Just Between Us

Please don't take this little story too seriously. I wrote it just for fun. And please don't read too much into Aganir Usan's behavior. You're seeing him on a bad day. No elf has ever spent much time studying human culture, so he shouldn't be blamed for being clueless here. Poor Usan! It's my fault, really. I just couldn't resist giving Marak's grandson the chance to get the better of him.

What you should notice is how comfortable Aganir Usan and Marak Boartusk are in one another's company. Their parents made sure that they spent quite a bit of time together when they were younger so that, as rulers, they could solve diplomatic crises like this one as easily and amicably as possible.

Parisian Judgment

Colette's formidable intelligence had won her a certain notoriety among the academic circles of Paris. Only the most erudite and interesting society attended her evening parties: politicians, diplomats, professors, actors, and artists who were defying the traditions of the classical school. Lovely Colette could hold her own with any of the, but the minute they switched from politics to the color of her eyes, they were barred from her fashionable circle. Colette kept house for her uncle, the distinguished professor of philosophy at the University of Paris. She had no time to waste on the foolishness of romance.

Colette's uncle Victor became interested in the philosophical developments of conquered peoples, and this led him, through one thing and another, to embark on a visit of the British Isles. Colette went with her uncle to arrange his affairs for him: Victor was brilliant at the university, but he was hopeless in a train station. A chain of introductions and letters from friends took them from house to house across the English countryside. Colette charmed her hosts, and her uncle impressed them.

The pair spent a delightful day in an out-of-the way location named Hallow Hill. James Richardson, its elderly master, welcomed their company. The huge, undeveloped estate with its charming, ragged views interested the sophisticated Colette. She was a city dweller. She couldn't imagine nature so close and untamed. And the big old house with its rich, gracious furnishings of former days fascinated her. Her uncle's apartment was clean and modern. It didn't evoke the past.

They ate their supper at the empty table which could have held thirty people, and Colette looked up from her meal to meet the watchful eyes of dead residents. She admired in particular a painting of a girl in a midnight blue gown. "My sister Miranda," explained Mr. Richardson. "She died not long after that painting was made."

"She is so beautiful," declared Colette. "And because she died so young, she will always be beautiful."

Mr. Richardson looked up at his long-dead sister and gave a little sigh. "I would have liked the chance to watch her grow old, myself."

Colette switched her attention to a large painting nearby. It depicted Paris' famous judging of the three Greek goddesses Hera, Aphrodite, and Athena. Paris was sitting under a tree as the three women paraded before him. Wearing little beyond a few wreaths and veils, the three bulky goddesses had that identical simpering smile which was everywhere in older French painting. Plump, rosy Paris had it, too.

"Now, here is an interesting puzzle," said Colette to the two older men. "Which should one choose: Wisdom, Beauty, or Power? Paris was a man, so he chose Beauty, of course. Then he didn't have the wisdom or power to keep his beautiful wife, and his nation was destroyed by war."

"How would you have chosen, Colette?" asked her uncle. "You'd have chosen Wisdom, you clever woman."

"Wisdom should not have been in the contest at all," she replied. "Wisdom should not lower itself to competition. It should have been the judge."

"Of a contest between Beauty and Power?" considered Victor. "Which one should win, do you think?"

"I don't know," replied Colette. "I wouldn't award the prize to Beauty immediately. I would have to give it some thought."

They sat up quite late with Mr. Richardson. He had adult children all over the world, from Canada to Singapore, but he lived alone. The estate had too many restrictions on it to interest the young. It couldn't be mined, and it couldn't be farmed. It could only be enjoyed in a quiet fashion, and that was what Mr. Richardson did. He collected odd stories about it, and he kept his guests spellbound with the quaint local lore. It was that folklore combined with the classical painting that produced Colette's odd dream.

She thought that she awoke to see two men standing in her room, illuminated by the light of a bedside lamp. One man was very handsome, with an ethereal beauty that properly belonged to the angels. He had black hair and lovely black eyes, and he looked noble and young. The other man was ugly, grotesquely shaped, with a raw, vigorous energy. He was broad-chested and short, not much taller than Colette herself, and his nose flattened into a snout. Two white tusks curved up from his pronounced lower jaw, and his ears stuck out like a pig's ears.

The angel and the monster faced each other beside her old-fashioned bed. Colette sat up in the shadow of the curtains to watch.

"You should have sent me a message about your intentions," declared the angelic man sternly.

The pig-faced man folded his arms and blinked his little eyes. "You should have sent me a message as well," he countered. "I would think you'd be glad that I'm not after one of yours."

"It doesn't matter," replied the angel. "I have precedence in these cases. You'll have to agree that she belongs to me."

"Quite true that you have precedence," conceded the monster. "But you might not have noticed yet that Essad is missing. It seems the young troublemaker was once again somewhere he didn't belong, and I had him detained to teach him manners. I suppose you'll want him back, but if you do, you'll have to agree that she belongs to me."

The two mythological figures glowered at each other, the beautiful and the strong. Colette looked from one to the other and laughed.

"It's the contest between Beauty and Power to see who possesses Wisdom," she said. "Only Wisdom, the judge, is a woman, so this time Beauty and Power are men."

