by P. M. Biswas
“Go,” Borik said to Tam in a tired rasp that made him sound like a different man altogether, not the jolly, loud, blustering commander who had trained Tam and had watched over her in lieu of her parents. “Go home, Tamsin. If you are lucky, you will be back in time to be healed. Tell Queen Emeraude of what transpired here.”
“But—” The words stuck in Tam’s gullet like fishhooks. She couldn’t get them out. “But you—”
“We will win,” Borik said grimly. “We will win, if nothing else, because Astar wills it. These perverse enchantments cannot overcome His will.”
So saying, Borik returned to the fray. Before Tam could survey the field to assess whether Borik’s prediction was being fulfilled or was even plausible, her consciousness suddenly spilled from her, like wine from a toppled glass. The last thing she was aware of, before it all went black, was Maple’s powerful haunches bunching beneath her as the horse took off.
TAM WAS underwater. Or so she thought, because she was floating in what appeared to be the glimmering depths of a still, serene pond. Light filtered through to her from above, strangely silvery, as if it were moonlight and not daylight. Tranquil currents buffeted her, buoying her up, and the light grew brighter and brighter as she drifted upward.
The water shimmered like silk as it flowed into her, into her mouth and her lungs, but it didn’t drown her. It soothed her. As she neared the source of that light, a pair of pearlescent, luminous hands dipped into the water from above. They enveloped her body, cradling her, and their coolness comforted her as they lifted her out.
Tam’s eyes fluttered. When she opened them, she was surprised at having to open them; she’d been convinced she was already awake.
She wasn’t in a pond. But she was beside a pond, a small oval of water at the base of the oak against which Tam was leaning. She bent over the pond and saw herself reflected in it, grotesque with the gore caked on her. Her braid was matted with blood as it swung forward, and her skin was discolored with bruises.
But where were her wounds? Had she hallucinated that hellscape of a battle?
No. It had been real. It had all been horribly, sickeningly real. The dead had risen. The living had fallen. And Tam… Tam should have, by rights, fallen with them. Why was she here, beside a forest pond, with her injuries miraculously healed? Even her bruises were lightening, vanishing one by one.
She peered blearily at her left arm, which was partly submerged in the pond. There it was, that silvery stuff she’d seen in her dream, seeping into the veins at her wrist—fine glittering threads of it that almost seemed part of the natural rippling of the pond, and that had thus eluded Tam’s notice till now.
The grogginess that had been weighing her down veered sharply into panic. She tried to yank her arm out of that witchy water, but the threads that bound her were as impossible to break as chains of iron.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” said a soft, musical voice. “Shattering the healing bond would be unwise in the extreme.”
Tam jerked backward, stopped only by the silver threads that tied her to the pond. She scrabbled instinctively for her spear before she remembered that she’d left it behind. She was unarmed. Unarmed and defenseless and too feeble to fight back.
Because she would have to fight back. There was a creature sitting across the pond, a creature that resembled a human boy but on closer inspection was not human at all. His ears were pointed and his face was uncannily beautiful, like a stained-glass portrait of a saint in a temple window, radiant and illuminated from within. He had long pale hair the color of frost; it tumbled past his shoulders in shining waves, like a river of starlight, tamer than Tam’s stubborn mop had ever been. His frame was as slender as a sapling’s, and while the smoothness of his snowy skin indicated that he was about Tam’s age, there was an aura of palpable magic around him, a magic from the birth of the world itself, untamed and primal.
“You’re—” Tam’s eyes darted around frantically, taking in the dense trees that loomed above her like obelisks, their trunks as thick and knotted as the limbs of titans. Even the trees here were monstrous. “You’re an elf. And this… this is the Wanderwood.”
The elf tilted his head curiously. “Does she always state the obvious?” he asked, addressing somebody behind Tam, and Tam whipped around, expecting to see another elf.
But it was just Maple, loitering there at the edge of the clearing, smug as could be. She whinnied at the elf in what could only be agreement.
