The Elves of Cintra

by Terry Brooks

  “Logan Tom,” she says, speaking his name.

  I am here, he wishes to answer, but his throat tightens and he cannot give voice to the words.

  He crosses through grasses grown long and shaggy, breathing in the cool night air and the smell of damp bark and dried leaves. A few of the Ghosts snore, Bear more loudly than the others, wrapped in their blankets and hunched close together for warmth. He glances back to where the boy who killed Squirrel hunkers down inside the Lightning, awake now, though still chained and shackled. The boy does not look in his direction. It doesn’t matter, of course. Even if he turned, he would not see her. She is never seen unless she wishes it. This night, he believes, she does not.

  He crosses the grasses in the direction of her voice, not yet seeing her, but knowing she is there. His staff reclines against the seat inside the Lightning, next to where he sleeps. He never goes anywhere without it, but on this night he has given it no thought; her voice is that compelling. Remembering his oath to keep it with him always, he feels a twinge of regret at his failing. But there is nothing to fear. When she calls to him, he knows he will be safe in coming.

  “I am here,” she says.

  She is standing right in front of him, an ephemeral presence, an exquisite radiance. Her gown flows from her like a thin sheet of water down a bridal falls, gathering in a pool that stirs restlessly beneath her feet, even though she herself does not move. She hovers in the air, slightly elevated from the grasses through which she comes, ghostly white save for the dark pools of her eyes. The long sweep of her hair falls beyond shoulder length and ripples like silk tossed in the wind.

  It is the first time she has appeared to him since sending him to Hopewell and his meeting with Two Bears. As always, he is stunned by the simple fact of her, and without thinking he drops to his knees.

  “Brave Knight,” she whispers, “you have done well.”

  He cannot imagine why she thinks so given the mess he has made of things. It seems to him he has failed on every front. But her praise gives him fresh hope that somehow he has misjudged the success of his efforts.

  Again he tries to speak, and this time he manages to do so, although his words are weak and halting. “If you think so—”

  “Why would you doubt me, Logan Tom?” she asks, cutting short the rest of his protestation. “I would not say it if it were not so. You have done well at the task you were given. You have found the child of wild magic, you have given him the bones of his mother, and you have helped him discover the truth about himself.”

  Her voice soothes his doubts and eases his discomfort. It makes him want to believe.

  “The boy?” he whispers through the sudden dryness in his throat. “Is he safe?”

  She moves slightly to one side, gliding on the air as if sliding on ice. The city glows faintly behind her, its fires still burning in the night. He can see bits and pieces of their hazy light through the pale shimmer of her body, as if she were as transparent as clear water.

  “He rests in the arms of another servant of the Word, Logan. He gathers his strength for the journey ahead. When he wakes, he will come north to find you and the rest of those he will lead. You must go to meet him.”

  “Meet him where?” he asks, confused.

  “On the banks of the Columbia. He will come there to begin his journey. He will have many with him. All will need your protection. You must give it, brave Knight, no matter the cost to yourself.”

  No matter the cost. He supposes he has always known what that means, what it might eventually require. “I will do my best.”

  “Another Knight of the Word comes to stand with you. She will bring the Elves. They will bring the magic of their Faerie past, which shall be the magic of humankind’s future.”

  Elves? He doesn’t think he has heard her right. He can’t have heard her right. There are no such things as Elves. She has said something else and he has misunderstood.

  He starts to ask for an explanation, but her hand lifts and stays his voice. “Be careful how you go, Logan,” she tells him then, her voice soft and cautious, as if someone might hear. “There are dangers waiting for you. The demons are coming. They hunt the boy. They will destroy him if they can, even without understanding the nature of the danger he poses to them. It is enough that they fear him for reasons they cannot put a voice to. He is a gypsy morph who has embraced the Word, and that is enough to convince them that he must die. You must prevent that.”

  Her hand lowers slightly as she pauses. “You must not fail me in this. You must not fail the Word. You must do what is needed to keep the boy safe and to help him reach his destination. Beware. There are known dangers, but unknown dangers will threaten you more. Some reside in the outside world; some reside in your own heart. Watch carefully for these. Keep them at bay.”

