Of Gods and Elves

chapter Six


Malstisos felt a cool breeze caress his cheeks as he walked between the massive redwoods. The noon sun shone through the leaves, making the grass sparkle like a million tiny emeralds. The forest was familiar, but like a distant memory from childhood. He reached over and touched the almost black bark of a nearby tree. It should have been hard and coarse, but it wasn't. It was soft, smooth, and yielded to his touch. He withdrew his hand in amazement. He reached out again and gently moved his hand over the bark. Light rippled up the length of the tree and back down again. Malstisos stood transfixed by the sight.

“This can't be real,” he whispered.

“It's real,” a voice called from behind.

Malstisos spun around, but there was no one there. “Who are you?” There was no answer. He reached for his knife but found that it was no longer at his side. “Show yourself.”

“I am here.” This time the voice was softer and clearly feminine.

“Why can't I see you?” he asked, straining his eyes. The forest began to blur and shift. “What's happening?”

“Don't be afraid. We are friends.”

“We?” he said. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

“It's Kaylia. I'm here with Gewey.”

“Kaylia? Why can't I see you? What is this place?”

“You are at the edge of the spirit realm. Why you can't see me, I do not know. I suspect that you would in time. But time is not a luxury we have. We have guided you here, but I do not know how long you can remain.”

“How do I know you are who you say you are?” he challenged. “How do I know this isn't just a vivid dream?”

“Does it feel like a dream?”

“Yes... and no,” he said. “I feel awake but all this…” He looked out as the forest ebbed and flowed like a green tide. “It can't be real.”

“It is real,” said Kaylia. “At least in the sense that this is a real place. This is only our second time here, but I think that it changes with your thoughts and emotions. I do know that the dangers here are very real.”

“Dangers,” said Malstisos. “What dangers?”

“There is no time to explain. Gewey is struggling to keep you in this world. Did you succeed in saving Lee’s wife and son?”

“His son is with us,” he replied. “But I'm sad to say that his wife has been taken north to Angrääl. Millet is taking the boy to Baltria, while I escort Maybell to Althetas.”

“I see...” she paused. “Stick to your plan. Lee will find Millet in Baltria. Gewey and I have our own task, but you will be met in Althetas. Go to the Frogs Wishbone when you arrive. An agent from Valshara will contact you there.”

“How am I to know—” Malstisos began. The forest turned into a swirl of light and color. He felt as if he were falling. Then blackness.

Malstisos awoke drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. For a moment, he didn't know where he was. As his mind cleared, he heard the sound of Millet, Jacob, and Maybell's deep, regular breathing. He reached over and shook Millet.

“What's wrong?” asked Millet groggily. Malstisos recounted his experience.

“Do you believe it was them?” Millet asked.

“I do. How they accomplished it I can't imagine, but I sensed no deception.”

“Then we should keep to our plan,” said Millet. “It's several hours until dawn, so we should try and sleep. Maybell can be told of this in the morning.”

Malstisos nodded in agreement and drew his blanket tightly around him. Sleep came slowly and his dreams were troubled.

The morning brought the smell of crisp bacon and fresh bread. Gerald was busy setting the table and humming.

Millet was first to rise and helped with breakfast. At first, Gerald protested but soon realized Millet wasn't one to be deterred. The duo had the table prepared a full ten minutes before Malstisos and Maybell stirred. Jacob was last to awaken.

“Things are in order from the smell of it.” Maybell yawned and stretched. She looked over to Malstisos who was just waking up. “I always imagined elves to be early risers.”

“My sleep was troubled... and eventful,” he replied. “But we'll discuss it after breakfast.”

About halfway through their meal, Gerald excused himself and left them alone at the table. Malstisos informed Maybell and Jacob of his dream experience.

“Amazing,” remarked Maybell. “Well, I'm happy that you'll be met in Baltria.”

“I'm not,” Jacob growled. “I have no need of my father, and have no intention of seeing him.”

“If you intend to go to Baltria, you won't have much of a choice,” stated Millet.

“According to Malstisos he will certainly be there, so you had better get used to the idea.”

Jacob folded his arms. “He had better stay out of my way.”

“Calm yourself,” said Malstisos. “First you must arrive at your destination, and that may not be easy.”

“We'll get there,” said Jacob. “If I have to kill every soldier I see on the way.”

“Young man, you would do well to take Millet's lead,” said Maybell. “He has seen much more of the world than you. If getting to Baltria means saving your mother, then you'd do well to keep your mouth shut, and your eyes and ears open.”

