Visions of a Hidden

by Matthew Wolf

  For a moment, Rydel debated his answer, then posted the safest one. He remained silent again, watching his brothers.

  Elisaria sidled closer, handing him the apple once more. “But I wasn’t talking about that.”

  “Then what do you mean?” Rydel felt bad that he sounded snappy, but he knew she was nipping at something close, trying to root out answers, and she knew it too. He could see it on her face.

  “You’re kinder than them. Gentler.”

  Rydel chuckled softly. “You’re wrong about that.”

  “Well, at the least, you’re less arrogant.”

  “No offense to my brothers, that’s not too hard. Though their pride is well deserved.”

  Still, Elisaria’s eyes searched him. “I don’t know what burden is placed on you. But you seem to move with a weight on your shoulders, always cautious and considerate. I know you’d do anything for them.”

  “You know a lot,” he said, eyeing her sidelong, then gave a small smile.

  Elisaria smiled back, and it made his heart thunder. “I know enough. I can’t quite figure out what eats at you, though. They might have covered it up, but you haven’t. I can see something from your past, something maybe in your training. It pains you daily, doesn’t it? You can speak to me. I won’t tell a soul.”

  Rydel didn’t like how close she was getting with her truths. He felt his heart harden, but her hand touched his shoulder, gently. Slowly, he turned to look at her. There was no malice in her eyes. Elisaria was fierce to her core. She had a fighter’s spirit, and yet in this moment, she let down her guard, for him. “Take off your mask,” she said. He knew she meant it in more ways than one. Slowly, she reached for it, touching the clasp and—

  Trinaden’s words echoed in his ears, ‘Remember, you are not like them. Mingle, learn, but do not get too close. You risk them if you do. You are a blade, too sharp to hold. Remember that.’

  Expelling a heavy breath, Rydel rose. He looked back and saw the hurt on Elisaria’s face. She had been exposed, removing the armor that guarded her own hard heart, asking for him to do the same and he had denied her. A pain stabbed at his chest as he looked down at her. And yet, Trinaden’s words held some deeper truth he couldn’t understand quite yet. You risk them if you do. “I have to go,” he said, and she nodded softly, looking away and he saw tears on her cheek.

  Ignoring every instinct and muscle in his body, Rydel pulled himself away from that tree, dropping the apple on the ground. He wasn’t being selfish or afraid. Was he?

  When he returned to the Terma fighting grounds the next day, Elisaria avoided him. Had she approached, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to deny her again. Yet the offer was never made. He’d burned her and now she feared the fire of his denial. Rydel couldn’t blame her and he hated himself for it. That night, when they returned to their hut-tucked deep in the forest—as they did every night, Trinaden placed a hand on his shoulder, and somehow he knew his Master knew. As they made meals and cleaned up, he was snappier at Dryan and Hadrian, though his brothers suffered his torment good naturedly.

  Each day they returned to the Terma training grounds for the next months. Each time he’d see Elisaria and she’d avoid him and so he lost himself to the sword, to his training. On the third month of their training with the Terma, Trinaden announced they had learned all they could from their elite elven brothers and sisters and it was time to say goodbye.

  They walked in silence to the Terma camp—a good dozen mile walk to the grand clearing. A familiar walk. One that Rydel had looked forward to each morning. Each day, both sad and hopeful for Elisaria’s reaction. When they reached the clearing, the Terma were waiting like they had been on the first day, gathered in a large crowd with their commander at their head. Bowing they made their formal goodbyes, thanking Commander Aladar who warmly embraced Rydel and Hadrian. Dryan remained distant and aloof as if elevated above the green-lacquered elves. Trinaden forced his hand and Dryan made a reluctant, shallow bow. When it was time to leave, however, Rydel lingered.

  The other Terma turned and left except one.

  Elisaria remained behind.

  Rydel’s heart hammered staring at her, but then she too turned and left. Heavy-hearted, Rydel waited, but when it was clear she wasn’t coming back, he left. When he reached the edge of the Terma training ground, seeing Dryan and Hadrian far ahead on their return home, something flew out of the air. Rydel felt as much as heard the soft whistle and caught it. An… apple?