  She begins to fade, to disappear back into the night. He tries to stay her going, calling out to her. But his voice once again has no sound. He tries then to hold her back by sheer force of will, but it is like trying to hold back mist with your hands. Nothing he does can touch her. She watches him without expression, without any hint that she understands his need. Perhaps she doesn’t, or perhaps it simply doesn’t matter. He has been given a task; he is expected to fulfill it.

  “I will come to you another time, brave Knight,” she promises. “You may rest now. You will be safe this night and until you wake.”

  Then she is gone and he is alone. He has a moment of recognition, realizing that it is a dream and he has not left the AV and his bed and that her presence and her words come from inside his own head.

  Then he sleeps.

  SIX

  “W HAT DO YOU THINK you are doing?” the voice repeated.

  In the deep sub-basement of the Belloruus home, surrounded by the histories of the Elves amid layers of gloom and shadows, the disembodied voice was a wraith without a presence. Neither Kirisin nor Erisha could see anything of the speaker, and neither could decide what to say or do in response to the question.

  “Cat got your tongue?” the speaker chided.

  “Culph!” Erisha said finally, just as Kirisin had decided they might really be in danger. “You don’t have to scare us like that!”

  The elderly keeper of the histories moved into the edge of the light that sat on the plank flooring between the Elven girl and boy, hands on his skinny hips, body bent like the trunk of a gnarled old tree. He was short and withered looking, an elder of indeterminate age. His wrinkled face was shaded by what appeared to be a halfhearted effort at growing a beard and was dominated by a pair of huge ears.

  “You haven’t permission to be down here, missy,” he declared, extending a bony finger at the girl. “King’s daughter or not. And you,” he added, moving the finger over to Kirisin, “don’t even have permission to be inside this house!”

  “I invited him!” Erisha snapped back, no longer afraid, starting to bristle at being spoken to like this by anyone who wasn’t family.

  “Did you?” Culph gave her a sharp look. “Asked him over to do a little late-night reading, is that it?”

  Even in the pale wash of the torch’s poor light, Kirisin could see that Erisha was losing her temper. “I asked for her help,” he said quickly, drawing the other’s attention. “I wanted to see what the histories had to say about the Ellcrys.”

  The old man crouched down next to them, his sharp eyes flitting from face to face. “Oh, is it more of that business about the tree asking the Chosen to use the Loden Elfstone to keep it safe?” He nodded soberly, and Kirisin, who had been trying not to reveal too much, was reminded that it was pointless to be circumspect with Culph since the King had already set him to work on researching the matter. “I know all about it, you know,” the old man declared.

  Kirisin decided to take a chance. “Well, the King doesn’t believe that the Ellcrys spoke to me. But Erisha does because the tree spoke to her, as well. So we decided to see what we could find out.”

  “Not accepting that what I did was
sufficient, is that it?” Culph said almost teasingly. “What could an old man like me know about such things, you might have asked yourselves. Probably couldn’t even find the right book, you might have said.”

  “That is not what we thought,” Erisha snapped, jumping back into the conversation. “We just wanted to see for ourselves.” She hesitated. “The truth is, we didn’t know what you might have found. My father doesn’t want me involved in this business for reasons he won’t reveal. He was very insistent that I not do what the tree asked of me. He was adamant. So I can’t be certain that what he told me is the truth. Or even that he told me everything he knows. Maybe there’s more.” She gave him a hard look. “Is there?”

  Culph shrugged. “How would I know? I don’t know what he told you. I do know what I told him. But why should I tell you? Why shouldn’t I just wake your father and turn you over to him. That way it isn’t my problem anymore.”

  Erisha glared. “You’d better not.”

  Culph grinned mirthlessly. “Or I might be very sorry I did, is that it? What I might be sorry about is if I don’t and get found out. Your father is hardly the forgiving kind these days.”

  “What about the Ellcrys?” Kirisin pressed. “If we don’t try to help her, she’ll simply ask one of the other Chosen. She’s already made it clear that she feels threatened. Don’t you think we have an obligation to do something?”