Jacob glared at Maybell but could find no words to reply.

“I do not think you should take time to speak to the Oracle when we arrive in Manisalia,” said Malstisos.

Millet nodded. “I agree. In fact, I would have you avoid the city entirely if it's possible.”

“I'm sure I can find a way around if need be,” said Malstisos. “But, I intend to leave you with the remainder of the provisions. Sister Maybell and I will need to resupply once you're away. There is no way we can avoid the city, at least for a few hours.”

“Good,” said Maybell. “And I would like to consult the Oracle--if she's still there.”

The front door opened and Gerald entered, smiling. “I see you've nearly finished. I hope you enjoyed it.”

“Very much.” Maybell returned the smile. The rest nodded in agreement.

“I've readied your horses,” said the boy. “I'll bring them 'round front whenever you'd like.”

“We'll be leaving shortly,” said Millet. “You can bring them now.” Gerald nodded and dashed off.

They gathered their belongings and filed out the front door. As promised, Gerald had saddled their horses and had them lined up a few feet away. Gerald bowed to each in turn, handing them a cloth wrapped around a piece of roast lamb and a loaf of bread, thanking them for their kind donation. Maybell embraced the lad tightly and whispered into his ear. Gerald smiled sadly, turned and entered the hospice.

Travel that day was slow and miserable. By noon, the wind howled through the trees and the sky filled with clouds that promised snow.

Malstisos stopped periodically to check for signs of pursuit but found none.

“I think perhaps whatever that creature was, he must have been alone,” said Malstisos during one of their stops. “That is not to say that more are not waiting for us ahead.”

Millet shivered at the thought. The monster’s distorted features still burned in his mind.

“Let them come,” boasted Jacob, “I don't fear them.”

Malstisos snorted loudly. “Then you're a fool. Fear may keep you alive. You are no warrior. That I can clearly see. If you encounter one of them, you should run if you can.”

Jacob leaped from his horse and drew his sword. “I have had enough of your insults, elf.”

Malstisos stared down at the boy for a moment, then casually slipped out of the saddle. “Come then,” he said. “Let us see what you're made of.” He didn't bother to draw his blade.

Jacob's mouth grew into a malevolent grin. In an instant, he lashed out at the elf, his blade seeking flesh, but it found only cold, winter air. Though Jacob moved with uncanny speed, he was no match for Malstisos.

“Come now, boy,” Malstisos taunted. “Certainly you can do better.”

This infuriated Jacob and he ran headlong at the elf, slashing maniacally. Malstisos ducked quickly, spun around, and brought his heel into the back of the boy’s knee. Jacob’s leg collapsed, and he fell hard on his back. Malstisos stepped on Jacob's blade, trapping it. Jacob struggled to pull the blade free, but Malstisos bent down, pressing his knee on Jacob’s throat.

“You have passion,” said Malstisos. “But no discipline.”

Jacob bucked and twisted, but Malstisos only pressed harder. Slowly, Jacob stopped struggling and relaxed. After a moment, Malstisos released him and held out his hand, but Jacob only glared, his eyes filled with hate and anger.

“Take my hand, young one,” said the elf. “The fight is done. You have lost, but there is no shame. You did well considering your lack of training.”

Jacob reached up, took Malstisos' hand, and allowed the elf to pull him to his feet. He brushed himself off and retrieved his sword.

“Now if we are done with all this foolishness,” said Maybell. “We have distance to cover.”

“That we do,” agreed Millet. “If we quicken our pace, you and Malstisos should be able to reach Manisalia in three days.”

“As we are no longer followed, that should be easy,” added Malstisos. He took another look at Jacob, who was mounting his horse. “It appears you are uninjured.”

“I'm fine,” Jacob grumbled. “It takes more than that to hurt me.”

“I do not doubt your toughness,” said Malstisos. “But mind your pride and your anger. It will be your undoing if you are not careful.”

“That comes from his father,” said Millet. “He was the same way.”

“I'm nothing like him,” said Jacob.

Millet shook his head sadly. “I know you must think he abandoned you and your mother. But he only left to protect you. One day you'll understand.”

“Then explain it to me,” said Jacob in disgust.

“It is not my place,” said Millet. “Your father is the only one who can reveal his motives. For me, to do so would be a betrayal.”

Jacob sniffed and turned his horse. The others followed close behind.

The rest of the day the group traveled without speaking, and when they made camp, Jacob slept far away from the others. Millet tried to convince him to come closer to the fire, but he was met with cold silence.

