Elders of Eventyr

by Ellias Quinn

  Elders of Eventyr: Book Two

  by Ellias Quinn

  For those ever young.

  Copyright © 2019 by Ellias Quinn

  Cover art © 2019 by Ellias Quinn – The cover art depicts a vase made in the Eletsol style. Its design shows the Elders Myrkhar and Calo framing a conflict between clans that may have occurred Pre-Hibernation, during the Age of Elders.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-1-944755-03-4

  Published by Second March, LLC

  www.elliasquinn.com

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Forest of Petals and Leaves

  The Bonds of War

  Such Is Death

  Darkness in the Light

  Matters of the Heart

  The Exiles

  Borderline

  Fighting Form

  The Watcher

  Strong in Arm

  Captive Thoughts

  Workers Divided

  Peace and Honor

  Old Enemies

  Workshop in the Woods

  Stories and Sorcery

  Chronicles and Crime

  Library Bound

  Quite Bright

  Seekers Found

  Bridging Gaps

  The Young Spirit

  First Blood

  Deep Routes

  Velana

  Kings of the Forest

  About the Author

  For a map of the lands of Eventyr, please visit: www.elliasquinn.com

  Velana dri alva,

  drimesk ermoli.

  Dri dyri ajarten,

  driskur erusi.

  Velana dri alva,

  kothym ervanoss.

  Den hjardan erglir,

  den valdri erveross.

  Velana dri alva,

  olakot, kodu.

  Eletsol

  Ranycht

  Nervoda

  Brandur

  Sangriga

  Obrigi

  Kyndelin

  Skorgon

  Velana.

  Awaken the fairies,

  the forest is young.

  The animals await,

  the sun is new.

  Awaken the fairies,

  their home is alive.

  Its heart is clear,

  its guardians are true.

  Awaken the fairies,

  all of them, rise.

  Life

  Night

  Water

  Fire

  Light

  Earth

  Animal

  Crawler

  Awaken.

  Prologue

  She had erased her fear. After that frantic night, testing all of her skill and finally gaining the Book of Myrkhar’s power, she had been certain the fear was gone. The Book told her as much, and it even granted the ability to wield her fear against her enemies. Maybe she hadn’t cast the spell perfectly, but what did it matter that some magic escaped? She had been strong.

  She had been free. But that wretched thing – her other self – turned up and brought back her fear. Nychta remembered how close the knife had come to succeeding. How the fire then stole away her thoughts. She pulled the down-filled blanket tightly around herself and opened the curtains covering a window over her bed. It was dark out, past sunset. The Ranycht village below would have awakened to begin their night already. She knew she should leave.

  The Book’s voice, deep as the night sky, crept into her mind. Get up. Prepare yourself for important work.

  The slimy black cover of the Book of Myrkhar stood out in an otherwise soft, dry bedroom. It lay on the bedside table and seemed to stare at her through the darkness with its circular metal symbol. Feeling a twinge of annoyance, Nychta pushed the blanket away and let her feet touch the floor.

  “You aren’t angry anymore?” she asked in a low voice.

  Oh, child. When one has lived long enough, one constantly feels anger. I am giving you a final opportunity to prove yourself. If you serve well, punishment may turn into reward.

  “I’m not your servant. I’m your partner. You know I only care about one thing, and it isn’t reward.” She did enjoy the benefits of power, though. Her hand stroked the warm blanket.

  I understand. Allow me to rephrase: Everything I ask of you will greatly help your cause. However, if you find yourself unwilling or unable to fulfill my requests, I will…withdraw my sponsorship.

  “Fine,” she said, scratching the edge of her large, pointed ear. “I’ll do it.”

  I would not mourn your death, but it would put off your own plans considerably. You are keeping that fact in mind, yes?

  She stirred uncomfortably. “Yes.”

  How clever of you. Now get up. Tonight we begin the hunt for our long-banished allies.

  Nychta stood and stretched out her brown feathery wings as the Book began explaining its plan to her. After dressing for the night, she bound her dark brown hair in a braid. She had almost finished when she heard a knock.

  “Lady Nychta,” hissed a Skorgon soldier through the door. “Your meal is prepared downstairs. The general and the high priest await command.”

  “Good.” As usual, hearing the formal title in front of her name prompted her to use a brisk, authoritative tone. “I’ll be down soon with new orders.” She caught herself almost thanking the Skorgon. Some undesirable habits had also been brought back by her lesser self.

  Looking around the richly-appointed room, occupied by this town’s mayor until recently, a large mirror drew her attention. She walked over and appraised her dim reflection, slightly warped by the cheapness of the looking glass. She didn’t need lamps or moonlight to see herself in the dark – no Ranycht had to rely on them, something that made their kind strong where others were weak. Her eyes, once entirely purple but now cooled by a white tint, flashed against her brown skin in a commanding way. Alva throughout Nychtfal knew her by those eyes. A wary hunch to her shoulders was promptly straightened, and she turned to see her face in profile. That pointy little nose made her look like a girl. She wondered if the Book held any magic that could change her appearance. She needed to look strong, like a leader. Like a lady.