  Elisaria came out from behind a tree with a small smile. “You’re leaving,” she said. Was it a question? A statement?

  Rydel swallowed. He could only nod.

  The beautiful elf had an apple of her own. She bit into it, the juice dripping from her mouth and some spilling down her pink lips and off her chin. Elisaria wiped her chin clean with her wrist and leaned against the tree. “You know you’ve changed us,” she said, then gestured back over her shoulder to the Terma training ground.

  “How so?”

  “We used to think we were so superior. That nothing could harm us. That our training had made us not just special but somehow… more. Better than others. The best even. You’ve nicked that armor, exposed the flaws in their thinking. Some despise you for it. Hate you for showing their weakness. That even being a Terma, with all our skill and prowess, still, there’s someone better out there. I think that scares them. It makes them feel… normal. For elves whose whole lives they’ve felt different, special, and better—it’s not a great feeling.”

  Rydel smiled. She was special. “And what do you think?”

  “I’m not going to lie. I felt that smugness too. Now, I’m glad for the humbling.” Elisaria took another small crunching bite, leaving her tree and drawing near. “Do you know why?”

  Rydel remained frozen by her gaze, locked in place. He’d stared down Trinaden’s lightning blade, and countless elves flashing steel, but those green eyes… they stole his words and arrested him. Made him feel more sluggish and numb than he’d ever felt in all his life. Still, he managed to shake his head. “Why?”

  “Because I realize we’re not better. Not just the Terma—sure we’re faster and stronger than most. But we’re not better. I can see in your eyes, you see the same. You don’t view yourself as above, as superior to all else, even if you have every reason to. You’ve never even been beaten.”

  He laughed. “You don’t know Master.”

  “If that was true, then why are your brothers so different?”

  “They train for themselves, at least I know my middle brother does.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t be here.” She looked at him puzzled, and he explained. “If I had to view my training as purely a means to make myself the strongest, I don’t think I’d survive. I’m not strong enough, or perhaps selfish enough for such a self-absorbed goal.”

  “Then what is your goal?”

  “Farhaven,” he admitted. “I love these woods, the elves, my…” he thought about his mother but pushed it aside, controlling his expression. “I love Eldas, deeply. But something in me knows that there’s so much more out there. So much more is at stake.”

  “You are a rarity. An elf who doesn’t view Eldas as tantamount to all else?”

  “I wish to see the world,” Rydel confessed. “I’ve read books on them.” His eyes panned north as if he could see the images that flashed in his mind’s eye. “The gleaming mirrors and glass columned spires of Vaster, city of sun. The trading city of Cloudfel, home to all manner of people—”

  Just then, Elisaria interrupted him with a gleam in her eyes, stepping forward eagerly, “—or the sprawling desert city of Covai, city of flesh—teeming with man and beast under the hot sun—”

  Rydel grinned behind his mask, snapping back, “—Narim, the great city of moon, half above the land half below, shining like a turquoise gem—�
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  With each new city, Elisaria took another step closer until they were paces away. “—Farbs, the Great Kingdom of Fire, where the fiery incantations of the Reavers light up the desert’s night sky.” She gripped his arm as if was simply instinct, lost in the thought of grand worlds beyond their own. “Light and heavens, can you see them too? I wish to go more than anything.” Elisaria was breathless, her eyes gleaming.

  Lost in her emerald gaze, he smiled and wished to tell her he wanted to take her, to travel the world with her, but he could only hold her gaze. “I will go one day,” Rydel said. “When I pass my trials, I will leave Eldas.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s my purpose. To protect not just our people, but all of Farhaven. To that end, I must be strong.”

  Still, she didn’t drop her hand and continued. “You’re the same as me, aren’t you? Eldas can’t stand alone any longer. The world needs to unite—the Great Kingdoms uniting as one. Secluded behind the Gates of Eldas will only see our slow demise, our decay. Not to mention, we have so much to learn still. So much the rest of Farhaven has yet to teach us.” He wanted to agree, to shout his affirmation but he only held her eyes, that breath of space between them. “Will you take me with you?”

