Elders of Eventyr

by Ellias Quinn

  “Dask, you always speak so strangely. I will say…one of my captains – brother of Teres – has put in a good word for me with their father.”

  Dask laughed and slapped Ansi’s back. “You’re the traditional type. I like it.”

  At twilight, they went and presented Ansi and his men to Uro. Soon the warriors were drinking hearty soup and dropping off to sleep on borrowed blankets. The last of the Eletsol who had gone to fight returned, and parties went out and back, transporting the dead and wounded. They had a few scares when alva reported seeing Skorgon, but by nightfall the Eletsol were satisfied that there were no fighters in the area. The Ranycht commander had also disappeared.

  Matil slept until Khelya woke her to keep watch. It was warm out, but Matil rubbed her arms as she sat in the wagon, hoping she wouldn’t see any Skorgon. Among the hundreds of Eletsol sleeping in and around their wagons and animals, her friends lay on the ground in their blankets, Khelya on the near side of their wagon and Dask and Simmad on the far side. Matil leaned over to get a better look at Dask’s dark face and long nose. His black hair had fallen across his eyes. She again felt a surge of relief that he’d made it back safely.

  Crell entered her mind and a knot of pain entered her heart. She remembered Amacht, the spy’s son, and the knot grew larger. Nychta was the cause of this pain. Nychta…and Matil.

  She couldn’t let anything happen to Dask.

  Chapter 24

  Deep Routes

  “It will be another long journey,” Ansi said. He stifled a yawn. “We must leave soon.”

  He barked something in Eleti at his men, who were shoveling mashed radish and roast rabbit meat into their mouths. They each responded, “Kal, ferra!”

  “If you’re still tired, you can sleep in the wagons as we go,” Matil said as she stepped down from their wagon to stand with Dask, Khelya, Simmad, and Ansi.

  “I…don’t think he’s coming with us,” Dask said. He looked at Ansi. “Are you?”

  Gloom fell over Ansi. “You’re right. I am not. My men and I are needed with our alva.”

  “But- but what about Dyndal’s sign?” Khelya said. “Don’t you want to come and see?”

  “I would come with you.” Ansi shook his head. “With everything in me, I want be there to witness it. But I must go back.”

  Simmad listened to the exchange, fidgeting worriedly with his hands.

  Khelya also looked troubled. “Maybe Dyndal can help your clan,” she said. “When we bring the sign, I’m sure he’ll be able to do something.”

  “Khel, Ansi’s gotta be there for his alva,” said Dask, “because the Elders aren’t. Even if they showed up in a blaze of glory to right all the wrongs in Eventyr, they still wouldn’t replace Ansi. His alva are fighting for their lives right now.”

  Ansi put his hand on Dask’s shoulder. “Kal. It is regrettable to miss the giving of the sign, but I know it’s the right decision.”

  “See,” Dask said, “this is why I couldn’t be a leader. Too many hard decisions that affect other alva.”

  “We are all leaders of our own lives. Even that simple duty requires making sacrifices to do the right thing.” Ansi surveyed his warriors, who stood talking to each other a few paces away. “It is time to go. Please, if you will…show them the sign.”

  Matil again held up the red wooden toad that hung around her neck. Ansi motioned for his men to come closer. They moved forward with heads lowered and palms raised reverently. They whispered to one another in Eleti, smiles spreading across their faces.

  “Thank you,” Ansi said to Matil.

  She let go of the pendant. “Thank you for helping to protect us.”

  “Yeah,” Khelya said. “Thanks for…for goin’ out of your way, Ansi. I hope your alva are safe and sound when you get back.”

  Ansi inclined his head. “I hope you remain safe as well. Though you have the sign, don’t let your guard down. I wish us to meet again in the future.”

  Matil smiled brightly. “We’ll come see you when we can. Tell Teres we said heisia.”

  “Of course.”

  “See you around,” Dask said, one side of his mouth lifting in a smile.

  “See you around, buddy,” Ansi replied.

  Simmad bowed at the waist. “A pleasure to meet you, Chief Ansi. May the sun shine warm upon you.”

  “And on you as well, good scholar.” Ansi flicked open his green, veined wings.

