by Cody Loewen
A collective gasp rises from the battlefield as Octavian’s eyes go wide in shock, blood already pouring from the wound. Once again, Kromm reverses his swing as easily as if he were holding a knife, bringing the sword back around and cleanly taking off the legendary elf’s head. He spins around, thrusting his sword up high in the air and lets out a bellowing roar of victory. With the titanic fight ended, the battlefield erupts back into chaos, fights resuming all around. Blind with rage, I grip my sword and move toward Kromm, who is already cutting down swaths of humans and elves coming against him.
A troll moves to block my path, a bloodthirsty snarl on his face, and I parry his initial attack and drive my sword into his chest, quickly ending the fight, hardly slowing in my charge toward Kromm. Just a few strides away from the monstrous troll war commander, another troll moves in front of me. The piercing cry of a hawk rings from somewhere else on the battlefield, followed by two more shrieks as I engage the troll in front of me. I lock blades with my opponent, straining against the much stronger creature, but suddenly I feel a release of tension between us, and the troll crumples to the ground. Rayfe is standing behind the now dead troll, his blade dripping from where it had plunged through its back.
“We have to go!” he exclaims, now standing right in front of me, gesturing for me to turn around.
“But Kromm-“I begin to say, my eyes moving to the troll commander still engaged in battle just yards away.
“There is nothing you can do right now.” He grips my arm gently but firm enough that I can’t pull away. “The retreat has been called, it’s time to go. Now.”
I steal one more look at Kromm, but the uncharacteristically frantic tone of Rayfe’s voice pulls me out of my rage and forces me to see the truth. This battle is over. If we stay on this field and keep fighting, none of us will make it out alive. I allow Rayfe to turn me around, and we move quickly to the edge of the valley. All around us, elves and humans are breaking away from their fights and running for the slope, escaping what is quickly turning into a slaughter of our once mighty army. The camaraderie and discipline are evident as we retreat; soldiers stop their own escape to help a fellow warrior break free from their skirmishes to join us. I stab a troll through the back as we run past, allowing a man to disengage and retreat with us, and Rayfe cuts the throat of another one right before we reach the hill.
I look back as we scramble uphill to safety and see the stragglers running to catch up behind us, the trolls close on their heels. A few archers with remaining arrows turn and pick off trolls who are dangerously close to the tail end of our allies. As the trolls fall, the running soldiers pick up their pace, never turning to look behind them for fear of slowing and being struck dead. We reach the top of the hill, running past a line of archers still working hard to thin the pursuit. Once the last of us escapes the valley, the archers rejoin the run, and we make our way as fast as we can back to where our group of initiates first marched to the camp, blending into the thick trees. The troll’s pursuit gradually slows, losing ground as we run, before fading away, our enemies turning around and returning to the rest of their army remaining in the valley.
Our group of survivors, less than a quarter of the numbers we had at the start of the battle, slows to a brisk march. Without any supplies, we move as quickly as possible, knowing we need to reach a water source soon. The elves, who grew up in this forest, and know it much better than me and the other humans, lead the way. No one speaks. The sound of heavy breathing the only thing breaking the ominous silence. Several hours into our trek, we reach a small river running fast enough to provide clean drinking water. The adrenaline and excitement of the battle long gone, exhaustion and dehydration has set in, and I let out an audible sigh of relief at the sight of the clean, cold water. Along with the rest of the group, I rush to the river’s edge and begin lifting cupped hands full of water to my mouth, over and over. Once I am satisfied, I dunk my whole head under the water, feeling the dirt, grime and blood washing out of my hair.
With the threat of dehydration solved, we resume our walk through the forest, less frantic now, yet still determined to reach our destination quickly, food and shelter now the main concern.
“Where are we heading?” I ask Rayfe quietly.
“Toward Sylvestra.”
“Sylvestra?”
“Yes. Even though we were defeated back there, we killed enough of those monsters to at least temporarily stop the threat on the city,” he replies somberly. “We have to inform them of what has happened and recover from the battle.”
Rayfe’s usual comedic grin and cocky posture are nowhere to be found; we walk in silence. The weight of the loss of so many lives is taking its toll on our group of survivors. I look around at the group of soldiers walking with me, searching for familiar faces of those I trained with, but I don’t see any. Surrounded by veteran soldiers that I never had the chance to meet, I know that my fellow initiates could just be somewhere else in the group, but I fear for them, especially Caria and Martin. The silence forces me to replay the events of the day in my head, and I descend into the same gloom consuming everyone else. We may have stopped the troll invasion, but at a terrible cost. Every troll that was killed should be viewed as a small victory, but Kromm is still alive, and the trolls will regroup, even if it takes them years to build up the forces to try again to wipe us out. Underneath the sadness I feel, the underlying rage festers, simmering in my gut as we walk. My vow to myself and to my father hasn’t changed, even if the circumstances have. I will still find a way to kill Kromm, whatever it takes.