  The sharp old eyes fixed on him. “What I think is that you might be hallucinating about all this, the both of you. How do you know for certain what you’ve heard? Move the Ellcrys by using an Elfstone that no one has seen or heard of in centuries? Move our most precious talisman because the end of the world is coming? Am I supposed to accept your word on this without stopping to question it?”

  Kirisin hesitated. The old man had a point. “It means something that both Erisha and I heard the Ellcrys say the same thing at separate times. The humans have been working at the destruction of the world for years; that isn’t something we didn’t already know. There are signs of wilt and decay all through the Cintra. If you’ve been outside this building, you must have seen them. To just dismiss everything as the King has done is both dangerous and wrong. As Chosen, we have an obligation to find out the truth. We came here tonight to try to do that.”

  “By reading the histories to see if there is any mention of the Loden or the blue Elfstones, yes, I understand all that.” Culph seemed unpersuaded. “But even if you were to find these artifacts, what would you do then? Would you actually try to move the tree?”

  Kirisin took a deep breath. “I don’t know. At least we would have a choice in the matter.”

  “Maybe my father will have changed his mind by then,” Erisha said. “Maybe other things will have changed, too.”

  “Like the end of the world coming, that sort of thing.” Culph sniffed and worked at rubbing away the stubble of his failed beard with one gnarled hand. “Well, you both seem pretty certain about this.”

  “We wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Erisha said.

  “No, probably not, considering how your father would react if he found out what you were doing. He won’t even discuss the subject with me, even though he might learn something if he did.” The wizened face tightened. “Does he seem different to you these days? Less reasonable, less patient with matters in general?”

  Erisha nodded, looking unhappy.

  “Well, it isn’t just me, then.” Culph sighed. “I suppose turning you over to him wouldn’t accomplish much. Even if you don’t belong down here and are being disobedient.” He thought for a moment, studying them. “Have you found anything yet?”

  Erisha shook her head. “Have you?” Kirisin asked at once.

  “Maybe.” The old man considered the matter. “Maybe you’d like to hear what it was.”

  Kirisin felt his heart jump. “We would. We would like that very much.”

  Culph rocked back on his heels. “Then I’ll tell you. But only if we all agree that anything said down here in this room goes no farther. Because if I tell you what I know and it gets back to the King, I am out of a job and maybe exiled, as well. I don’t care much for either result. I’ll be taking a chance on you if I tell you anything. So everything stays right here. Do we have a bargain?”

  Kirisin glanced at Erisha. She nodded doubtfully. “We have a bargain.”

  They settled themselves more comfortably on the plank flooring, leaning into the light and closer to each other, conspirators against the night. Kirisin could hardly contain his eagerness; this was the sort of help they desperately needed and could hardly have expected to find. He was a little surprised that Culph was willing to share what he knew with them, but maybe the old man’s sense of responsibility for the Ellcrys was stronger than his sense of loyalty to the King.

  “We begin at the beginning,” Culph declared, clasping his hands in front of him as a teacher might to command the attention of his students. “The Elfstones are an old magic, going all the way back to the time of Faerie. They were mined by Trolls and given to Elves to be made over into talismans. Because it was the Elves who infused them with their magic, only the Elves could use them. They were of different colors and designed to do different things. They were formed and shaped in sets of three. The mix of minerals and magic made each set individual. It took years to make even a single set. There is no surviving record of exactly what it was they could do, at least not in the pages of the histories we have. Except for one kind. The blue Elfstones were seeking-Stones and could be used to find what was hidden from or lost to the seeker.”

  “The ones the Ellcrys said must be used to find the Loden,” Erisha interjected.

  Culph gave her a look suggesting that interruptions and unsolicited comments were not welcome. “All the Elfstones had defensive capabilities. They were infused with power to protect the user. Their power was dependent on the individual, a reflection of the combined strengths of heart, mind, and body. The Stones were the most powerful of the Elven magic, and all of them were lost when the world of Faerie disappeared.”