  His men opened theirs, a line of flower petals blooming on their backs. Ansi gave Matil and her friends one last nod and flew away. The Takkamakaini warriors took off after him in a swarm.

  “Colthal,” Dask said quietly.

  Simmad blew out a breath. “I can’t believe you spoke so casually to an Eletsol clan chief.”

  Matil, Dask, and Khelya looked at each other.

  “He’s our friend,” Khelya said.

  “And I keep forgetting how important he is as a chief,” Matil confessed.

  “No one’s really a chief when you’ve done time with ‘em.” Dask started walking back toward their wagon. “But it doesn’t matter, chief or not. He’s important either way.”

  * * *

  The procession moved faster that day, and scouts and warriors were more conspicuous in case the Skorgon returned. Matil wondered just how far away Dyndal’s tomb was. Uro wouldn’t give an exact answer.

  Early the following morning, the leaders stopped the procession again. A boulder towered over the travelers in the unsure light, a gigantic sentinel standing watch for an impenetrable copse looming behind it. The forest had grown dense, and the alva were moving in a narrower line, two wagons side-by-side. But now everyone was confronted with this impasse. Eletsol flew from their places in the procession to crowd the boulder, almost concealing it from view with their flittering wings.

  Matil and a snoozing Khelya were the only ones in their wagon. Matil looked around for Dask and Simmad, and, not seeing them nearby, got out of the wagon to find out what was going on. She edged through the sleepy-eyed and quiet crowd. When the Eletsol noticed she was trying to get through, they moved out of the way to let her pass. A few steps away from the boulder, the crowd stayed back so that there was a clearing for the leaders of the clans, who stood facing the mossy rock face.

  A plump woman with ragged pink wings like carnation petals stepped out from among the leaders. She walked sedately to the boulder and ran her hand down a line carved in the rock. Wind swirled up around her, stirring her hair, wings, and skirt, and then gusted toward the copse to rile the leaves on the right side of the boulder. The unearthly wind brushed past Matil. She shivered.

  The gust of wind seemed to signal which way to go. The procession could have easily gone around the copse, but instead, magicians gathered beside the boulder and made pulling and twisting motions with their hands and arms. Leaves died and fell away, branches corkscrewed and bent backwards, and a path through the copse began to open. The party siphoned into the thin, dark tunnel. Their heads ducked beneath leaves, spiky plants, and branches where caterpillars scrunched along. It reminded Matil of a dream she’d had where her father made her a playhouse inside of a rosebush. The thorns had been sawed away and the small space had given her comfort, like she couldn’t be harmed inside of it. A similar feeling came over her as she looked up through the snarl. Something fleeted on quick feet high above them, and the whole copse shook.

  Matil went back through the alva and the wagons, where Dask and Simmad were waking Khelya. They decided to walk together on one side of the tunnel, marveling at the magic of the Eletsol. The four of them spoke loudly to each other until they noticed that quiet had fallen over the rest of the party. They didn’t ask why, and no one explained. At times the leaders would again stop at a rock inscribed with a simple line or shape and then trace it to call forth the wind that guided them in another direction through the thick foliage.


  “We know the Eletsol go to this tomb for their festival every year, right?” Dask said. “Why do they need magic rocks? They could write down the directions or put up some signs.”

  “By Woveg,” exclaimed Simmad. “I believe I know!” Matil could hardly see his wings. He was much better at dimming them. “There have always been stories of places one can’t find in the mundane way, by simply flying about. Perhaps when these stones are activated, they open up a path to the next stone, and so on until we’ve reached the destination!” He clasped his hands and looked ahead, starry-eyed. “I wonder how many other legends are true; such as—oh, the diamond-winged birds of gold…or the sorcerer’s sidewise waterfall!”

  Though it must have been at least noon, the darkness of the copse closed in around them. The Eletsol lit torches and Matil blinked at the flames, wondering how many they really needed. A tickle began just below her collarbone, where the toad pendant hung from her neck between her shirt and tunic. She had doubled up the long cord to make it shorter. The pendant seemed to be the source of this strange feeling, so she took it off and examined its red wood. It tickled her hand.

  “What’s wrong?” Dask said.

  She focused on the tickling. “It feels almost like when I sense Nychta.”