Chapter 14
After a full day of walking silently through the dark forest, I start to notice a subtle change in the landscape around us. The noises of wildlife around us have picked up, as if the number of animals moving around our group has suddenly multiplied. Looking out from the path into the trees, I can catch the occasional glimpse of small animals scurrying around the ground and up the trunks of large trees. Looking up above our group, a quick flash of movement and color marks the presence of birds flying from tree to tree. The vegetation itself has also transformed in the last hour of our journey. The utterly wild and untamed forest that I have walked through so far has become a beautifully manicured, massive garden. While the trees and undergrowth grow just as thickly, they seem cleaner and more organized, and somehow even more alive than the rest of the forest.
When I ask Rayfe about the changes in the vegetation and the animals, he explains to me that they are a result of our proximity to the elven city. The elves revere nature and have a very close connection with the animals of the forest. Because they also protect the trees that are home to them, the animals tend to stay close to the city, hence the flurry of activity all around us. Here in the elven lands, wild animals are not seen as food or furs. They are merely distant companions and friends to the more civilized members of the forest community. Rayfe explains how the elves tend to all of the plants in the area around their cities and homes to keep it as healthy as possible. Cutting back dead and dying growth and removing suffocating clinger plants from the larger trees allows them to grow taller and stronger, providing more shelter and protection for elves and animals alike. Most of the vegetation can grow freely in the area, but the unhealthy parts of the plants, along with the parasitic weeds are removed.
I think back to tending the fields in my village with my father. We would remove the weeds and dead plants from the fields so that the crops would grow stronger and produce more food for us. This is similar, just on a much larger and more complicated scale. I look around trying to catch a glimpse of elves tending to the grounds, but no hint of them can be found.
We pick up the pace, eager to get back to the city, to family and to food. Whispers break out through our group, an excited buzz so unlike the gloomy silence that has hung over us for most of our journey from the valley. I instinctively turn to Rayfe, my source for answers in this unknown world.
“We are here,” he answers my nonverbal question with
a smile. Some of the light seems to have returned to his eyes, the sadness of the battle having faded, replaced with the happiness of being home and the knowledge that his home is safe for now, because of the sacrifice of our allies on the battlefield. “We are home.”
While the forest looks the same as it has for the past couple of miles, now there are elves all around us. Our group, large before, has swelled to twice its size as we are engulfed by the citizens of the city. Family members rush forward to embrace loved ones they haven’t seen in too long. Husbands and wives, parents and children, all reunited in a moment of pure happiness. And then I hear the first cries. An elderly elven woman wails at the news that her child was struck down on the battlefield. As I stand rooted to the ground, overwhelmed at all the emotions pouring out around me, the sounds of both happiness and grief fill the air. All the raw emotions in the air threaten to wash me away in my own wave of grief and loss, and I force myself to focus elsewhere to avoid it.
Without any family or friends to reunite with, I take the opportunity to examine my surroundings. At first glance, it looks as if we are still in the surrounding forest. Huge trees and an abundance of undergrowth still dominate the landscape. The path we stand on is still the same simple dirt path, covered by fallen leaves and other plant debris. When I look closer, however, I start to make out the shape of the city. Most of those giant trees actually have doors on their trunks. The wood of the doors barely stands out from the bark of the trees, and the shapes of each is different to organically mold to the natural openings in the huge trees. I begin to see house-like features on the trees all around. Up above me, window openings and even some balconies appear on many of the tree homes. Elves scamper across impossibly high limbs, accessing other living areas even farther up in the tree canopy. Because Sylvestra is actually part of a living forest, I can’t tell how far the houses extend in the direction we have been walking, but by the number of people that joined our group as we entered, and from what Rayfe has told me about the population of elves that live here, the number of trees that are being used as homes must be immense.
As I stand gaping at the tree homes around me, so vastly different from my village and the human city of Willowdale, I feel a touch on my shoulder. I pull my gaze down from a balcony above my head to Rayfe’s face close to mine. His cocky grin has fully returned as my eyes meet his.
“Come on, daydreamer,” he chuckles, “I’ll show you around.”
He turns and starts off through the trees, and I follow, curious to take in as much of this wondrous place as possible. We wind through the trees, seemingly without any rhyme or reason, but Rayfe walks with purpose, obviously with no doubt of where he is going. Every tree looks indistinguishable from its neighbors to me, but having grown up here, Rayfe must know what each one contains and where he needs to go to reach his destination. As we walk, he points out different trees around us.
“Most of the trees in the city are just used as homes,” he explains, gesturing widely at the massive trunks all around as we weave through them. “For the most part, each tree will house more than one elven family in their own section of the trunk.”
I nod in acknowledgment, comparing it to an inn, where one building has many rooms for patrons to stay for the night. We walk around another huge tree, the doors on each becoming clearer as I focus harder on them, and Rayfe stops in front of the largest tree I have ever seen. I crane my neck upward to try to see the top of the tree, but the trunk extends past the canopies of the trees around it, and I can’t see past the thick sky of branches and leaves. Where the monstrous trunk meets the ground, it must span at least 50 fifty feet across. Rayfe gives me several minutes to take in the sight before speaking again.