  He gave Erisha another look, cutting off what he knew she was about to say. “Let me tell it, missy.” He tightened his lips. “Again, except for the blue Elfstones. But they haven’t been seen in centuries, their whereabouts a mystery.”

  The way he said it told Kirisin at once that he knew something of that mystery, something that might lead them to the Stones. But he held his tongue, knowing it was better to let the old man tell them what he knew in his own way.

  “We know even less about the Loden Elfstone. The Loden was a single Stone designed for a particular purpose, one that was very special. Of all the Elfstones, only the Loden and the Black Elfstone were regarded as more important than the others. But we don’t know why. Maybe, as the Ellcrys has told you, the Loden is meant to act as her protector. Maybe it can form a shield for her as she forms a shield against the demons within the Forbidding. Whatever the case, we know almost nothing about it. There is no description of it in the histories and no explanation of how it is to be used. And no mention of where it might be found.”

  He paused again, regarding them in turn, a bright expectancy in his sharp old eyes. “But there is something.”

  He actually smiled then, and it was a frightening sight. Smiling did not seem to come naturally to Culph, and it must have cost him something to do so now. But at least he was showing some interest in their efforts, thought Kirisin.

  “Everything I just told you is contained in the histories, and I am certain you would have found it all by yourself.” The old man frowned. “It would have taken you more than one night, perhaps. It took me two days just to reread it all after the King asked me to look into the matter, and I had already read all the histories at least several times before!”

  He paused again. “The thing of it is, knowing all of it doesn’t help you at all. The histories are only part of our lore, only a small piece of our recorded knowledge. There are other sources, too. Books that are not a part of the
histories. Books that give us little-known information and unexpected insights. These books are also housed in this library, but they are not well read and not paid attention to. Most are rarely even opened.”

  He paused. “Some have never been opened by anyone living. Except for me.”

  “What did you find?” Erisha asked eagerly.

  “Not so fast, missy,” the old man snapped, patting the air in front of him with the palms of his hands. “Haven’t you learned anything about the value of patience?”

  But Erisha wasn’t the least bit interested in learning about the value of patience. Nor was Kirisin feeling particularly patient either, at this point. They were eager to hear what the old man knew that he hadn’t told them. And waiting for him to reveal it was torture. “So there was something in one of these books?” he pressed.

  Culph gave him another of those dreadful smiles. “Something, indeed. A very important reference to the blue Elfstones you seek. Let’s have a look.”

  He rose, disappeared into the gloom for a few minutes, and then returned with a slim, worn book bound in leather that was cracked and faded. “A diary,” he said. “One of any number kept by various scribes over the centuries. They are stored in bins at the very back of the room. This one is an unofficial recording of a royal family’s life and death, written thousands of years ago by a man who served as their personal assistant. I call it a diary because it is this man’s private recollections, not recorded for official use, but as a personal undertaking. I found it some time ago when I was reorganizing the library, but didn’t pay much attention to it. When the matter of the Elfstones was raised by your father, I remembered it. After quite a search, I unearthed what I am about to read to you.”

  He sat down between them and opened the book carefully, turning to the very last page. “It is written in an ancient language, an old dialect of Elfish, so my translation is a bit rough. But this is the gist of what it says:

  “I helped bury Pancea Rolt Cruer on this day, Queen to her people and mother of a family that has served the Elves long and well. With her passing, I resign my post and retire to the Hibbling Auer to live out the rest of my life. Then something, something, I can’t be sure. This entry shall be my last. She rests in the depths of Ashenell with the Stones sewn in her clothing, the decision her own, made years ago at the start of her reign. It was accepted thinking by then that the old magic had outlived its usefulness, that the time of Faerie was of the past and the time of Man was of the present and quite possibly the future. Magic gives way to science, and that path is different from our own. It was the Queen’s firm belief that use of magic now only places our people in danger. She would not be a part of that. But the decision was arrived at without consultation and in secret, and a record should be set out for those who come after. Something, something more. The world changes, and no one knows what the future holds. I leave it thus.”