by Martha Carr
Chapter Ten
Correk held up a violet ball of light in his hand and sang into it. Fiery symbols crept up his arm. His eyes glowed a bright, deep blue. Images appeared inside the sphere of light. It showed Leira and Hagan driving back to the precinct.
“She’s sharing her secrets about us with someone else. Her partner… another detective,” he said.
“Good. We can use all the help that’s available to us, Correk. Why does this detective call you Bert? Is this a human trait, to rename things?” King Oriceran stood with his back to Correk. He was staring out at the expansive view from the third floor of the light castle that hung among the clouds, invisible to anyone passing by.
Down below, several teenage elves were tossing around a gold ball of light that was hard to detect, it was moving so fast, and small enough to duck into pockets or hide in the palm of a hand. A player made contact with the ball, giving it a good, swift kick and it trumpeted a discordant note, changing colors from white to blue to yellow and back to white.
“Two points, well done,” called an umpire standing on the sidelines. “No hands, Sigland. Your side loses a point.”
“It flew into my hands,” the young Elf protested.
“Tricky little bastard, isn’t it,” said the umpire. “Feet only, no spells. I see your eyes glowing over there,” he said to another player, spraying sparks from his wide sleeve, catching the offending player off guard and sweeping him off his feet, leaving his hair smoking. The other children hooted with laughter until the ball zipped between them, darting off toward the woods.
“Oh great,” an Elf yelled. “We lost another ball in the woods.”
“Well, go retrieve it,” said the umpire. “I’ve gotten the last few. Surely, some of you remember the spell.”
The king smiled sadly, remembering Prince Rolim playing in the same fields. “It’s almost too much to bear,” he said quietly.
Correk came close enough to see what the king was looking at.
“They call them nicknames. Bert, it’s one of those, a nickname. That’s the Earth name she’s chosen for me.” Correk said, shaking his head, trying to distract the king from the window. “Something to do with my forehead. The detective said I had more of a eight-head. I have no idea what it means. There was some mention of my eyebrows and a doll she loved as a child.” He scowled. “Ridiculous.”
“A term of affection. She’s bonded with you. I wasn’t sure she was capable of that. She carries anger with her, always. I wonder if I might join her in that dark place,” he said, glancing back at the window. “You trust her, don’t you?” he asked.
“Yes, your majesty, as much as I would trust anyone from their planet. There are limitations, of course, but my reservations are based on their limited view of magic, not her integrity. They see magic as something only a fool or a child would believe in.”
“Fair enough. It may become necessary to send you into her world to guide her.”
Correk startled, shaking his hand as the ball of light faded along with the images.
The king noticed but turned his back again. “You’ve been by my side for well over a hundred years now. Things have been peaceful here for as long as I can remember. The worst we’ve had to deal with is a dispute over land. The one thing we can’t grow more of in Oriceran.”
“Even that has been dealt with by decreeing the larger estates lift their castles up into the clouds. It was a wise decision, your majesty.”
The king turned to face Correk. He was wearing plain green robes in keeping with the customs when grieving the loss of a loved one. On his head was a simple crown of Oriceran silver that had sprouted small leaves. When the leaves flowered it was time to let go of old pain and move back into society.
“Nothing seems to get easier. There were hundreds of years left of Prince Rolim’s life. No one in the royal family has died at the hands of someone else since before the Great Treaty. The wars that raged over this planet killed thousands, including my grandfather and most of his kin. The dwarves were constantly at our throats and the Wood Elves took every opportunity to help turn the tide for whatever side was losing. They are very clever creatures—helping us to annihilate each other. Do you think the Wood Elves could have helped this human kill my son?”
“No, I don’t. They would never go this far. Not now. We’ve been at peace for so long. The treaty was signed thousands of years ago and for the most part everyone has kept it,” said Correk..
“Yes, for the most part. Only one being tried to change all of that.”
“Rhazdon,” said Correk.
“Yes, Rhazdon, that half-Atlantean who was more than half mad. He was defeated over six hundred years ago. Since then, peace has reigned. Until now,” said the king, waving his arm as he sang, making the walls appear.
A painting of the nearby woods showed unicorns galloping among the trees. A tree troll with the familiar green tufts of hair, rolled out of its small wooden home nestled on a tree branch. It scampered off into the woods, into the depths of the painting. A large rock had a round opening created by a fern troll.
“Nothing relieves this ache. There is nowhere I can go where I don’t find a thousand memories of my son. Even some of these damn paintings remember him and he will appear for just a moment, walking through them.” His voice was sharp. “Enough,” he said, singing another note, and with a wave of his arm, the walls were invisible again.
Correk let the king speak. He knew that there was nothing he could say that would alleviate any of the misery. Only time, or vengeance or at least answers was going to do that.
The sound of crashing and glass breaking interrupted them. Correk and the king raised their hands, twisting their fingers, fiery symbols twining up their arms, their eyes aglow.
“Someone is attacking the castle!” the king shouted.