  Again, Trinaden’s words hammered into him. You will hurt anyone you get too close to. You are a knife too sharp to hold. Rydel cared for Elisaria. More than he had cared for anyone. Behind his mask, she could only read his eyes. And again, letting the knife into his chest as if plunging it inward with his own hands, he remained silent.

  This seemed enough answer for Elisaria, who nodded slowly, softly. Hurt registered in her eyes, but a part of her seemed resigned—as it had been a last, hopeful ditch effort. Slowly, she backed away. When she reached the tree where she’d thrown the apple he called out to her, unable to help himself.

  She paused, looking at him. “Why do you like me?” Elisaria asked. “Do you like me?”

  Rydel’s tongue was thick in his throat as his words came like a flood, because you’re beautiful enough to take my breath away each time I see you. Because you’re clever, funny, enigmatic. Because of your smile. Because of the way I want to be around you, always and anywhere. Because I can’t stop thinking about you, and I don’t want to. These and a thousand other sentiments bombarded his brain like arrows pincushioning a haystack, yet when he opened his mouth nothing came out. An insect trilled in the bushes, and the wind brushed the boughs, rustling cloak and leaf. When the silence stretched too long, Elisaria nodded slowly as if again this was answer enough and she spoke instead, “Then if you’re too afraid, I will tell you. I like you because while other elves seek to dominate me, see me as a trophy, something to win or woe, another conquest… You see me as something else. Those eyes look at me with something I’ve never felt before. You’re different.” She smiled sadly. “Even if you’re too afraid to show it, or perhaps know it yourself. That’s why I like you.”

  Rydel’s breathing was staggered, his every muscle tense and coiled. Slowly Elisaria nodded, biting her lip, and then she turned. He called to her back, “If it helps, I doubt any but three arrogant boys in all of Farhaven can make a nick in that armor of yours.”

  “Not three, just one,” she said softly.

  Rydel narrowed his gaze at her. Did… He didn’t think she meant real armor now. Again, Elisaria resumed walking. As always, he waited for that moment she would turn and look back at him over her shoulder flashing him that smile that was only his. At least he could take that with him. Please, at least that. Only this time, she didn’t. Elisaria continued, blending back into the woods and then was gone.

  Rydel looked down and realized he still had the apple in his hand. Howling in anger and frustration, at his own folly and uselessness, Rydel threw the apple with all his might, watching it burst upon a nearby tree. Then, as his rage slowly subsided making way for his sorrow, he stood alone in the clearing. Heart like a stone in his chest, he returned home.

  He thought about Elisaria and their talk for days. Their training with Trinaden resumed in full, and the days with the Terma slowly faded into memory. Still, he thought about her. Weeks, then months, then a year and still the pain and his folly remained.

  Then a day came when he forgot his father and his mother’s face. That day, he cried and he didn’t stop crying. He didn’t hear a leaf crack or twig snap. His brothers were too good for that now, but he sensed the elf’s presence anyway and he looked up, seeing Hadrian.

  Hadrian was even taller now as they entered their seventeenth summer. They were all big for elves—tall and lean. Dryan had grown too, though he was still the shortest. Even he, though, was like a boiled piece of leather, stripped of all fat and twice as tough. “I’ve forgotten them,” he sobbed to Hadrian behind his mask. He could say no more but no more was needed as Hadrian put his arm around him until night faded.

  Morning came, and with it, more training. Days came and went, bright green of spring to the blazing heat of summer, summer to the fall—the Relnas Forest’s trees shedding their blood-red coats, and fall turning to the crisp bite and deep snows of winter, and on again. They continued to wear their masks, hiding even from each other, so much that Rydel’s memory of his brother’s faces grew fuzzy. He knew they were aging, and he wondered how much they had changed, how much had he changed. Would he even recognize them anymore? Then he wondered, would he even recognize himself?

  Then the day came, at last, the morning of their eighteenth summer.