  Like a queen.

  Nychta smoothed down her green-and-brown tunic. She should get something in red. She donned the Book’s satchel and opened the door. The Skorgon guards outside bowed at the waist, each one stretching its four arms behind itself in a gesture of subservience. These alva had insect-like features: most with hard plates over their skin and mandibles instead of jaws, some with spines and antennae at various places on their bodies. Their papery skin was usually brown or gray. Two of the Skorgon guards had protruding black eyes while the others had irises and pupils like other alva. Their appearance alone often terrified other kinds of alva. She smiled with satisfaction. A growing army of Skorgon was at her disposal. Father and Mother would have their justice soon.

  After breakfast, Nychta stepped out onto a great balcony that presided over the moonlit town. Ru
stic buildings made of twigs lined the tree branches above and cozied up to each other on the ground below. This town was like so many others. It reminded her of…home.

  A crowd of Ranycht with avian wings and brown skin, like Nychta’s, had congregated on the ground to view their new ruler. They looked up at her curiously, whispering to each other. Beyond them, she could see cookfires and tents that merchants had set up in order to capitalize on the gathering.

  Fires. Too many. She tried to move on, but the pinpricks of radiant flame wouldn’t leave her sight. Her skin turned cold. Crush the fires, smother them, anything, anything, she just wanted them to stop burning. Air was suddenly precious as she struggled to get enough.

  The Book pulsed. There was a tense moment, and then cool calm spread through Nychta. Her fear floated away.

  I have always relished the challenge of playing with pieces I cannot control.

  She chose to ignore its chuckling voice. How could a book be so arrogant?

  Chapter 1

  Forest of Petals and Leaves

  The wild plants of Fainfal coiled and tangled around each other and snagged on Matil, Khelya, and Dask as the alva and their two riding beetles moved through the undergrowth. Colors were more vivid in this part of Eventyr, and there certainly were a lot of them. Blossoms in purple, white, red, yellow, and blue peppered dense green bushes that rose high all around, and other flowers grew in clumps along the travelers’ way, some at head height and some casting shadows over them. Off to the right, glistening ants marched parallel with the alva and, overhead, fat bees lit from flower to flower. Tree branches high above shuffled and bent with the weight of birds and other critters. The trees themselves were monstrosities mantled in ivy. They blocked much of the sunlight, but it wasn’t as dark as Valdingfal, something that Khelya had praised.

  Matil didn’t care for the sunlight. Shade suited her just fine, but that was natural for a Ranycht: bat-eared and brown-skinned, with bright, sensitive eyes much larger and rounder than other kinds of alva. She would have kept nocturnal hours in their homeland of Nychtfal, but the group had to stay away from other Ranycht as much as possible. The three of them woke with the sun and traveled when most Ranycht would be asleep. The group had left Nychtfal a few days ago, but they continued to travel during the day.

  Matil blinked as she passed through a ray of leaf-filtered light. Her eyes were rich purple, her hair long and dark brown. She was an oddity, because all Ranycht except her had bird-like wings. The wing holes in the back of her blue tunic showed skin – no feathers, scars, or any other sign that wings had ever grown there. Her lack of wings was the outward counterpart to her bare mind on the inside. Until recently, Matil hadn’t known who or what she was. Even after uncovering the truth, the only things she remembered from her past life came back to her piece by piece in dreams.

  Her ears drooped at that thought and she pressed her eyes shut to clear it away. When she opened them again, she saw that while she’d been thinking, Khelya and Dask had gone farther ahead, lost in a conversation about food. Dask and his beetle passed under a fern, and he absentmindedly stood in the stirrups to whack a frond. He was also a Ranycht, with green eyes and glossy, feathered wings the same color black as his shaggy hair.

  Khelya was quite different from both of them. She stood much taller, twice the size of her friends, and her dark eyes could look toward bright light without making her wince. Her skin was tanned and freckled, used to sunnier lands. She was wingless like other Obrigi Matil had seen, but there was one thing very strange about her. Khelya’s entire body was half-invisible, as translucent as glass. She hadn’t always been that way.

  Obrigi had no magic of their own. The stories said that a thousand years ago, they had lost the blessing of Falgar the Elder which had given them their incredible creativity. Besides the Obrigi, most other alva could fly in some way and use magic, each kind with their own element. Matil and Dask’s Ranycht magic allowed them and those with them to fade into the shadows, disappearing from sight. And after they had used too much magic on Khelya, the Obrigi had gotten stuck halfway. She was like a ghost – see-through and moaning about it. Over the past few weeks she’d regained some solidity, but it wasn’t even close to normal.

  Before the group had left Nychtfal, Dask bought two large ground beetles with shiny green shells and some supplies on one of his trips into town. Khelya walked while her friends rode atop the beetles. Endowed with Obrigi endurance, she wouldn’t get tired until the end of the day.