He spread his hands apart and half of the castle floors appeared below them like an oversized dollhouse. Several floors down, Queen Saria appeared to be suspended in air in the middle of a room that was still invisible. She was glowing from head to toe, an ancient language on every inch of her in deep red letters. There were no assailants except her own agonizing grief. She screamed in pain, her arms outstretched. Everything that became visible around her was exploding into a fine dust that rained back down on her, melting as it touched her, falling to the ground as large droplets of water that came back together in a glittering, metallic puddle.
She sank to the floor, beating her hands against the stone.
The king sang, “Altrea Extendia,” sending out a wave of bronze sparks that melded into cascading stairs.
He flew down the stairs, Correk behind him as the steps disappeared behind them, to the vast library, still mostly invisible, where the Queen was still screaming, shattering the furniture and turning more than a few books into a rain of ash.
“Leave me to my grief,” she screamed, her long brown hair fluttering around her, as a painting exploded, the image of two tiny elves with silver hair, their arms flailing, tumbling through the air until they dissolved into ash.
On her head was a crown similar to the king’s, made of silver but the green sprouts barely showed through the thin metal.
Correk stretched out his arms at the books leaping off the invisible shelves. “Reflectus Moranus,” he sang, his fingers moving swiftly.
The shelves appeared, a row at a time, stretching back for over a mile where they ended at a large vault with ‘Nevermore’ etched on its face.
“Hoomanna protector,” he sang again and a shimmer appeared in front of the shelves. The books that were flying at the queen’s head, instead hit the shimmer and dropped to the floor just behind it.
Small, bald heads appeared, peering around the books.
They were the gnomes who were appointed thousands of years ago to be the librarians of the Light Elves library. They popped out of every corner, peeking to see if it was safe to come out again. They were no more than a couple of feet high, each wearing a small suit an
d a black bowler hat they kept pulled down to their ears. Their faces were set in a perpetual scowl over large, bent noses. Their oversized feet were bare.
The suits were the idea of an elderly Light Elf who lived over a millennia ago who had spent some time on Earth at the turn of the last century. She was always delighted with the simplicity of the humans back then.
A small red flower was affixed to the band of each hat. At that moment, all the flowers on the hats were hissing and folding their petals back to reveal sharp teeth, upset over the flying books, and worse, their destruction. The flowers were the gnomes’ early warning system.
The gnomes were believed to be older than the Great Treaty, from the last Gold Age, well over thirteen thousand years ago and were prized for their ability to keep secrets, no matter how long, no matter who was asking. The library was conjured to their exact specifications and the vault at the back contained all the mysteries and secrets and history of every kind of creature in Oriceran. Tucked in among the forbidden books were rumored to be relics and artifacts from ancient times and a forgotten tribe that originated on Earth, the Atlanteans, who had died out around the time of the Great Treaty. It was rumored that within the vault was another, smaller vault that contained the darkest magic of all. All of the objects inside were too powerful to be let loose. It was forbidden for anyone but the gnomes to venture back there.
Even the prophets were forbidden entrance and they had tried over the centuries, many times. The prophets were feared because of their knowledge, as much as they were revered by everything that flew or walked or crawled on the land or swam the seas, except for the gnomes.
The queen’s screams grew even harsher, bouncing off the shimmering wall Correk had conjured, echoing in the room and out into the hall.
An invisible piece of masonry tore away from the outside of the castle, crashing into the grounds. Correk ran to the window to see if any of the children playing below were hurt. Someone was helping a tall elven teenager whose arm appeared broken.
“A simple fix,” said Correk quietly, watching them lead him away to the nurse.
Queen Saria screamed again, shaking the room, causing dust to rain down.
“Saria,” the king said, taking both of her hands firmly in his. She tried to twist away but he refused to let go. “Enough,” he said softly. “I won’t let you give in to this despair.”
“Despair,” she said, her lip curling in disgust. “This isn’t despair, it’s anger in my very soul. I want revenge! I want to crush his bones with my bare hands. I want to see the light in his eyes go out.”
The king hesitated, unsure what to say.
“Then you shall have it, my queen,” said Correk. “As payment for the hundreds of years you will live without your son. Will that ease your pain, your highness?” he asked.
The king let go of his wife’s hands and drew back.
“You always were the clever one, Correk,” said the queen. “I know that if I said yes, you would even bring me this human, this Bill Somers and break every law in Oriceran to do it. No, it will not, except for the moments I can hear each bone break. Perhaps that will be enough,” she said squeezing her hands together as if she could already hear the snapping.
A tear slid down her cheek and sought out the pool of liquid still on the floor, adding to it. The symbols on her cheeks, neck and arms began to fade and the fire in her eyes cooled to their normal luminescent green.
“I want my son back,” she said, looking into the king’s eyes. “Even if for just a moment.”
“In all the world, this is one thing I cannot do. I’m so sorry. I have failed you.”
“There is one place,” said Correk.
“No!” the king cut him off. “No one knows how to find it even if you look for it, and no one has ever come back.”
“The world in between,” the queen breathed, rising to her feet. “All things are possible. Isn’t that what you’re always saying? All things are possible!”