  Master Trinaden came to them. “It is time.”

  “Time, Master?” Dryan asked. He’d lost his flippant ways, turning harder over the years.

  Hadrian, too, had shed some of his casual, boyish humor. Now his voice was deep and serious. “The final test,” Hadrian said solemnly.

  Rydel had waited impatiently for this day. The Trial of the Forest—their final test.

  Master Trinaden inclined his head. “Indeed. Be ready. In the morning, we set out for Drymaus Forest.”

  That night Rydel and the others slept restlessly. They had heard the tales. Drymaus Forest. A forest full of unspeakable dangers. None but a Hidden had ever entered the woods and left alive.

  In the dead of night, Rydel stole out from their little hut—careful not to make any floorboards creak and wake Trinaden or the others—and made his way to Eldas. Something pulled him, guided him and before he knew it he found the Terma encampment—a series of low-lying tents of mossy green and browns camouflaged amid the ancient trees. Rydel snuck past campfires like a shadow, then glided beneath the notice of several sentries keeping watch, to finally find a tent tucked away in the back—a larger green and purple-hued mossy pavilion. Putting his ear to the canvas, he listened. Nothing. Softly, he whispered her name. No answer. Cutting a small slit in the back, he snuck in and found her sleeping form curled on a bed of velvety moss. Rydel’s eyes were keen even in the dark and he moved easily to her side. “Elisaria,” he whispered gently nudging her.

  Elisaria woke in a start, reaching for her dagger.

  Rydel clamped his hand over her wrist and another over her mouth so she wouldn’t shout out, and felt her muffled scream against his palm. Elisaria’s chest heaved. Even in the darkness, he saw she was only in a shift; it was a thin cloth of pearly white, and he saw her outline clearly. He’d never seen her without her armor on and now… If he thought the armor had fit her like a second-skin he’d been mistaken. She was strong, toned, and well-proportioned, and heaving as she was… Rydel turned his face away, but he didn’t blush. Urgency and need made his mission too important for modesty. Still, he didn’t turn back to face her until she pulled her covers up, slightly. She grabbed a candle and lit it with a fire-starter and when her eyes adjusted to the light she remarked, “You…” she said breathless, “what in the Great Spirits are you doing here?”

  “I…” Rydel realized now he hadn’t been thinking. He had just acted as if in a tra
nce, as if guided by something more, as if pulled towards her. “I needed to come. Tomorrow… tomorrow I may not be here, and I need you to do something for me.”

  She looked at him distrustfully, confused, then her eyes widened—hearing the honesty of his words. “What’s happening—what is it? What’s wrong?” The urgency and fear in her voice tore at him. He’d thought she didn’t care, that he’d broken her trust but he was wrong.

  “Tomorrow I head to Drymaus Forest.”

  “No…” she breathed. “No, gods. Not even he would make you do something so reckless. That’s a death sentence!”

  “It is my final task. I must.”

  “Don’t,” she said, grabbing his arm.

  “Listen,” he replied, shaking his head, “I don’t have much time and I can’t waste it arguing. I know I don’t deserve this, I know I wronged you… but I need you to do me a favor. I need you to deliver a message.”

  “A message? To whom? I thought you weren’t allowed to have any ties, any… temptations?” He realized there was a note of almost jealousy in Elisaria’s words, of distrust, and even… something else he couldn’t recognize.

  Wordlessly, he grabbed her hand and unfurled her clenched fist and deposited his most treasured item. Elisaria examined it in the candlelight. To most, it was just an unassuming little stone with a single character painted on it. The elven character of sha—or hope in the common tongue. Her gaze found his, questioning.

  Elisaria frowned. “Who gave this to you?”

  “My mother,” he answered. “It is the only thing I have of hers, the only memory of hers that I still hold. If she’s still alive, I want you to find her. Tell her I live. Tell her I still believe—that her son loves her, and I haven’t forgotten.” Rydel felt his heart clench and the layers of armor he’d carefully cultivated over the years—if only for a moment—crack and fall and he felt raw.