by M.C. O'Neill
***
It was approaching 8 p.m. by the time they reached the downtown area. The roads were once again a nightmare as their coach encountered gridlock after gridlock of frightened elves. Many of them were indeed fleeing this time to relocation centers or just out to awaiting loved ones. Unlike the Reyliss family, most of elfdom were banding together instead of splitting up. In the back of his mind, Ferd’inn worried that he would not be able to obtain a room anywhere and then he would be stuck eating gooey steamed rice in a refugee camp for the night with the ranks of the confused and wayward.
Armored municipals flanked the entrance to the heart of Corosa with a checkpoint. After an interminable wait, Ferd’inn at last sidled up to the makeshift gauntlet. The officer shot forth a bright light and surveyed the cab of their coach in such a frantic manner that it was more like a light show.
“Identification,” he buzzed through his tall, conical helmet. “You carrying any weapons in there, Lord Reyliss?”
“Eh, no,” her father answered in an assured and routine manner.
“Bull! I don’t believe you! Get out of the coach!” the helmet’s comm crackled with its signature static as he patted his handcaster with a loud thunk. Lord Reyliss’ eyes all but popped out of their glasses until the officer slapped back his ivory visor. Ashen braids fell out of the sides of the gear and Quen’die burst into the happiest smile she could summon all that day long. It was Hal’rinn Hay’cenn.
“Ha, ha! I got you guys! How goes it, Ferd’inn?” he tapped the frame of the coach with a warm and hearty friendship. Quen’die’s father let out a gust of relief from his innards. All his familial and professional worries were forgotten for a split second, and he was somewhat thankful for the fright Officer Hay’cenn provided.
“Heh, after I change my trousers, I think everything will be five-by-five, Boss,” Ferd’inn joked back.
“Hey! That’s what I’m here for. Where you guys headed, anyway?”
Lord Reyliss couldn’t bother to recount the horrible day he had been having in any detail, probably the worst in his life, so he provided his friend with the abridged version. “I’m gonna be honest, Hal’rinn, my wife and I are having a bad time and I’m taking Dee here to her nanna’s place until this all blows over.”
“Oh, yeah,” he looked down the line of honking coaches and made an absentminded halting gesture to them. “That’s too bad, lad. I’ll tell you what; give us a call and we can have you guys over for dinner later in the week. My wife and I actually have the day off on Feastday, so give a ring. Sounds like you need it.”
“Hal’rinn, that’s just what the doctor ordered,” his face lit up at the notion of not being isolated anymore.
“Not a problem, not a problem. By the way, be sure to check your inbox for the royal decree regarding this martial law thing. From the throne of the High King himself. Well, actually, his mother probably wrote it, because he’s only four years old, after all.” With that, Lauryl’la’s father let out a hearty laugh to celebrate the humor of his own joke. Quen’die couldn’t help but join in. Now, if mother had left her father for Lord Hay’cenn, she might not mind that arrangement so much. Life would be quite interesting if Lauryl’la was her new sister instead of the embodiment of pure evil.
Nanna Orsi lived in an old apartment block that had been standing for almost fifteen hundred years. Back in its former glory, it had been some sort of mansion belonging to one of the city’s forefathers, but as the size of Corosa grew, so did the population and as time drew on, the stately structure had been sold off and divided into apartments. Over the centuries, the neighborhood had turned quite rough, but it had also maintained a certain antique charm. As of late, many developers had been stalking the neighborhood for renovation schemes as the tastes of the upper classes were diverting to the area.
Quen’die ran up the flights of stairs until they reached the fourth level. She always loved visiting Nanna, but this time the sojourn would be extended with no definite limit. The elfmaid was eager to see her beautiful face. It was as if she had never seemed to age. Her features were still as sharp as an adult lady in her prime and her hair had, by a total mystery, retained its golden hue.
“Quen’die! Hold up for an old elf, will you?” Her father huffed his way after her. All those seasons of runta had made his daughter impervious to becoming winded. Lord Reyliss reminded himself that he needed to exercise more often and lay off the wines.
Before either of the pair could knock on the old cherrywood door, the tall and slim frame of Nanna Orsi filled the way with a beaming brightness. As always, she was dressed in old but extravagant robes which displayed strange sigils and design patterns running through the fabric.
“Quen’die! My little red bunny!”
Her voice was as musical as manaspeech and sometimes, Quen’die wondered if she wasn’t some magical being set apart from the rest of elfdom. The cold hate of that day was eradicated by the amber promise of love that filled the tiny home beyond the door’s threshold.