“Maple!” Tam scolded her. “When Borik told us to go home, he didn’t mean here!”
“Do not blame her,” said the elf. “She did carry you to your home. Your heart’s home.”
“Um, not to be rude, but I’m quite sure I don’t live in the Wanderwood, of all the—”
“Your heart’s home is not where you live. It’s where you belong. If you are fortunate, they are one and the same. If you are not, then you will journey all your life looking for your heart’s home.”
“Right.” Tam blinked. She’d expected evil hexes directed at her, not mystical platitudes. Were all elves this given to spouting meaningless gibberish? Or maybe this was just deception cloaked in rhetoric, designed to baffle Tam; the elves were infamous as sorcerers. If those demonic scouts Tam had just fought hadn’t hailed from Axenborg but from the direction of the Wanderwood, Tam would’ve had no compunction about pinning the responsibility for that witchcraft on the elves.
It hadn’t escaped Tam that the silver threads connected to her wrist came from him. At the opposite end of the pond, the elf-boy’s wrist was in the water, too, and the threads flowed from him toward her, pulsing as if in time with his heartbeat. Didn’t the legends call the elves Silverbloods, on account of their blood being silver? Was this elf sharing his blood with her? Tam had heard of the concept of transfusions, but nothing like this. Even Kay, in all his unrelenting research into healing potions and practices, hadn’t located a single record of a successful transfusion.
Not in human history, at any rate. But the elves had clearly managed it. This elf, specifically. A healing bond, he’d called it. Was he healing Tam? For what reason? Why would a being naturally disposed to wickedness save her?
There had to be an ulterior motive. That was the only explanation.
“My heart’s home, huh?” Tam asked sarcastically. “So my horse just happened to wander into my destined home? And you just happened to bind me to it with these silvery tentacles, like a particularly pretty octopus? Are you saving me? Is that your story?”
Annoyance flashed across that perfect face. “I’m not pretty.”
“Ha! So you admit to being an octopus. A nefarious octopus.”
The elf pinched the bridge of his nose with his spare hand. It was such a human gesture that it threw Tam for a loop. “You’re so…. What are you? Surely all humans can’t be this irritating.”
“We’d surprise you.” Tam was feeling more cheerful now that the elf’s composure had cracked to reveal an actual person within. Probably still an evil person, but a person nonetheless. “So, what’s the agenda?”
“What agenda?”
“Your agenda. Are you trapping me in some sort of geas where I’m enslaved to you forever because you saved my life?”
The elf made a disgusted moue. “Firstly, you have an unnecessarily fertile imagination. Secondly, we elves do not condone slavery. Even if we did, I would not burden myself with such an annoying slave.”
Oooh, so he had some sass in him. He was somewhat interesting that way, instead of merely being a fetching, pointy-eared freak with powers. “By what name should I address you, then, my not-master?”
“Loren,” he said snippily, like he was unaccustomed to introducing himself. What, did he expect everyone to just know him by default? Was he that famous among the elves? He did have on a doublet of some green velveteen material to match the leaf green of his eyes, so he must be rich. “And you are?”
“Tam,” she replied. By Astar, why was she languishing
by a sorcerous pond while her comrades were fighting and dying? Was Borik even alive anymore? What about Maryada? Tam couldn’t bear to lose them both. But no, she couldn’t afford to be sentimental now. She had a mission. “Listen, Loren. You must let me go. I have pressing news to deliver to my queen.”
“Your wounds are not yet healed.”
“They’re healed enough.”
“A day is scarcely sufficient to conclude the healing process, and—”
“Wait, a day? I’ve been here a day?” The battle must be over! And who knew how Borik’s unit had fared? Who knew how many, if any, had made it back to the fort? Borik had entrusted her with apprising the queen, and instead, all Tam was doing was lounging about by a pond, being magically healed when her comrades had no such luxury. “Release me! Now!”
“If I release you from the healing bond prematurely, it will undo all the healing done thus far. You would do better to wait, or you will not live long enough to deliver your message. To anyone.”
