by Liara Woo
"I'm sorry," Halthren responded with sincere regret, helping Relenthus to his feet. "Shall we get going, then?" Katie noticed that despite his words, he didn't seem at all enthusiastic about flying. He was eyeing the sky the way someone might eye a dangerous monster with an abundance of teeth and claws.
"Not yet," Loriina growled. "I'm off to catch a few fish." She waded into the ocean and took flight, circling above the waves. The surface of the water became choppy and rough because of the powerful drafts of wind created by her wings.
"We need to talk," Relenthus said as soon as she was out of earshot. "I overheard you two talking last night, and I heard several unusual things that need to be explained. I know I shouldn't have been eavesdropping, but I…couldn't help it; I've been trained to listen in on conversations. How do you know that the Great Elves are dead, killed by unicorns? The legends stop right after they arrived in the unicorn realm. We have no idea what happened afterwards. So how can you claim to know?"
Halthren couldn't meet his eyes. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"But it wouldn't hurt anyone to try," Katie pointed out. "How do you know he won't believe?"
"Because…because…er…" Halthren looked around desperately, reminding Katie of what she envisioned cornered prey frantically looking for an escape from its predator to look like.
"Go on," Relenthus said, his voice and face devoid of all emotion.
Halthren's shoulders slumped. "Because it happened before. I tried to tell the Lore Masters so that they could add it to the legends. I also tried to tell the healer in that particular city. Only Joran believed me."
"Believed what?" Relenthus asked. There was a note of curiosity in his voice now.
Halthren gave up. "The stars of the Great Elves came to me. They told me."
There was a brief, icy silence, broken by Relenthus's snort of disdain.
"Let me guess," he commented, his voice suddenly cold and unfriendly. "You've also been all the way across the Great Ocean, and you've established good friendship with the mermaids."
"I thought as much," Halthren said matter-of-factly, trying to hide the sudden flare of pain in his heart. A slew of bad memories raced through his mind—voices from long ago, laughing off his most valued beliefs; voices full of disdain and contempt. He bit his lips and pushed the memories away. "Let me know when you're ready to leave." He walked away from them to the edge of the water, letting the waves wash over the toes of his shoes. He gazed up into the sky, feeling lonely and rejected. Again.
Katie turned to Relenthus, feeling something akin to anger kindle in her soul. "You shouldn't be so unfair. I think he did see the stars of the Great Elves."
Relenthus gave her an uncomfortable look, as if he were a small child caught doing something he shouldn't. "It isn't about believing him or not. It's about the fact that he still thinks he's an elf."
Katie recoiled. "Of course he's an elf! Honestly, I would have thought everyone would think of him as a hero! He was tortured until he was almost dead for the sake of this kingdom—for all of you! If Nashgor found out where Joran had been, It would have sent demons to Earth to kill him. Without Joran there would be no one to unite the seven lords. The elves of Kylaras would fall into disorder and chaos and they would be destroyed in the blink of an eye, along with all of the goodness in this world. Halthren stopped all of that! Why does everyone act like he's some sort of outcast?"
Relenthus squirmed uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Because he is an outcast. No one in their right minds would study the legends with such obsession. And actually believe them. It's insane! And now he's lost most of his Light—that hardly qualifies him to be an elf."
Katie balled her hands into fists. "I can't believe this," she said through clenched teeth. "Is this how everyone feels about him or are you just repeating what Aspeniel told you?"
Relenthus didn't meet her eyes, seeming to prefer staring at the grains of sand at his feet. Katie noticed his cheeks tinged pink.
"Well, why did everyone follow him into battle if they all hated him?" she pressed.
"Because Joran ordered it. I honor the words of my monarch, as long as they are honorable. To have pity on Halthren—that is honorable."
Katie couldn't believe her ears. She'd never heard any elf speak like that before. Firdin and Reiltin would never say a thing like that. Neither would Lord Bloodthorne. She spun on her heel to greet Loriina, landing once more on the sand with several shimmering, scaly fishtails hanging from her jaws. "Ready to go?" Katie asked, urging herself to sound cheerful and uplifting despite the shock and anger in her heart.
Loriina nodded, slurping down the remains of the fish in her mouth. "Get on," she commanded. "We have a long way to travel."
Forcing a smile and trying to forget her conversation with Relenthus, Katie climbed up Loriina's shoulder and sat behind one of the thorns sprouting from her spines. After her was Halthren, who grasped the tall spike before him so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Last was Relenthus, leaping gracefully up to the dragon's back. Loriina grabbed Joran in one paw and took flight, beating her wings with enough force to knock down a building, speeding over the waves. But Katie sensed something in the wind; instead of pushing them forward, as it had been before, it was trying to drag them back towards Kylaras.
Maybe I can change that, she thought. Hadn't Halthren said something about Stones giving a dragon power over the wind? Of course, Loriina has a Stone too, but…she has to concentrate on flying, so I might as well help her out.
