a song for the mountain, and the tea

The elf-lord was practicing plant alchemy when Lilruk Wongbeard jogged by on the heels of a squirrel. He cried out to his friend but she was already gone so he stopped what he was doing and began jogging after her into the snow-laden forest.

“What are you doing, Lilruk?” the elf-lord puffed.

“Keeping the squirrel company. What’s it look like? I’m running!”

“Running from what?”

“Shut up! Keep up!”

Lilruk and the elf-lord tossed the fresh fallen snow with their rapid footfalls. The deeper they jogged into the woods the deeper the silence of the heavy snowfall. The hot pant of their breath, and of course, the regular exclamation from the elf-lord on the new way that a tree or bush looked with the new snow was the soundtrack that Lilruk did not interrupt.

When Lilruk had run Aspen back to his hut, the elf-lord shook his head at his friend’s strange new practice. “Ok, well, that was interesting.” He suggested that she would be better off trying his plant alchemy.

“What is it?” Lilruk frowned.

“That strange woman camped outside your cave taught it to me. Seems the younger species are developing traditions.”

“Looks quite watery,” Lilruk said dubiously.

“It’s hot; you can’t chug it.”

“Hot, and it isn’t even a soup or stew. Just wait till it cools, then.” Lilruk began moving off her stool to make fun of the elf-lord’s wood dwelling, as another one of her growing practices.

“No, the alchemy will be lost.”

“Says you and that weirdo.”

“This is her tradition. If you’re going to try her tradition, I suggest you try it her way.”

Lilruk made faces while sipping the plant alchemy with her friend. Turns out that the human’s influence had extended to the dwarf, too, although Lilruk wasn’t going to admit that to Aspen. The practice of running - to no particular destination - was introduced by the human - the woman - Prosea, rather. Prosea had been camped outside Lilruk’s realm for some weeks and had this flighty habit of doing morning stretches and exercises that included jogging round Lilruk’s summer terrace. It made Lilruk quite anxious watching the woman busy herself daily in work that hadn’t any visible product afterwards. The movement was so fussy that Lilruk could not enjoy her own morning ritual of a hearty breakfast followed by a long, satisfactory stare over her year’s work - the finished summer terrace and garden – much of which was handcarved out of the mountain face by Lilruk.

That’s what genouroursourty with other species got her: a crazy woman doing interpretative dance every bloody morning and an inability to spell. So when the squirrel passed by on his own morning ritual, Lilruk followed it just to give Prosea - and her - some peace.

Prosea called herself an ar-chivist, as well as a scho-lar, who was doing vital research for the good of her village - she called it a town. Prosea’s leader asked her to find the his-tor-ies of their land and she would start at its roots – meaning the caves - which would be the dwarven kingdoms.

Too ridiculous to even bother correcting. Lilruk had just stared at the woman from the corner of her eye while trying to finish the ale she had been working on. It was all a babble to Lilruk who finally cut the woman off and told her to shut up and catch her breath by the centre garden hearth. Though Prosea talked at a running pace, she looked almost mortally defeated by her journey up the mountain. Her clothes were torn, her skin blotched by exposure and her outdoor gear seemed to be filled mostly with books.

Lilruk said she would not tolerate her archiving her summer home nor snooping for the entrance further into the mountain. The woman got a hearty stew and a large chunk of crusty bread for her pains as well as a mug of ale the size of her head. Lilruk told her to be off as soon as she was fed and rested.

A week later Lilruk found the woman starving quietly in a shoddy camp nearby. She was studying the carving technique of one of Lilruk’s great grandfather’s archways. Lilruk told her if she stayed out of the way and didn’t steal anything or try to go into the mountain – she’d get lost and Lilruk wasn’t about to go find her – that Lilruk would let her shelter by her summer terrace garden; an enclosed area with a warm, ever-glowing hearth and a small storage room that could be converted into a small bedroom. The terrace was a large circular area with various hearths that were kept lit at all times. It jutted out from the mountain and overlooked a steep drop into the misted forest beneath. From that day on and into winter, the woman survived under Lilruk’s garden canopy with a copse of fragrant fruit trees nearby; warm firelight and bright sunshine were her study lamps and a steady diet of stew, ale and apples was Prosea’s sustenance.