“Not this. Not to the place where souls are caught between Oriceran and Earth. Not without the gnomes’ help and they will never give it. You know the stories. During the wars with Rhazdon, my own father begged them to let him speak to his father. He tried every kind of bribe, every kind of trick. He rightfully pointed out that one conversation could shorten the uprising.”
“But they refused,” said the queen. She looked over her shoulder at the gnomes, still behind the shimmering wall, restoring order to the library shelves, darting about, their bowlers on straight and the flowers back to their more beautiful, and less dangerous resting state.
“We don’t even know if our son is there. He may have passed on,” said the king, giving Correk a menacing look.
“No, he’s there. I can feel it,” said Queen Saria. “The look on his face when he died. He was so surprised and confused. I know he’s there.”
“Entire races have tried to find the world in between, combining their powers and some have died trying, or worse,” he argued. “Do not go down this road.”
“You mean trapped. Some are trapped in the world in between and they’re still alive. Never aging, seeing everything, mixing with the dead. That’s what you mean.”
The king’s face clouded and he chose his words carefully.
“You know what happened the last time someone tried.”
“But if I could just talk to him. One last time,” the queen pleaded.
“No! My only hope is, if he is trapped there we never know.” The king was aghast. “To be nowhere, trapped forever and worse yet, watching others enjoying life but unable to show yourself. The worst kind of prison.”
“He wouldn’t be alone,” said the queen, in a hushed tone, refusing to look at the king.
“You would dare to bring that up? You would carve out a piece of that pain?” he shouted. “No one mentions my father. He is lost to us!” He stormed out of the room, slamming doors no one could see.
The room was silent for a moment. The queen held out her hand, a ball of fire blossomed in her palm. She sang, “Immortus,” into it and the shiny, metallic drops of water on the floor bubbled and streamed to her hand. They passed through the flame, the objects she had destroyed emerging restored and finding their places. Her tears fell once again to the floor, this time sliding away on their own.
“Even these things I can bring back from nothing,” she said sadly. “So simple. A child’s trick, really. You can release the spell. I’m done yelling to the heavens.”
“Hoomanna erasa,” Correk intoned. His eyes glowed and the fiery symbols necessary to complete the spell flowed up his arms and back again like a breaking wave.
The shimmering wall broke into crystal flakes that rained down on the floor. Several of the flowers on nearby bowlers hissed at the queen, baring their teeth. The queen hissed back, curling her lip. The seedlings atop her crown reappeared, but as a pale blue.
“You’re planning something,” said Correk.
“No, no more than we’re already doing. I swear it on my life,” she said with a cold, icy tone that made Correk shiver despite the warmth of the room.
“Then what has changed?”
“An opportunity is coming, whether my dear husband likes it or not. The portals are starting to open. There will be a way to more easily cross over to the world in between and I will find it. The veil between the two worlds will grow thinner. I know the king sees no hope for anyone trapped in there, living or dead. But I have seen strange things in my lifetime. Undiscovered creatures from the bottom of the sea, and great feats performed that older, wiser elves said were impossible. This world of ours still holds a few secrets,” she said, opening her hand to reveal a blood red beetle.
Correk shivered again. The beetle beat its wings and took its place on the queen’s crown.
“Bring me the rock digger,” she said, as she swept out of the room.
Chapter Eleven
Willen
A gnome from the nearby bookshelves waddled to Correk faster t
han his short, stout legs should have been able to carry him. He was using an olden magic that gnomes kept for themselves.
“Take this,” the gnome said in a baritone voice that managed to sound like he was holding his nose. “You’re going to need it.” The flower on his bowler puckered its petals and gave a low whistle.
“Doesn’t think you can do it,” he grimaced. “You’re going to try anyway. This may help you stay alive.”
It was a small book with a dusty green cover and pages with gold leaf edges. How to Pass for Human by Sydria Ganfried. Correk recognized the name. She was an elderly teacher when he was in school hundreds of years ago. One of the last remaining elves that remembered the last Great Year, the last Gold Age.
Correk flipped it open and as he did the words appeared. A familiar sweeping cursive that was written by Sydria, herself, and then magically reprinted. The words First Edition sparkled on the page.
He turned the page and the words rolled across the first page of chapter one. It was an old elven spell that protected the books from being stolen.
Unless they were properly checked out by a gnome and a record kept, the pages remained blank. Once the niceties were handled, the words and images would appear, but only on the page someone was reading.
“Be sure to bring it back on time,” said the gnome, tapping the book with a stubby finger.
“Or it’ll come flying back on its own,” said Correk, finishing the thought.
“And we’ll revoke your privileges for a year!” the gnome added, pointing for emphasis. The flower on his hat gathered its petals and did a raspberry, sticking out a pale green tongue.
“I remember.”
“You were a troublemaker back in your day. We remember you still!” he warned, as he waddled back toward the shelves. “Two weeks,” he shouted over his shoulder. The flower settled back into place as the gnome magically zipped down an aisle, covering almost the entire mile before turning left.
“They never forget a damn thing,” said Correk, watching him go. “Why humans worship them with little statues outside of their homes I will never understand.”