Beauty and Power gawked at her for a minute. "Where'd she learn her English?" asked Beauty.

"So now Beauty and Power intend to duel over me," Colette declared. "But how can they possibly do it? Will Power turn on Beauty the devastating shafts of war, that leave whole nations in ruins? Will Beauty turn on Power the wounding looks of love, that tear the heart and leave it scarred forever? "

"Will he indeed?" mused Power. "Go ahead, Aganir Usan, pout at me a little. I want to see if it works."

Black-haired Beauty stared at her. "What in heaven's name is she talking about?"

"No," Colette concluded, "they cannot possibly duel. Their powers are different, and yet the same, so they come to me instead. I, Wisdom, will settle the contest and declare the winner."

"No," said the angel, laughing, "I think it's a good idea. She can pick her own husband. I'm sure she won't mind that you have teeth sticking out of your face. She'll be fair." The pig gave him a dirty look.

"I will be," promised Colette graciously. "You needn't worry about that. Let's see. First, let's consider the value of Beauty in the minds of those who lose it. They often take their own lives when their beauty is lost, or when a beautiful sweetheart rejects them. But then, let's consider the value of lost Power. Men wage great battles to gain it back, squandering the lives of their subjects."

Power's little pig eyes were starting to twinkle. "She says she'll kill herself if she can't marry you," he translated helpfully. "If she can't marry me, she'll kill someone else."

"I'd suspect so," answered Power. "My research turned up the fact that she's very clever."

"Clever," echoed the angel, surveying her with unease. "What about insanity?" he wanted to know.

"But Beauty and Power should speak for themselves," interrupted Colette. "Wisdom, their judge, should consider not just their value but their gifts. If I award the prize to you," she inquired of the angel, "what do you intend to give me?"

"Stars above, you'll have me!" he pointed out. "Doesn't that count for anything?"

"You'll have my forest to live in, my rivers and hills to explore," he said. "You'll have the stars, the moon, the night sky."

"Yes, Beauty is all around us in the landscapes of our lives," she confirmed, "and how could we comprehend nature without its help?"

"Oh, good heavens!" exclaimed the angel, turning away and folding his arms. The pig grinned at her fondly.

"I can spread all the riches of the earth at your feet," he promised. "Gold and silver and precious gems."

"Just so," he agreed. "I can keep you in comfort, too, with all that you want or desire."

"And luxury is certainly something Beauty here won't promise. I can also provide you ease, with many servants to attend you."

"Wait! So can I," declared the angel. "How dare you claim ease as your gift!" he said, scowling. The pig gave an innocent shrug.

"I can protect you from danger, from any harm," continued Power, "with many soldiers and weapons."

"Which you know perfectly well that I can do, too," interrupted Beauty. "You don't have to go on as if you're providing something unique."

"No, military strength properly belongs to Power," ruled their judge. Beauty frowned in disgust. The pig laughed a quiet, snuffling laugh. "Power, do you have anything else to offer?"

The barrel-chested monster studied her with a smile. "I'm a good listener," he said. "I'm patient, and I like human books and human ideas."

"Well, what's your decision?" demanded Beauty. "Which one of us do you want to marry?"

"How can we live without Beauty?" asked Colette. "We look for it everywhere, every day of our lives. But we live in a fallen world. How can we live without Power? Without Power to protect us, we lose everything we possess."

"That does it!" he snapped. "Marak Boartusk, you can have her. I won't spend the rest of my life with someone who can't choose between me and a pig!"

"But you have to release Essad," said the angel. "It's almost dawn. You can do it now."

The pig considered this. "I don't like it," he said with a frown. "I should take her home right away. I've been up all night, and there's still the ceremony, and that's a lot of work."

He walked up to Colette, who still sat on the edge of her bed. "You see what happens when you don't rule in favor of Beauty," he said, looking at her with those friendly, twinkling eyes.

She smiled at him. "Yes, Beauty always thinks itself supreme. Beauty sees no value in anything but itself."

"I couldn't agree more," laughed the pig. "Goodnight, my philosophical bride. Don't tell anyone about us," he added, placing his broad hand on her hair. She stared at his ugliness with interest as he laid her hands on her knees. Whispering, he traced a design on each hand with a finger. "I don't want you hurting yourself," he said by way of explanation. "And—oh! I need real paint for this spell," he said, turning around. "Usan, do you see any paint?"

The angel looked around his side of the room. "Here's ink," he said, retrieving it. "And a pen. Hurry up."

"Good," said the monster. "Hold still," he advised Colette. She felt him write something on her forehead. "That keeps you on my land. Sleep well, Wisdom. I'll be back tonight to claim my prize."

Colette woke up in the full light of morning, feeling wonderfully rested. She thought about her dream and smiled as she stretched. The judgment of Paris had been redone by a woman, and this time it had been done right.

She glanced at herself, still smiling, as she passed the dressing table mirror. Then she backed up and stared. Time passed, but she didn't notice. All she could see was the intricate symbol traced on her forehead in ink.

Clare B. Dunkle

The Hollow Kingdom Trilogy

Congratulations! You've found my hidden story.

Parisian Judgment