foul creature he might stumble across. As he continued along until the sun was at the peak of the sky before he met a fairy that was sitting upon a dandelion near the trail’s edge. She was tiny, her skin was carnation pink and her eyes solid black and large, and she wore a small dress made of daisy petals. Her hair was long and silver and flowed like corn silk over her delicate shoulders, and she smiled up at him without fear of his largeness, completely unconcerned at her littleness.

“Son of man!” she said in a voice like birdsong, “Is it true that you seek a demon?”

“It is true, little fey,” he replied, squatting down to peer more closely at the beautiful creature, “Do you know of one nearby?”

“I know many things, and this does happen to be one of them!” the fairy exclaimed, flying up to his face with a deep buzzing hum as her gossamer wings became a blur, “Oh yes indeed! Follow the stream and then the bones to his cave; the stench will guide you the rest of the way!”

Erov’s heart raced as he leapt into the nearby stream, causing a great explosion of diamondine droplets with every footfall. Birds fled from the noise and deer leapt into deeper brush for fear of some mad creature. Soon enough the son of man came to a barren bank littered with bones of various kinds. Here and there a set of antlers reached toward him, or a ribcage blossomed in a sickly way, or a skull grinned maniacally. The sight chilled him, but it did not frost his courage in the least. Dripping with water, chest heaving, Erov left the stream and began walking up the trail of death, gnawed and cracked bones writing with worms and swarming with flies, until it ended and all that remained to follow was the stench of decay that brought him to the mouth of a dark cave. It was a dreadful sight, gaping wide like a toothless mouth waiting to swallow him in a single, cold gulp and send him tumbling through the dark into the bowels of the earth.          

Long did Erov pass through the black and stench before he came to a large cavern filled with the red light of a great fire, its smoke rising into a vast crack in the vault high above. At the far end was a crude wooden throne adorned with bones and skins, upon which sat a creature of darkness with glistening black eyes. It looked man enough save for its complete achromaticity, its coarse long hair greased and matted, and the manner in which its skin seemed to peel in many places, curling away in oily flecks and flakes. It grinned, showing teeth that shone like obsidian.

“Who dares enter the heart of this cave while the master is present?” the demon seemed to exhale.

Mustering all his courage about him, Erov puffed up his chest and declared, “It is I, Erov son of man. I have come to claim victory over you!”

The demon laughed in a manner resembling a belching cough and then rose to its feet in one fluid motion, rising a head again above brave Erov.

“You seem very sure of your strength, Man-child. Tell me, then: how do you intend to defeat me?”

“It is love by which I come, and love by which I will put your back to the ground!”

“Well,” hissed the demon, “we shall see, Boldling. Many a champion, whether by love or hate, has come here only to meet their doom. Only One has e’er defeated me, and it is He Who placed me here upon the earth and sundered me from Heaven’s height. Yet you seek to bring me even lower?”

Erov said nothing and stared deep into the demon’s eyes and saw nothing but the reflection of his own determined but clearly fearful face, as though reflected in a pool of oil.. Then it was that he engaged the demon in a great show of strength, and the two grappled with one another for hours and hours. Much to Erov’s dismay, however, it seemed that the harder Erov strove for the victory, the stronger the demon became! Soon Erov was pinned to the ground, the demon’s foul arm around his neck and twilight began to descend upon his vision.

“Concede!” the beast breathed in his face, tightening his hold.

“Never!” Erov croaked, struggling with what remained of his strength.

“Concede!” the demon roared into his ear, pressing Erov’s face into the dust. Erov shook his head weakly, unable to speak, and the demon began to sink its claws into his back.

“Concede…” the creature hissed menacingly. Erov began to weep, knowing that he had failed and that he would surely be slain if he did not obey the demon.

“You have the victory,” Erov said with the last of his strength.

The demon vanished with a harsh chuckle, and poor Erov left the cave in the hope that perhaps finding the Bitter Cup will strengthen him enough for a second match. Surely this would be so! he thought. With a new determination he wandered a great portion of the land known to him, searching for the Bitter Cup from which he would drink his victory.

 

Why didn’t someone tell me that grad school is so busy? Thank you all for your patience; I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of time to actually write up a blog. Fortunately, however, some of you seemed to like that story I posted a few weeks ago, so for the time being I will post another story I wrote, one section at a time. I hope you enjoy it as well! It is the story of the courtship of a man named Erov (air-ove) and an Elven woman named Annaléa (ah-nah-lay-ah). God bless all of you!

 

Chapter One: Erov Seeks the Hand of Annaléa

 

One night while Erov was walking in the woods he came upon a clearing. Within the embrace of the darkened trees was a multitude of white flowers all swaying in a light wind, shining brightly in the moonlight. It was his birth moon, full and brilliant (for Erov was born under the light of such a moon, hence his pale skin, bright eyes and courage in the darkness whereas his siblings would cower near the fire), and it was on this night he received his greatest gift—for amongst the moonlilies lay Annaléa, an Elvish princess of the forest.