“This tree is called The Mother Tree,” He begins, his eyes gazing up reverently at the tree as he speaks. “It is said that all the trees of the Evershade Forest grew from it. It is the oldest, tallest and largest tree in the forest and also marks the center of the city. Unlike most of the other trees around us, no one lives in this one. The Mother Tree is home to our library and academy, as well as the meeting place for the council.”
“The council?” I ask, unfamiliar with the elven customs. Standing in the middle of the perfect beauty of their home, built in harmony with the life around them, I suddenly yearn to learn as much as possible about them.
“The council are the leaders of our city,” he explains patiently. “Unlike the Lords and Mayors and Governors of the kingdoms you are used to, the elves are not ruled by one individual. Citizens of the city elect the nine members of the council. The elves chosen to sit on the council will remain there until they decide that they don’t want the position anymore, or until they are removed from their seat by the people.”
“Do the council members get removed from their seats often?” I ask, soaking in all the information.
“No one has been removed from their seat against their will for a very long time,” He answers. “Once voted onto the council, members will usually stay for decades before they decide it is time to leave, but they always have the best interest of the city at heart, with the full support of the people. We haven’t had to vote for a new council member for longer than I have been alive.”
I nod as he talks, absorbing the explanation and feeling much more knowledgeable about the workings of the community. Looking back at the Mother Tree, I think about the other things that he said were inside of it and ask Rayfe about the library and the academy.
“All our children are sent to the academy for five years,” he explains. “That’s where we are taught the history of the forest and the elven race. We also learn to read and write there and gain a basic amount of knowledge about the many different jobs needed in the community. After those five years, we have the choice to pursue a more specialized training in a specific set of skills to prepare for our profession.”
“What training did you choose to do?” I ask him, not even sure of what all his choices could have been.
“I underwent ranger training,” he answers, and I remember him talking about his future as a ranger with his parents in our past conversations. “I was mostly trained in combat, with my swords and a bow, but there were also some non-combat skills required, like tracking and forest survival.”
His extensive combat training makes sense as I picture him during both our training matches and watching him in real combat. His formal training as a swordsman shows in his abilities on the battlefield. I am grateful to my father for all the lessons he gave me in handling my sword, but I imagine what it would have bene like to be trained in almost nothing but combat for years.
“As for the library,” he continues, moving on to the second part of my question. I had almost forgotten I had asked about it, my mind so wrapped up in the idea of combat and survival training. “It is the largest collection of knowledge in the forest, and possibly outside of the forest as well. Any information we gather, whether it be on the history of the elves, or a different race, a listing of the properties of different plants found in the forest, or almost anything else you can think of, an elf has either found a book or scroll on the subject, or we have written one, and they are all found in the library.”
“I’ll show you all of it at some point, but for now, we have places to be,” Rayfe states, turning and guiding me with him to walk around the Mother Tree. “I want to introduce you to my family.”
We continue our trip through his home city, back into the middle of trees used for housing, and I ask him how the trees were hollowed out for creating homes without them dying. He explains to me as we walk that the trees weren’t hollowed out, that they grew like that. Long ago, according to legend, Rayfe tells me, the elves possessed strong magical affinities with the plants, and especially the trees. When the forest was just full of fledgling trees, these ancient elves magically shaped the growing trees into what they are today, creating their homes from the living trees as they grew. According to the history, the Mother Tree was the first tree that they shaped, a la
rge host of the magic-users working together to mold the tree. Once the Mother Tree’s magical growth was complete, they moved on to the other trees within the city, creating homes for the elves who would populate Sylvestra. Outside of the city, the trees were left to grow naturally, without magical aid.
His stories pique my curiosity about magic because the evidence of its existence is all around me.
“Can elves still wield magic?”
“Many of our elves, especially the elders, still have magic abilities,” Rayfe answers. “But on a much smaller scale. Over time, the magic has weakened. Our elves who are blessed with magic and train in the art of cultivating the plants can still accelerate the growth of flowers and grasses and other small plants, but it is only a fraction of what our ancestors could do.”
Goes on to explain that all elves have a natural affinity to animals and can communicate with them non-verbally on a much deeper level than other races can, something else that might be a result of innate magical ability.
“The wild animals of the forest trust us,” he tells me as I follow him through the never-ending maze of trees. “The predators of the forest, like the panther we encountered, see us as food, and we must be on our guard, but the other animals see us as companions in their homes, and we respect their wishes.”
Suddenly, Rayfe stops in front of a large tree, much like every other one in the city, turning to me with a wide smile on his face.
“This is my home,” he remarks, putting his hand on the mottled door, so perfectly shaped to the trunk of the living house. He pushes the door lightly and it slides open effortlessly. I follow him inside, curiosity over what the inside of a tree looks like taking over my every thought. We stand in a small space that serves as the entry room for the tree. In front of us stands another door, much like the exterior one, and to the side, a wooden ladder is attached to the trunk of the tree, extending up toward the canopy.