  So far the beetles had been a great convenience, and they saved Matil’s feet from getting sore and tired. Their splayed legs could tramp over rocky ravines or fields of moss, terrain that she couldn’t easily cross without wings. Dask said the beetles were known as caterpillar hunters, and Matil had seen the truth in the name – up close. She grimaced at the memory.

  Matil rode Dewdrop, named for a dent in the strikingly blue shell plate behind the female beetle’s head. She stroked Dewdrop’s shell and wondered if the insect could feel her touch. Dask’s beetle was a male named Olnar. The beetles currently tromped northwest through Fainfal, swaying their riders gently from side to side. The group had entered this wilderness three days ago on their way to Eventyr’s impassable border to look for the human, Mr. Korsen. They weren’t sure whether he actually existed, but they hoped to ask him for help.

  Supposedly, the alva in these parts were more dangerous the farther one traveled into Fainfal. Matil had a hard time imagining it. Nothing at all had happened to them since they arrived. There was no sign of other alva except for some border-dwelling Ranycht. Dask had told Matil and Khelya that the alva of Fainfal, the Eletsol, went about during the day unlike their southern neighbors in Nychtfal, but maybe he was wrong.

  The conversation just ahead was carrying back to Matil.

  “Why don’t you actually try fried mushrooms before saying they’re disgusting?” Dask said.

  Khelya hunched over to look at Dask. It was difficult to read her transparent face, but she seemed to be giving him a hard glare. “Because I hate mushrooms! The only food worse than mushrooms are worms, and it’s hard to tell the difference sometimes. They’re the exact same texture!” If she’d had large Ranycht ears instead of those short ones that came to the barest points, she would have flattened them back with the intensity of her opinions.

  Slumping forward and resting her chin on the beetle’s shell, Matil began talking in a low voice. “I promise they’re not always like this, Dewdrop.”

  The beetle’s antennae twitched skeptically as if in response.

  Dask clambered to his feet on the saddle, bringing him up to a head shorter than Khelya. Olnar kept moving. To the big beetle, the alva with flapping wings was just another supply pack piled on his back.

  “Okay, well, you know what?” Dask said. “If you’re going to insult a traditional Ranycht dish – the traditional Ranycht dish – I have something to say to you and every Obrigi. Barley porridge tastes like snail slime, but even blander. And Obrigi ale,” he paused to smirk up at Khelya, “is nothing but water!”

  Khelya straightened her back calmly. “Water?”

  “Pond water.”

  And then Khelya had something loud to say about Ranycht mental health, based on their cuisine.

  Matil sighed. The reins lay coiled on Dewdrop’s back and she reached for them, but a faint whisper made her raise her head. She listened for a moment, moving her ears around and hearing nothing but the forest’s – and her friends’ – cacophony.

  “Arrow. Face.” Khelya pointed from her new bow to Dask. “That’s what’ll happen if you don’t take everything back.” Because the bow was only Ranycht-sized, she had tied it to her belt with a blade of grass.

  “Ha! Funniest joke I’ve heard all week,” Dask said. “You couldn’t even hit me at this range.”

  She held up the bow and twanged its string. “Yeah? I’ve been practicing. A l
ot.”

  He poked her bow-holding arm. “Hey, who was it that risked his wings sending a letter to your family?”

  “I already thanked you! This is a whole other matter!”

  The whisper Matil heard might not have been danger, but she supposed it didn’t hurt to be cautious. She shook the reins tied around the bases of Dewdrop’s antennae, urging the beetle to go faster until they rode between Khelya tugging at her brown headband on the left, and Dask about to give the whole forest an earful on the right.

  “We should be quiet,” Matil said. “What if she finds us?”

  Dask and Khelya immediately knew whom Matil meant by “she”. They quieted down, mumbling agreement. Dask climbed back into his saddle.

  Matil glanced at both of them with a small smile. “I think someday I’ll try fried mushroom and barley porridge.”

  “Both?” Khelya sounded revolted.

  She nodded. “It’s going to be delicious.”

  Dask wrinkled up one side of his nose. “What, are you gonna plop the mushroom bits into the porridge and eat it that way?”

  “No, I didn’t mean that,” Matil said. “Although mushroom porridge might actually taste good.”

  “Hm.” He clapped. “I applaud your adventurous spirit and can only hope that it won’t kill you.”

  “You’re so kind.” She checked to see if there was any difference in Khelya’s appearance today. The group had moved carefully through Nychtfal, trying to avoid the use of fading for the Obrigi’s sake. However useful Khelya’s transparency happened to be, she elaborated at length on its downsides. Among them were bad coordination, tingly hands and feet, and the feeling that she wasn’t herself.

  “But doesn’t it feel good that nothing dangerous can see you?” Matil said one time when Khelya was fretting.

  “No,” came her emphatic reply.

  Just now, she looked the same. If only there were some way to help. Fading had saved their lives several times, but it was the magic that had ‘cursed’ Khelya.