The next morning snow began to fall. Gently, at first, but by midday it was well on its way to becoming a full-blown blizzard.

Millet shivered. “If this gets much worse, I'm afraid we will freeze to death long before we reach Manisalia.”

Malstisos nodded in agreement and glanced back at Maybell, who was slumped in her saddle with her coat and a blanket wrapped tightly around her.

They trudged on for several hours, until they were virtually frozen. About an hour before dark Malstisos motioned for everyone to stop.

“There is a large group of humans ahead,” said Malstisos. “They have many horses and wagons.”

“Could be a merchant caravan,” suggested Millet.

“Or soldiers,” said Jacob.

Malstisos slid out of his saddle. “Wait here.” With that, he disappeared into the brush.

“I'm hoping for merchants,” said Maybell, rubbing her arms. “We can barter for a place by a fire.”

Millet nodded in agreement.

By the time Malstisos returned, the snow was coming down in earnest. “Merchants,” he announced. “Ten wagons strong. And something else...” His face wore a strange expression.

“What is it?” asked Millet.

“There are elves among them. I didn't notice their presence until I was nearly upon them, but there is no mistake.”

“What difference does that make?” asked Jacob. “At least you don't have to hide.”

“You don't understand,” said Malstisos. “In the west, there are places we have dealings with humans. But as far as I know, no such alliances exist here.”

“Did they know you were there?” asked Millet.

“I don't think so. But I cannot be certain.”

“What should we do?” asked Maybell.

Malstisos shrugged. “What choice do we have? Winter has come early, and we are not prepared for this type of weather. If we don't seek shelter we will freeze to death.”

Millet sighed heavily and urged his horse forward. The caravan was camped a quarter of a mile away in a large clearing on the north side of the road. Several large canvas tents stood in a semi-circle, and a half dozen cooking fires flickered in the center. At least three dozen men and women, wrapped in thick coats, were busy preparing the evening meal. As they came closer, two cloaked figures walked towards them. They were tall, lean, and wrapped in heavy wool blankets.

“Elves,” said Malstisos under his breath, and looked to Jacob. “Do not speak until we know why they are here.”

Jacob scowled. “I'm not stupid.”

“I did not say you were.” The elf turned his attention to his approaching kin. He jumped down from his horse and raised his right hand in greeting. The other two elves returned the gesture.

“Greetings brother,” said the elf on the left. His voice was deep and rough, unlike the elf voices Millet and Maybell had heard before. “I am Grentos and this is Vadnaltis.”

Malstisos took a step forward. “Greetings.”

The two pushed back the blankets from her heads, revealing their features. Both had honey blond hair, pulled tight in a long braid that disappeared into the folds of the wool. Their skin was ivory pale and flawless.

“I see you are from the Northwestern Steppes,” remarked Malstisos. “I have not seen those of your tribe in many years. I am Malstisos of the Finsoulos clan. What brings you here?”

“It has been long since we have had dealings with our southern kin,” said Grentos. “What brings us to this frozen land is a discussion to be had over a hot meal and good wine. You must be near death in this frigid cold.”

“We were hoping to take shelter with the caravan,” admitted Malstisos. “But I did not expect to find elves among humans.”

“Nor did we expect to see the same.” Grentos smiled broadly. “But you need not fear. The humans here are from the shores of the Abyss. Elves are not unknown to them, nor do they fear us. A tent has been erected to shelter the horses near the tree line. Vadnaltis will show you the way. I'll prepare a meal and a place for you and your friends to rest.”

Malstisos bowed low. “I thank you.” He motioned for the others to dismount. They followed Vadnaltis around the outskirts of the camp to the horse tent. Two boys sat next to a fire near the entrance. They sprang to their feet and took their mounts. Millet gave both boys a copper and their eyes lit up.

“I promise they'll be well tended sir,” said the older boy, a dark haired, scraggly youth, barely eleven years old.

Once they removed their packs, Vadnaltis led them through the heart of the camp to the far end of a large, red tent. Smoke rose from a small opening at the top. A few people had turned to see the newcomers, but most ignored them. Vadnaltis held open the tent flap and allowed Malstisos and the others to enter.

The interior of the tent was simple. Six bedrolls surrounded a small fire in the center. A small lantern in each corner combined with the firelight to give the tent a cheery glow. Grentos was at the far end, pouring hot stew from a large pot into six bowls.

“Please, choose a place to sleep,” said Vadnaltis. His voice was rough compared to his comrade, though just as deep. “It matters not where.”