The elf-lord swirled his cup in his hand and stared down at the liquid. “Absolutely love this and there is something to this colour, I’m certain. I can stare into the cup endlessly without tire. And I very much like the subtle flavours. Still, it doesn’t compare to my infusions. Humans have no patience. These leaves might have more to tell if they weren’t shocked by hot water and allowed to tell their stories in their own time.”

“I’ll take ale over all of you.” But Lilruk imitated Aspen’s swirling motion and peered long into her own cup.

It was winter and time to close the summer terrace and return to her brethren under the mountain. Her family history was carved in stone deep within the mountain and she would stand before this tableau to honour her gifts and ancestors during this holiday season. Mixed in with this solemn duty were weeks of feasting and appreciating the year’s good harvest both in trade and craft. Lilruk was looking forward to the holiday season yet she also lingered above ground.

That woman was so desperate to continue recording whatever she thought she was recording and Aspen was surely causing some nuisance below in the forest. She needed to mind them. The truth was, Lilruk just wanted to sit a little longer on her summer terrace. And she grudgingly admitted to enjoying her daily visits with Aspen.

He was an elf-lord who had - apparently - relinquished whatever elf-lords lorded over, Lilruk had surmised. Like the woman, Aspen had turned up one day and started setting up his forest hut, saying these trees had something to tell him and he would stay until they were done. Whatever. It occurred to Lilruk that in some ways the elf-lord was no different from the archivist just that he had no appetite for hearty stews or ale and could exist comfortably with very little shelter.

Aspen could not resist the apples from Lilruk’s orchard though and openly picked them without asking. That’s how she met Aspen. The boy just walked right by her and started picking her apples. Asked her if she wanted one. Ownership was a foreign word in Aspen’s language.

It was true, though, that Lilruk’s garden came from the land’s original wildness. The choice to keep the native plants on her property was counter-intuitive to her dwarven nature. However, something about how those plants reached up and outwards made Lilruk decide to build around them when constructing the terrace. The apple trees and flowers were wild and now cleverly restrained by the blue-purple crystal that Lilruk had used to extend the mountain stone into short walls, archways and paths. Most noticeable was the working of the crystal into delicate lattices around the terrace balcony. Delicate-looking but sturdy and enduring. Being under a mountain for a good portion of the year, Lilruk wanted to ensure that the edge of the terrace had an unobstructed view of the heavens which at that height, felt close indeed. Her design had invited a strawberry patch to find a new home in her garden that summer. Lilruk was looking forward to what next year’s berries would taste like.

“What will you do while I’m away, Aspen?” she asked her friend.

“Well, no offense, but perhaps have some more prolonged meditation sessions.”

“If that human decides to brave the rest of winter on my doorstep will you look in on her?”

“She’s been invited to stay with me if she wants. But yes, I think she will be obstinate first.” Aspen continued, “Running and human guests. Don’t you have to get ready for your festivities?”

“I do look forward to it. One day you shall see the feast halls down below but, alas, my friend, traditions are slow to change. Especially those under a mountain. And you would need practice first to be comfortable underground.”

“As for me,” Lilruk continued, “I am not as young as I once was. I see no need to hurry anywhere. Responsibilities can wait and so can desires.”

Aspen smiled at her talkative mood and Lilruk returned her gaze to her cup. “Is that cinnamon I taste?”

“Yes! I think it is!” Aspen exclaimed. “Amazingly hidden but present, isn’t it? I thought that very clever of this blend!”

Lilruk continued running over the next month as deeper winter settled in. Aspen joined her often in midrun and they would drink this plant alchemy, that the human called tea, together. Lilruk was oddly contented with these foreign rituals yet her holiday season was upon her and Lilruk asked Aspen to visit before her return under the mountain. She could see the elf-lord climbing up the steep to her home.

“Prosea! Prosea GrimInk!” Lilruk called.

The human, a very hairy creature now due to her months of camping, looked up from her writing desk. Lilruk had crafted a desk for the poor woman, one that allowed her to rest comfortably if she refused to go to bed or support her should she fall. See, the woman would faint from exhaustion sometimes, forgetting to eat and fighting sleep in her dogged pursuit of – whatever. So Lilruk made her a circular desk that Prosea could close herself into. The seat was wide enough for her to curl up upon. Underneath was a soft rug.