  “Again? Talrach.”

  “But it’s not. That’s a pull and this is more of a…hope. I think it hopes I’ll go somewhere.”

  “I reckon that magic finds its way to you,” Simmad said, scratching his goatee in contemplation. “It would make sense, since you’re a magical construct.”

  Matil’s ears lowered and she looked down.

  “No, she’s not.” Dask’s wings flared out a little. “She’s an alva, same as anyone else.”

  An alva…

  Simmad pulled his hands together, looking ashamed. “I’m terribly sorry. I- I didn’t mean—I promise I won’t make that mistake again, Miss Matil.”

  “I knew we shouldn’t have told him,” Dask said.

  “It’s okay,” Matil said. She smiled at the ground. She was an alva. “Thanks, Dask.”

  Dask touched the pendant for a moment. “Hey, I feel it, too. Weird. It didn’t seem magical before.”

  Simmad reached over to feel the pendant as well. “You’re right! I wonder what’s set it off.”

  Up above, back bent to avoid the foliage, Khelya was clearly lost in thought. She hadn’t seemed to hear their conversation. Now she spoke. “What do you think Dyndal’s place’ll be like?”

  “Well, what’s his most common title?” Simmad said.

  “Dyndal of the Green, right?” Khelya said.

  “Right! He is known as such for his connection to nature and the spirit of youth. But I’ve always hypothesized that his favorite color was green, so don’t be surprised if the color green features prominently in his place of rest!”

  Dask chuckled. “His favorite color? Is that seriously the kind of thing you studied?”

  “It’s—I didn’t—you know—just…” Simmad took a breath. “It’s one of the things that came up in my- my side studies. After weeks of helping senior scholars research micro-nations and unusual systems of governance during the Middle Hibernation Age, a junior scholar might like to…have fun thinking his own thoughts.”

  “He might, huh?” Dask said quietly.

  The pendant’s tickling had steadily increased, and holding it by its cord didn’t help much. The Eletsol around Matil suddenly raised their voices. She found herself looking around, searching for something up ahead.

  The copse thinned out and the magicians could clear the way faster. Finally, there were no more plants, only pebbly dirt that came to an end at a sheer crag, massively tall and dripping with ivy. Beyond the heads of those in front of her, Matil saw an opening in the cliff. It was the huge entrance of a cavern, a triangle-shaped mouth, like someone had levered the rock apart. The split narrowed as it went upward until it was a mere crack. Thin sunlight streamed down on the face of the crag, making the cavern entrance look dark and cold.

  Some Eletsol flew overhead into the entrance while the rest waited to enter on foot or in wagons. The entrance at the ground was so wide that more wagons could fit side by side than in the tunnel through the thicket. Matil shuffled on impatiently through the thickness of the crowd, driven by curiosity and the pendant’s insistence. The closer they came to the cave mouth, the farther right she swerved.

  Eventually the pendant led her to a skinny rock standing about the height of her shoulders. She reached out and put her hand on the cool stone. At that moment, letters carved noiselessly into the rock and spelled out a word that Matil didn’t know: ‘Velana’. The tickling melted away.

  “Matil?” Khelya said.

  “Where’d she—Matil, you…found a rock.” Dask scratched his head. “Okay.”

  Simmad gasped. “It looks ancient!” He crouched down to look at the standing stone closely, his wings brightening up.

  “What does ‘velana’ mean?” Matil said.

  “‘Awaken’,” Simmad said. “It’s an old word. Fell out of use in Alvishu after the Age of Goec.”

  Awaken. Did that word mean the Elders could really…come back? Matil put a hand on the cord around her neck. “This is where the pendant wanted to go. This is the right way.” She let her hand fall and continued slipping through the crowd.

  “Hey,” Dask said, “wait up!”

  Matil entered the cavern, her friends hurrying to keep pace. Everything was lit by dim orange torchlight. The space inside could have fit a small city and the voices of the Eletsol echoed off its vaulting walls, but the cavern was sparsely scattered with huts across the walls and uneven ground. Ledges, niches, and tunnels led off in every direction. The procession – all the alva, animals, and wagons – pressed into the cave. The ledges filled with Eletsol. The leaders of the clans gathered on a plateau in the center of the cavern, appearing to wait for something.