Grentos passed out the bowls and retrieved a large jug of wine and cups from his pack. “First we eat,” announced Grentos. “Then we talk.”

Malstisos and the others gratefully accepted the food and wine, but as Grentos and Vadnaltis did not speak, the others kept silent while they ate. The stew was unlike anything Millet, Maybell, or Jacob had ever tasted. Each smiled with delight after their first bite. Malstisos seemed to be more accustomed to the taste and gave no reaction other than a slight nod of approval. Once their meal was complete, Vadnaltis collected the dishes and left the tent. The cold air chilled them when the flap opened, and a wisp of snow blew inside to remind them how close to death they had come.

“I hope you are satisfied with our poor fare,” said Grentos.

“It was the best stew I've ever tasted,” said Millet.

Maybell and Jacob agreed enthusiastically.

Grentos smiled and bowed his head. “You are too kind. But now that we have eaten, I believe you have questions... as do we.”

“Should we wait for Vadnaltis?” asked Maybell.

“That will not be necessary,” Grentos replied. “As your host, I will have you ask of me what you will. I expect he shall return before you are finished.”

“In that case I'll be direct,” Malstisos began. “How is it you are here, and in the company of humans? I was not aware your tribe had started relations with them.”

“Only a few of us have,” said Grentos. “We have heard of the progress made in the coastal cities with elf/human relations, and it has inspired some of us to do the same. We realize the world is getting smaller. We need to learn to live in this world alongside mankind or face destruction. The old hatreds must be left in the past.”

“I agree,” said Malstisos thoughtfully. “But that does not explain your presence here.”

“We are here to gain intelligence on the gathering power in Angrääl,” said Grentos. “Unfortunately we were only able to get as far as Hazrah. We were unable to find a clear way further north, at least not one we could pass unnoticed. They have every inch of ground well-guarded. We gained passage with this caravan in Althetas, so that we might travel without drawing attention.”

“So you are returning home?” asked Malstisos.

“Yes,” he replied. “We will stay with the humans until we reach the Western Abyss. Then we head north back to our people.”

“Have you learned anything?” asked Millet.

“Sadly, no.” Grentos sighed. “At least nothing we didn't already know. The armies of the north are gathering. For what purpose, we can only guess.”

“Don't be a fool,” said Jacob. “You know why they gather.”

“Young one,” said Grentos. “I can see you are of this land, and dismayed that it has been conquered, so I will overlook your insult. But you know nothing.” He reached over and took the jug of wine. “Armies gather. Still... motives may not be known. We have no way to be certain they intend to march further. They may not have the strength for such a campaign.”

“I think they have the strength,” said Millet. “And I think they intend to keep marching. It's when that troubles me.”

“You may be right, Millet,” said Malstisos. “But I know my brethren. They will not come to arms easily. Without proof of a threat, they will be content to do nothing.”

Grentos nodded. “Without proof, I can do nothing to persuade them.”

Jacob jumped to his feet. “Proof?” he shouted. “They've invaded the north and practically enslaved my people. What more do you need?”

“Calm yourself,” said Grentos. “I did not say that I disagreed with you, only that I cannot convince my people without more evidence.”

Jacob glared at the elf, then marched out of the tent into the bitter cold.

“That one needs to govern his passions.” Grentos took a long drink from the jug.

“He's young,” said Millet. “And his land is invaded. I share his frustration. I too am from here, and it pains me to see what has become of my home.”

“I am sorry,” said Grentos. “I will try and be a bit more... delicate.”

“Perhaps we should address more practical issues,” suggested Malstisos. “The road splits about twenty miles west. If you are headed west, I assume you will take the northwestern road through Manisalia.”

“Indeed,” Grentos affirmed. “It's the best way.”

“Millet and Jacob will be taking the southwestern road,” said Malstisos. “Sister Maybell and I would like to accompany you, at least through Manisalia, once they leave us.”

Grentos smiled broadly. “We would be pleased to have your company. You may stay with us as long as you wish.”

Malstisos nodded. “Thank you, brother. I am grateful.”

“As am I,” Maybell added.

“It is I who am grateful,” said Grentos. “This journey will allow us to strengthen bonds long neglected.”

They spent the rest of the evening in cheerful conversation. The wine flowed freely, and soon the tent was filled with laughter. Jacob returned after a time and proceeded to sulk on his bedroll, despite Grentos' efforts to make amends. By the time the wine was gone, they had all but forgotten their troubles and fell into a deep peaceful sleep.