“Prosea, come join us for lunch before you fade! And please, do honour us with another one of your tea blends.”

“Yes, please!” Aspen called.

The elf-lord and human joined a table that was, as Lilruk explained, a minuscule example of the tables that awaited the dwarves below. After the friends were filled with the warmth of food and hearth, they enjoyed a wonderful tea that Prosea called fermented. She said it was the best tea after a hearty meal.

“Well, it still isn’t ale but - a wonderfully indescribable flavour,” Lilruk declared and peered curiously into her cup. It was a taste that promised a story at the very end of the palate but Lilruk was not able to articulate that to the others. The high sun peering through the mountainous view also beckoned a moment of silence. What mysteries were left untold over that horizon, after all? Beckoning like a lover.

Lover that can wait a bit longer. Let the imagination have it, Lilruk thought as she nestled more firmly into her blanketed chair. The wind was sweet and gentle and the hearth warm and bright and she had a holiday under the mountain to honour.

Lilruk turned to Prosea and asked to see the tea in its dry form. Prosea opened a pouch and spilled some of the dried leaves and flower petals onto Lilruk’s heirloom anvil which also served as Lilruk’s coffee table and a conversation piece. Both Aspen and the dwarf scrutinized the stuff.

“Amazing that this shrivelled form produces so much brightness. I like to see this product the least this way,” Aspen said. Turning to Prosea, he said, “Perhaps I love your tea for the relief I get when the leaves wake again from the water.”

Lilruk was rubbing some in her palm. “Hmm,” was all she said. She sniffed at it, too.

“Ya, right?” Prosea nodded. “The unknowing person may even call it magic because the blends are so good! But what you sense is the tea’s Ayurvedic qualities. Ayurveda is a FULL scholastic study of its own. I only wish I had the time to learn that as well! Along with green tea, this blend also has amla, tulsi, giloy, cinnamon, ginger, mint, fennel, black pepper, turmeric and ashwagandha,” Prosea, all in one breath.

Prosea began providing Aspen with more nuanced brewing instruction as Lilruk continued to examine the dried compounds. “Hmmm,” Lilruk said again.

Finally, as Prosea reached for Lilruk’s kettle, Lilruk stood and laid the leaves back on the anvil. There was a noticeable pause and tangible intention in Lilruk.

“What is it, Lil –” Aspen began.

Lilruk lifted her hammer and began pounding the leaves. The elf-lord fell over backward in his seat and the human stifled a scream. Up went her arm and down came the hammer on her old ancestral anvil from which knowing sparks flew. The elf and human were making some kind of fuss around her but Lilruk stayed her intention on the tea.

When done, Lilruk stared dubiously at the powder while the elf-lord waxed indignant and the human clutched her hands tearfully.

“Hmmm,” was all Lilruk said.

“Have you lost your mind?” Aspen finally articulated clearly.

Lilruk turned to the human, “Do you have more? Let me have another go at it.”

“Leaf-killer!” Aspen yelled. “Serial leaf killer!”

“Just trust me. Do you think I carry this thing everywhere I go for nothing? Trust me.”

The human grudgingly offered another sample of the tea blend.

Lilruk examined it again with a slight tilt of her head in the other direction. This time she fired it briefly on her hearth and then dropped the tea on her anvil. Aspen covered his eyes and Prosea her mouth as Lilruk raised her hammer up against those frail and subtle dried greens. At first, the others flinched with each strike but as the initial shock wore away, Lilruk’s persistence required them to hear the music in the hammer. The sound, as noise, dulled and more pronounced came the quality of the hammer’s residual ring, including its surprising sopranos and vibrations into a chorus. Each strike was precise, methodical and inevitable with Lilruk’s breath.

They all bent down to inspect the tea’s new powdered form. Lilruk gave it a satisfactory stare. Pouring the mixture into cups and whisking it with some hot water and a dollop of honey and cream, she served it to her guests. Lilruk’s fire and metal had added a thicker, earthy and roasted quality to the tea; a wakeful after-effect that generations after them would use as a pleasant potion for stamina and regeneration after a night’s sleep.

When Lilruk returned below the mountain, Aspen and Prosea met regularly to continue their tea practice, running and studying both in greater speed and efficiency. They enjoyed Lilruk’s hearth and accepted her gratitude for the tea.

© lyw