Closing her eyes and concentrating on the power of the Stone in her pocket, Katie blew hard into the west—but she felt resistance, as if her breath was hitting something in front of her and bouncing back in her face.
The storm was enchanted, after all. Ordinary magic was barely enough to keep it at bay; Katie had to continue blowing as hard as she could, and every time she inhaled the easterly wind was back in full force. Her heart sank as she remembered Loriina telling them how long the journey would take, and her head felt light at the mere thought of blowing out for that long. Well. This should be fun, she thought sarcastically.
Lost to the Waves
Lost to the Waves
The repetitive drip-drip of small water droplets splashing into a puddle penetrated Joran's sleep, slowly bringing him awake. He wanted almost instantly that he could lose himself to sleep instead of bear the pains of his body. He was cold and damp; his black clothes clung to his thin frame and encased his limbs in perpetual chills, and his muscles were stiff and sore from the combined effort of running for several hours on end and sleeping on the hard, lumpy cobblestone road. Shivering, he got to his feet, rubbing his shoulder. Bruises encased his limbs and torso; mud stained his sides and knees.
Looking around, he saw that the shabby village of Soor was even shabbier in the daylight. The rough, weathered gray wooden buildings with messily thatched roofs and dingy brown chimneys made of brick were almost exactly the same, going on and on down the street.
Joran sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he remembered the events of the previous night. So elves aren't allowed in the inns. Perhaps someone else will help me.
Limping, he walked along the dirty cobblestone roads, munching on the bread that the young innkeeper had given him. As he rounded a corner, he saw with a jolt of horror that very same young man. Armed men had thrown him out of his inn and ripped off his shirt, and now they were whipping the bare flesh of his back and chest. His face was a grimace of pain. Joran quickly turned back around the corner, breathing heavily. So that is the fate of those who help elves, he thought, feeling sick with guilt.
He walked onto a different street and went down it, knocking on the first door he arrived at. Almost instantly he was facing a sallow-faced man who looked as if he hadn't slept in days.
"Excuse me, sir," Joran began hesitantly. "Do you have any food or water to spare? I've travelled far, and so far only one man has shown any kindness towards me. And…and
he's being flogged as I speak."
"I'm not surprised," the man sighed. "You're an elf."
"Too many times have I heard that phrase," Joran responded dejectedly, and thinking he was again being rejected, he turned to leave.
"Wait," the man said, scratching his unkempt whiskered chin. "I didn't say I wouldn't help you. My family moved away a moon or two ago, and I've been plagued with loneliness. I'd enjoy some company."
Joran grinned with relief. "I'm in your debt, then."
The man shook his head. "There's no need for that. Come inside; I'll show you to my son's old room. The name's McCullough. Who are you?"
"Joran," he answered, unable to believe his fortune. "I cannot thank you enough."
McCullough led him into the cottage. It was a small dwelling with only three rooms—two bedrooms and a kitchen. All were dirty and slovenly; the man was probably close to destitution. Joran felt a twinge of guilt.
"I'll wager you're hungry," McCullough said. "I'll get you a slice of bread."
"Thank you," Joran responded. "Is there anything I can do to help you? Anything at all?"
"Oh, no," the man answered with a wave of his hand. "No, you just sit down somewhere and make yourself comfortable." He bustled around, reaching into a cupboard and pulling out a loaf of bread and a rather rusty breadknife. Joran, feeling uncomfortable and awkward, sat on the wooden floor, watching the man with a mixture of curiosity and confusion, wondering why he'd offered shelter.
"In Kylaras there isn't any money. We find it unnecessary," he said after a while. "Otherwise I'd have had coins to pay you with. I wish I did; you have been more than good to me."
McCullough laughed. It was not a good laugh; rough and coarse and grating. Joran felt a shiver creep up his spine. "Honestly, lad, I'm not doing much for you. Not much at all."
Joran shrugged, trying to dispel his uneasiness. "Can you tell me why elves are frowned upon in Soor?"
"You don't need to know that," the man growled in his husky voice. He handed Joran a slice of bread. "Just stay in here, alright? I have a few errands to run."
"Can I help?" Joran called after him, but McCullough had already gone out the door. Joran hurried after him, twisting the doorknob, but it didn't move. He swallowed nervously. I'm locked in. That's strange.
Growing uneasiness filled his heart as he took a bite out of the bread, which didn't really taste like bread at all—more like wool that had been left out in the sun after being soaked in spoiled milk. He sat down with his back to the wall, trying to puzzle out the reason for his skittishness—and McCullough's strange behavior. Taking another bite and suppressing a yawn, he looked around the kitchen, noting the grime-coated windows and the threadbare coat hanging on a hook on the wall.
Suddenly his attention was drawn to a shiny silver candlestick sitting on the table. He choked down another bite of the bread—don't be ungrateful—and staggered to his feet. A sudden dizziness took hold of him, blurring his vision for several moments. He closed his eyes until he felt the sensation pass, thinking he must have hit his head harder than he'd thought the night before. Then he approached the candlestick and fingered it gently.
