Chapter 34
The Fruit of the Elf Lore
Here is a fruit for the crows to pluck.
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck.
For the sun to rot, for a tree to drop . . .
Strange Fruit by Abel Meeropol
Mraan studied the Imp’s features as she prepared the evening meal, oblivious to the boy and his father. The light of the cooking fire somehow suited her, he thought, as did the jumping shadows on the cave walls, and the unfathomable darkness in the depths beyond. In this light, her features were young, soft, vulnerable, almost childlike.
The term “cave” did the dwelling little justice: it was well furnished with chairs, tables, shelves and beds; it had several rooms, the walls, though rough, had been carved straight and even, the floor was flagged, the air dry.
Iniiq was sitting cross-legged on a straw mat on the floor, chopping fresh herbs on a cutting board which lay across her lap, and adding them to the contents of a black iron cauldron which hung far enough above the fire to avoid scorching its contents.
Mraan ventured a worried look at his father. Haloch hadn’t spoken for hours, and sat on a chair in a corner of the cave in semi-darkness, clutching the Book of Runes to his chest, his bleak gaze lost in some private avenue of self-recrimination. Not having shaved in days, his grey stubble only accentuated his lined face, giving him a hollow-eyed, gaunt aspect.