September 24, 2010

• Part III: Erov Drinks From the Bitter Cup

  

  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…

   

  • 11:49 am
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