Gemmell, David – Dark Moon

The wedding had been joyous and raucous. Ceofrin had opened his tavern to friends, family and loyal customers. The food and drink were free, and Duvo had played for them. The priest had arrived at noon, the guests pushing back the tables so that he could lay the ceremonial sword and sheaf of corn upon the freshly swept floor. Duvo had put aside his harp and led Shira to the centre of the room. The words were simple.

‘Do you, Duvodas of the Harp, agree to this binding of soul and flesh?’

‘I do.’

‘Do you swear to value the life of this, your beloved, as you value your own?’

‘I do.’

‘Will you honour her with the truth, and bless her with love for all the days of your life?’

‘I will.’

‘Then take up the sword.’

Duvo had never before held a blade, and he was loath to touch it. But it was a ceremonial piece, representing defence of the family, that had never been used in combat, and he knelt and lifted it by the hilt. The crowd cheered and Shira’s father, Ceofrin, stood by misty-eyed as he did so.

‘Do you, Shira, agree to this binding of soul and flesh?’ asked the priest.

‘I do.’

‘Do you swear to value the life of this, your beloved, as you value your own?’

‘Always.’

‘Will you honour him with the truth, and bless him with love for all the days of your life?’

‘I will.’

‘Then take up the sheaf, which represents life and the continuation of life.’

She did so, then turned to Duvo, offering it to him. He took it from her hand, then drew her to him, kissing her. The crowd roared their approval, and the revelry began again.

Now it was dawn, and Shira slept on. Dipping his head, he kissed her brow. Sorrow slipped through his joy like a cold breeze, and he shivered.

The Daroth were coming.

That was why he had changed his mind about marrying the girl beside him, for only thus could he guarantee her safety. Now when he left Corduin, she would be beside him, and he would take her far from the threat of war and violence.

Rising from the bed, he took up his harp and sat by the window. Nervously he stroked the strings, reaching out

for the harmony. He quite expected to feel nothing, and remembered a walk with Ranaloth through the gardens of the Temple of the Oltor.

‘Why did you raise me, Master Ranaloth?’ he had asked. ‘You do not like humans.’

‘I do not dislike them,’ answered the Eldarin. ‘I dislike no-one.’

‘I understand that. But you have said that we are like the Daroth, natural destroyers.’

Ranaloth had nodded agreement. ‘This is true, Duvo, and many among the Eldarin did not want to see a child of your race among us. But you were lost and alone, an abandoned babe on a winter hillside. I had always wondered if a human could learn to be civilized – if you could put aside the violence of your nature and the evils of your heart. So I brought you here. You have proved it possible, and made me happy and proud. The triumph of will over the pull of the flesh – this is what the Eldarin achieved many aeons ago. We learned the value of harmony. Now you understand it also, and perhaps you can carry this gift back to your race.’

‘What must I beware of, sir?’ he had asked.

‘Anger and hatred – these are the weapons of evil. And love, Duvo. Love is both wondrous and yet full of peril. Love is a gateway through which hatred – disguised and unrecognized – can pass.’

‘How can that be so? Is not love the greatest of the emotions?’

‘Indeed it is. But it breaches all defences, and lays us open to feelings of great depth. You humans suffer this more than most races I have known. Love among your people can lead to jealousy, envy, lust and greed, revenge and murder. The purest emotion carries with it the seeds of corruption; they are hard to detect.’

‘You think I should avoid love?’