  Leaf banners hung from the jagged ceiling, each blazoned with a triangular, fan-shaped symbol in bright yellow paint. Three dots in the symbol and a curl on either side made it look almost like a face with eyes and ears. A few unfamiliar alva emerged from deeper in the cave to meet the leaders of the party. They were decorated with yellow paint and dressed in green kilts and capes.

  Dask looked around the cavern. “Well,” he said to Simmad. “You were right about the green.”

  Uro called out from his place hovering by the green-clad alva. “Bearers of the sign, follow me.” He shouted something else in Eleti.

  The Eletsol in front of them stepped aside to allow Matil, Dask, Khelya, and Simmad to pass. The sign-bearers walked slowly at first, intimidated by the entire party acknowledging them, but they hastened when they saw Uro and a group of tain-men and leaders from other clans waiting up ahead at a tunnel opening.

  He nodded to Matil and the others. The entire group followed a yellow-painted Eletsol. They entered the tunnel, leaving behind the caravan of clans, who started to make camp in the great cavern.

  Matil had never been in a cave system so vast. Her eyes swept along the rough dirt-and-rock walls that stood more than twice Khelya’s height. She realized that what looked like natural erosion on the walls was actually relief sculpture. Forms of alva much larger than life stood out from the stone in fluid poses. They were towered over by noble figures that stretched from floor to ceiling. Rising and falling between the pictures, letters were carved so deeply that they appeared black, and they spelled out words Matil couldn’t understand. Some of the giant figures had magnificent wings, others were wingless. Some bore the visages of animals, and others had beautiful, alva-like faces. They danced across the walls and, with fierce weapons, fought beasts baring claws and teeth.

  The silent drama filled Matil’s vision as they walked, until the mural came to an end. The tunnel had widened into a damp-smelling cavern that felt like an und
erground meadow. Pale mushrooms in all sizes were dotted around the floor and walls, and vines splashed with bright flowers of purple, red, and yellow somehow flourished without sunlight over the walls and ceiling. A burbling sound to Matil’s right drew her eye toward a small hole partway up the wall where water rushed out. It fell into a stream that flowed along the right side of the cavern and disappeared into the wall at the far end.

  On the left side of the cavern, ledges and ramps had been carved from the dirt. Stacked on every ledge were woven-grass shelves full of scrolls. Eletsol in their green kilts and yellow paint came and went, sitting on floor cushions to read scrolls or talk with one another.

  Uro and his fellows led the sign-bearers across the cavern to a torch beside the stream, where a black-haired Eletsol sat on the bank with his legs stretched out into the water. He wore a long, delicately-crafted tunic made from whorls and slivers of flower petals. The tunic was fastened with small animal teeth above and below his blue wildflower wings.

  Uro leaned toward the sign-bearers, thick eyebrows firmly in place over his eyes. “It is the tomb-keeper. He stays here and meditates over the teachings of Emperor Ivu for much of the day.”

  Matil, Dask, Khelya, and Simmad all tried to get a better look at him as they walked closer. The yellow-painted Eletsol leading the group spoke to announce their presence, and the tomb-keeper turned to look. He was a boy with clear gray eyes. When he stood, he rose to the height of Dask’s shoulders.

  Dask gave Uro an incredulous half-smile. “The tomb-keeper, huh? Does he get nap time off?”

  Simmad cleared his throat with a pointed look at Dask. He turned to Uro. “He’s young.”

  “All tomb-keepers are young. The chiefs of this clan train a keeper in rites and duties from childhood, and then they choose a new child when the present one is too old. It is the tradition.”

  The leaders spoke to the tomb-keeper. The boy examined his odd assortment of guests with eyes narrowed. At a pause in the conversation, Uro told Matil to take off the pendant and show it to the tomb-keeper. Matil took the pendant from around her neck and bundled up the cord in her hand. As the toad dangled, bathed in firelight from the torch, the boy’s eyes and mouth opened in surprise and wonder. He calmed his expression with a deep breath and knelt. Looking at the pendant, he said something in a confident voice. Matil only recognized the words ‘Dyndal’ and ‘velana’.