“Are you telling me to just sit here while my kingdom spirals into chaos?”
“Yes,” Loren said blandly.
Frustration churned within Tam. Patience had never been her strong suit, and with the fate of her people hanging in the balance, it was inconceivable. “What manner of lily-livered scum do you think I am, to put myself before my country?”
“I had not expected such selflessness from a human.”
Tam yanked at her arm again, but she was as thoroughly bound as she had been before. Those damn silver threads, although delicate, were unbreakable. “How little do you think of us?”
“How little do you think of us?”
They glowered at each other.
Tam had the distinct sense that this was who Loren really was beneath all that finesse, and that the mask of refined mysticism he’d worn at the beginning of their acquaintance had been just that, a mask. What a stuck-up, prissy—
“You mentioned that you did not wish to be a coward,” said Loren abruptly. “But the desire to live is not cowardice. Just as being willing to die is not courage. There is no courage in pointless self-sacrifice.”
What, was he going back to preaching at her? “There’s more courage in that than there is in sitting around in forests and mooning over ponds.”
“A pond that will save your life.”
“So you say.”
“Do you not believe me?” Loren demanded, as if he was offended by Tam’s very practical, very impersonal caution. All right, so maybe it was a tad personal.
“What if you’re poisoning me with that elven blood of yours? Not healing me?”
“What benefit would there be in poisoning a human already poised to die from foolishly self-inflicted wounds?”
“What makes you think they’re foolish?” Tam retorted.
“Because you’re a fool. Obviously.”
“And you’re a twit. Obviously.”
They went back to glowering at each other.
Goodness, Loren was such an ass. “If you’re that infuriated by my kind, then why are you saving me?”
“I never said your kind infuriated me.”
“But I do.”
“Evidently.”
“Since you’re pretending to be so unprejudiced, you who said you hadn’t expected that a human could be selfless—”
“That was an observation. Not a prejudice.”
“—are you saying you’re saving me simply to save me?”
Tam had meant it as a jest. But Loren just nodded, in full seriousness, and Tam gaped at him.
“What?” Loren frowned. “Do you humans leave your fellows to die in gutters?”
“You know what gutters are?” Tam blurted, despite herself. “Because I can’t see any around here.”
Loren sighed. A drawn-out, put-upon sigh.
“If you’re such an altruist,” Tam continued, “why don’t you travel with me back to the battlefield and heal my friends who’ve fallen there?”
“Alas, only fresh wounds can be healed. Once the body’s own healing takes over, or once rot sets in, the magic cannot do its work. A day is too long after the injuries have occurred to heal them.”
“Look, either a day’s too long or a day’s too short. Make up your damned mind.”
Loren didn’t react to her baiting; he only gazed into the pond, where the threads had ceased pulsing. They dissolved, melting into the water, and just like that, Tam was free.
She sprang to her feet immediately—only to totter dizzily into a tree. “Ouch,” Tam said when she fetched up against the rough bark. She looked daggers at Loren, holding him responsible for her newly acquired coltishness. “Didn’t you heal me?”
“Your gratitude moves me,” Loren said dryly. “Yes, I healed you, you dolt. But the wounds you sustained are too grave for you to dismiss them, even in the aftermath of your healing. You must treat yourself gently.”
“I’d never treat myself gently,” Tam said incredulously. “What good would that do? It wouldn’t strengthen me.”
Loren sighed again. “Your dearth of understanding of the healing arts—nay, of basic biology—is astounding. Yes, gentleness can strengthen you. An injured appendage needs rest before it can function, and you… you were injured all over when you arrived at this clearing with your friend.”
“My friend? Oh. Maple.” Tam had to accept that Maple was a friend, given that she had carried Tam out of peril just like a true pal would do.
“Here.” Loren stood and approached Tam with a suspicious-looking sprig. Tam shrank back. “This,” he said, “is an herb whose leaves, if you consume them, will give you the stamina to withstand the strain of your journey. Without it, your strength may falter.”