Quietly Erov approached, his greatest fear being that of waking her, for she was so very beautiful while sleeping that the very night was like to shatter into day were her rest interrupted. Elves however hear much better than men and though his feet made no noise, his pounding heart may as well have been a thunderstorm. Slowly she opened her eyes and saw Erov standing over her.

Erov’s gaze met her own and in that moment found his feet to be fixed in place, for so deep was her beauty that he could not escape it, nor did he wish to. She was wearing a dark blue dress and her feet were bare, the bottoms stained from the rich soil of the forest and the bruised grasses that yielded joyfully to her every step. Her skin was lightly tanned, kissed so by the sun, and her hair was light brown and streaked with honey-blond strands, here and there being small braids twined with blue ribbons to match her raiment. Though above all it was the eyes of Annaléa which enchanted him the most, for never before had he seen such large and beautiful jewels of sea-green, and the way they looked at him in the moonlight made Erov wish dearly that he could look upon them for the rest of his days.

“Why are you here, son of man?” the elf asked in her soft, sweet voice, still lying upon the grass.

“I cannot help myself, for my lonely heart was drawn to your beauty as a thirsting deer to the spring! Oh if I had but one wish it would be to know of the name Beauty goes by!”

She was touched by his words and rose to her feet, brushing away a few blades of grass that clung to her dress, unwilling to let go of her.

“My name is Annaléa, daughter of the Forest King, steward of all these trees among which you and your family dwell.”

“Annaléa!” Erov cried, “Surely that name is the child of Heaven’s very breath! Annaléa; the trees whisper it! Annaléa; the creatures dance to it! Oh that the stones could speak such a dear word! Annaléa!”

For a whole moon they met there amid the white flowers, Erov always bringing her carved things and poetry, and soon he had the courage within him and the blessing of his father and mother to seek the King of the Forest and ask for the hand of fairest Annaléa. It was that Erov followed a path of white petals, left by his dearest love, all the way to the King’s secret court. When the son of man arrived at the great grove of the king’s hall he came upon a merry scene, but soon mirth gave way to silence and stares. Here a musician ceased and there a courtier held their tongue, for all were amazed that a man stood in a place none other than Elves dared to seek.

“Who is this man that stands uninvited here within my great hall?” the king demanded, rising to his feet. The silence became even more quiet and it seemed as though the cottonwood fluff drifting down like snow had come to a standstill in midair.

“It is indeed a great hall, mighty king, and its majesty humbles this man to his very core. My name is Erov, son of man, and I come to ask for your fair daughter’s hand in marriage.”

The king laughed at him, “I have many daughters, all of them fair, Erov son of man. You may as well have asked for a star from the night sky!”

The whole assembled court chuckled at the king’s saying, but Erov boldly rose above their laughter with a great exclamation.

“But I ask for the sun!” he cried out. All gasped and were hushed, even the king, and his eyes grew wide, growing pregnant with the knowledge of which daughter it was that the son of man sought.

“Annaléa? You seek my daughter Annaléa?” the king almost whispered. He strode up to Erov, causing the heart of the young man to shrink though he tried to stand as tall as he could. Try as he might, the king towered over him, looking down into his eyes as if from the top of a mountain. Erov yet found the courage to speak.

“Oh Majesty, yes! I would seek her amidst all the desert sands even if she were only so large as a single grain!”

The king’s eye closed to a squint, suspicion burrowing deep into Erov’s every word in search of guile and, finding none, he returned to his great throne. All the court sat in their place, be it upon the ground or on long plank benches, leaving Erov to stand alone.

“Annaléa my daughter, do you wish for the heart of this man?”

She nodded her head eagerly, coming to recline at the king’s feet, placing her hands within his own.

“Very well, son of man. You must perform three tasks to prove yourself worthy of so great a gift. Fail at any one of them and you will never see her again. I will spirit her away to such a place that you would not find her if you looked everywhere upon the earth three times in the same moment. Do you accept this?”

Erov beat his chest and said proudly, “I cannot fail, for love is my guide! I accept your tasks, whatever they may be.”

The king looked at him thoughtfully saying, “We will see, bold one, for you know not what is to be requested of you.”

He clapped his hands once, shattering the stillness, and the cottonwood fluffs continued to rain again. A scribe then came forward, being then instructed to write in the language of men everything the king spoke.

“You must wrestle with a demon and win. You must drink from the Bitter Cup and gain strength. You must seek the greatest treasure in the world and lay it at my feet. Do these things and you may wed my daughter; do them not, and you will be eternally separated from her. Take with you this scroll, lest you forget the price of your courtship.”

Erov took the scroll and was dismissed, immediately embarking upon his quest. To find a demon, he thought, he must find a cave (for demons shun the light and dwell in the bowels of the earth). He knew that the nearest cave was a day’s journey away, so he chose for himself a soft spot of earth and slept to calm and strengthen himself for the time ahead.