"If he's so poor, what's he doing with something so expensive?" Joran wondered aloud, this time unable to prevent a wide yawn.
There was a drawer in the side of the table; curious, he pulled it open. Then he gasped. It was full of golden coins gleaming dully in the dim light from the tarnished window. Joran frowned, puzzled. It made no sense. If he had so much gold, why did he live in such a grungy place?
He yawned again, covering his mouth with one hand and leaning against the table for support—his legs didn't feel strong enough to support him. I wasn't this tired earlier. What's wrong with me?
Sudden clarity separated his muddled thoughts the way a warm knife cuts through butter. There must have been something inside of the bread! It's making me fall asleep! I have to get out of here!
He turned around and tried to walk over to the door, but before he reached it he collapsed, unconscious.
* * *
When he awakened, he still felt drowsy. There was a figure in the doorway—it was McCullough. McCullough. He was holding a large mass of thick ropes in his hands. Joran sat up dizzily, his mind clouded. "What have you done to me?" he murmured. "Why…why am I so weak?"
McCullough smiled maliciously and lunged forward with the ropes. Joran, who was already tangled in his own cloak, was soon netted so tightly that he couldn't move. "Why are you doing this?" he asked shakily.
"I'm an elf-trapper," the man grinned. "Several members of your race have come my way, and I've used the encounters to my advantage. There's a terrible beast beneath this village—the Enterror. He would destroy us all if I were to stop feeding him the elves I catch. As it is, he's at peace with Soor, so we have nothing to worry about. I hope he kills you quickly."
Joran felt traumatized. He couldn't speak; he could barely even breathe. To be told that his life would soon end, and the fact that he couldn't do anything about it, was a bit too much for him to take in. "D-does he normally kill quickly?" he whispered.
McCullough smiled cruelly. "No."
Joran swallowed nervously. So this was it. A painful death awaited him. "Can I expect any mercy at all?"
McCullough's smile widened. "No."
* * *
Halthren clung to the spike on Loriina's back, soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone. The driving rain and ferocious wind joined together to make him feel like a numb block of ice. Without his magic, he didn't have the thin invisible layer of heat Light could provide.
They're right. I'm useless. Nothing I can do can help anyone. I can't even help myself. Shivering, he closed his eyes.
He would have been rather bored if not for his fear of heights. He was doing his best not to look down at the mountainous waves that, from this high up, seemed like tiny hillocks of water. Loriina dipped and rose with the wind, sometimes swaying on the fierce gusts, and the constant motion made Halthren feel nauseous. With a low groan he opened his eyes again, squinting against the blinding rain and the freezing wind to see if anything had changed since the last time he'd looked.
"Stop moaning like that," Relenthus called. "It makes me think something awful is going to happen to us!" His voice was unusually high pitched and nervous. Halthren didn't blame him; the raging storm was making everyone anxious.
"Sorry," he mumbled, tightening his grip on Loriina's back, forcing his eyes shut again. His face was twisted into a mask of fear. He'd never liked heights. Many of his companions while growing up had enjoyed the thrill of jumping off of cliffs and into a deep lake. That was when his fear of heights had arisen. A teasing dryad boy had dared him to go close to the edge. Halthren had done just that, and for the only moment in his life he'd looked over the edge without any fear. Then the dryad had pushed him over the side, and Halthren had fallen a hundred feet into water.
Ever since then he'd been terrified of heights, always remembering with a shudder the sudden hard shove in the middle of his back, the ground seeming to vanish from beneath his feet, the terrible face-first plunge that seemed to have lasted forever, falling at last into water, the impact so hard that it had knocked his breath away. At the time it had happened, he hadn't known how to swim, so he had nearly drowned in the frighteningly deep water. Treemoon had barely arrived in time to save him.
After a few cold minutes, he opened his eyes again. Loriina's neck hung low, and her head drooped from exhaustion. She was still flying as fast as she could through the dark storm. Katie was doing well; she'd realized that she could channel the power of her stone through her body and out of her fingertips, so she didn't have to breathe so hard. Halthren felt his fear lessen at the sight of her, despite their height, despite the crackling thunder and the roar of the wind and the rain rendering him half-blind.
"Loriina, you're going too low!" Katie shouted.
"What?" Loriina called.
"Fly higher!" Katie yelled.
"Higher!" Katie shouted. Suddenly a monstrous wave arose high above Loriina's wings and crashed over them. Loriina struggled out of the water and flew upwards until she was a hundred feet above the waves. Halthren gasped for breath, blinking furiously to clear his vision, sagging against the dragon's back, his wet hair hanging in strands over his face.
"Sorry; I thought you said fire," Loriina bellowed over the wind.
"Katie!" Halthren shouted. He'd suddenly realized that she was no longer in front of him—the wave must have knocked her off. Desperately he looked down into the water, but the rain was so thick he couldn't see anything. Before he had time to doubt his actions, he jumped off of Loriina's back and dived into the water, falling a hundred feet and keeping his eyes tightly shut.