Tam didn’t take the herb. There was a long pause as Loren’s hand hovered in the air, untouched.
Eventually Loren lowered it. His lips were pinched in displeasure. “Or you could just die, I suppose; that’s your prerogative.”
“Humph,” said Tam. “I won’t take it from your hand. I have no idea where that hand’s been.”
“Where could it possibly have been?” Loren asked in annoyance.
“In the seventh hell? Or wherever you elves were born?”
“You,” Loren gritted out through his teeth, “are so bigoted and unrefined that it pains me to hear you speak.”
“Just as it pains me to be in your general vicinity.” Tam motioned at the herb. “Place that on the ground and I shall pick it up. With my gloves on.”
Loren did as she asked and stepped away. Tam pulled out the riding gloves she’d tucked into the pocket of Maple’s saddle. Only after putting them on did she retrieve the sprig. It didn’t burn through the fabric of her gloves, as she’d half envisaged it would. Maybe it wasn’t harmful after all. Maybe. She wouldn’t ingest it unless she felt herself weakening dangerously.
“It truly is spectacularly ugly,” Tam murmured as she inspected the herb. “All thorny and prickly and stubby.”
“I did think it resembled you.”
Maple neighed as if in laughter.
Tam scowled at her. How had Loren won the intractable Maple’s favor in so brief an interlude? Did Tam have to nearly die to get some sympathy from that horse? “Friend? What friend?” Tam grouched. “Maple’s on your side now.”
“There are sides?” Loren said, amused because he’d gotten an insult in edgeways, the bastard.
“You’ve seduced her. I should’ve known. You’ve seduced her with your wily elvish wiles.”
“My wily wiles? How very eloquent.”
“Oh, stuff it, Mister I’m-A-Quill-In-Disguise.”
Loren’s eyes widened guilelessly. “How did you know?”
“That you’re a quill?” Tam squinted at him. “Was that a joke? Did you just make a joke? I didn’t know you could joke.”
“How sanctimonious do you take me to be?”
“As much as you’d have to be to casually use the word sanctimonious in a sentence.”
Loren m
ade a peculiar coughing noise. It took Tam a while to realize that it was a laugh.
“Your laugh’s weirder than Maple’s,” Tam declared, because it was. “I’m off, then. Thanks for not bewitching me. Although that remains to be seen. Will you let me out of this forest?”
“I certainly won’t keep you in it. Get gone, human. Just don’t die while you’re getting gone.”
Tam sniffed disdainfully and swung herself onto Maple’s back. Maple’s whinny was distinctly complaining this time. “Yes, yes, I’m sure you’d prefer his dainty arse on your saddle,” she said as Loren choked on his spittle. It was incredibly rewarding to reduce all of Loren’s wittiness to such garbled incoherence.
“My—why, you’re—how can you be so—”
“Rude? Brazen? Inappropriate? I’m not the one who dragged a stranger into a clearing and forced my blood into them.”
“It’s called life-saving, you barbarian.”
Tam seized Maple’s reins. “Don’t save my life again.”
“Then don’t wander into my woods when you’re mostly dead and unconscious.”
Tam scoffed. “Why would I wander into them when I’m alive and conscious?”
Loren sneered at her. “Who can comprehend why you humans do what you do?”
“I could say the same of elves.”
“You don’t know any elves.”
“I know you.”
“No, you don’t. Not in the slightest.” A ray of sunlight pierced the forest canopy and caught Loren’s eyes. They glowed like jewels, eerie and green. “Go home to your queen and forget this incident ever happened. That would be best for all involved.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we’re in agreement.”
“Then let us part on that note. Maple shall lead you out of the woods, as she knows the way.”
Tam didn’t shake Loren’s hand or clasp it in thankfulness, as she would have were her savior a human. It sat ill with her, the nagging doubt that she might be behaving dishonorably, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch an elf. She just couldn’t. She’d been taught for too many years that the elves were treacherous. Tam had to trust in the knowledge of her people, rather than in the few moments of oddly bearable conversation she’d had with Loren.