by Anna Tan
“Lisse?” Erurainon interrupted. “Erulisse? Father, what are you getting at?” Darrick’s captor alternated his perplexed gaze between his father and the intruder.
“Is she still alive?”
“I don’t understand—”
The Elven King gripped Darrick’s chin. “Tell me, Adanion, is your mother still alive?”
“No. She was killed in a raid when I was a youth.” There was a slight catch in his voice when he continued. “How did you know my nickname?”
“Is that what she called you?”
“Darrick Adanion. That was what she called me. Only she! I have not heard it in over twenty years. How did you know it?”
“Explain, Father!” Erurainon cried.
The King held out a hand. “Not here, Rainon. Bring him to my chambers.”
Chapter 8: The Closing of the Gates
1910
The Elven King sat on his ornate throne, his face in his hands. He did not want to make this decision, knowing as he did his daughter’s heart. Knowing as he did the secret she kept, even from her mother. He did not want to make this decision but he had to for the sake of his people, even if it would cost his family the most.
“This murder is the last straw,” Idhrenniel now stood in front of him, arms folded. “You have to make a decision, Arbellason.”
He lifted his head slightly and said, “We have coexisted—”
The Elven Queen made an impatient noise. “The Fairy Queen has already sealed her portals. Men hunt the fairy creatures for medicine. Some of them hunt for sport. There is too much blood on their hands. It has to be done.”
“Is there no other way?”
“Murder demands a life for a life, husband. I do not think you would wish to go down that path.”
“No. No. We must not. There will be no end of war. And whilst we would win, it would come at too great a cost.” He shook his head. “So we too will close off our gates to the humans. James will not be happy.”
“I know he is your friend, but the security of our kingdom—”
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I know, I know. I was hoping that I would not have to make this call in his lifetime.” He sighed, drumming his fingers on the hand rests of the throne.
“Long have you been my advisor, Idhren. You have yet to prove wrong.” The Elven King stood, shoulders slumped. “I presume you have already completed the proposed covenant?”
The tall woman handed him the scroll she had been holding.
He unrolled it. “Just one page?”
“The more rules you impose on the humans, the higher the propensity they have to reject it.”
He read it through slowly twice, nodding every few seconds. With a final sigh, he signed it and sent a messenger to the village to set up a meeting with the council.
From the moment the Elven King handed them the covenant with a few terse words, the village council had bickered. Only James sat silent amongst the seven red-faced men, his eyes fixed upon the pair of elves that sat regally at the opposite end of the table.
“It is not fair to pin this on us!” James did not know who said it, nor did he care.
“This is just an excuse to cut us off from the best of the land,” another said, thumping his fist on the table.
“You cannot deprive us of our rights to the forest. The fault lies with one or two blood-thirsty men, not all of us—” the councilman stopped at James’ glare.
“I do not care whose fault it is! The fact remains that I need to safeguard the wellbeing of my people and that I will do, even if it means I slay every single one of you.” King Arbellason closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I do not want it to come to that, James. You have always been a friend.”
“Friends don’t talk about slaughtering one another,” the village head replied.
“Consider then who drew first blood,” Idhrenniel said softly.
Silence fell in the room for the first time since the two elves entered.
“It was a regrettable accident.” James lips settled into a thin, grim line.
Idhrenniel narrowed her eyes. “Accidents do not happen with that kind of passion.”
“Passion? A single arrow is a mistake, not a crime of passion.”
“Fifteen stab wounds and a missing heart is hardly a mistake.”
“Ah.” Grief lined the village head’s face. “Who was it?”
The Elven King told him. “Did you not know?”
James shook his head slowly. “No. I thought you spoke still of the archery incident last month.”
“That was settled between us, James.”
“And you are sure it was one of us?”
Arbellason looked at his wife. “No one saw who did it,” she said, “but the scene was filled with the scent of man and human footprints. A hunting knife was left at the scene. A human hunting knife.”
“We do not press you for justice, James. We do not need retribution.” Arbellason stood. “What we need is assurances and safeguards.”
“I am sorry. I am truly sorry,” James said. He looked at the covenant in his hands and reached for the quill and ink. “We will sign it. But I will miss you, old friend.”
“As will I.”
King Arbellason embraced his human friend one last time.
Later that evening, after the covenant had been announced, Erulisse stormed into her father’s rooms, where he was sitting at his table, writing.
“I knew you would come,” Arbellason said, not looking up.
“Father, you can’t do this.”
“It has to be done, Lisse. We have lost too many of our kin. We cannot afford to lose anymore.”
She stood, twisting her fingers in front of her. “What will I do then? Would you chase me away forever?”
King Arbellason raised his eyebrows and turned to her. “Why would you need to leave? All it means is that your research has to come to an end.”
“You make me choose between my people and my love.”
“I knew nothing good would come of you studying them.”
“Father, I love him.”
“I know, Lisse. But it cannot be. You will forget him after a time. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do this, but I had to. For the good of the people. I’m sure you understand.”
Erulisse looked down at the ring on her finger. “No, you don’t understand. Adam proposed today. I said yes.”
Arbellason rose swiftly to his feet. “No! No. I will not allow it.”
“You have no say.”
He strode quickly towards her, laying a hand on her shuddering shoulder. “Lisse, he will die and you will not.”
“Then I will die with him.”
“Why must you give up your immortality for his brief life? Forget about him. In a short span of time, he will be no more. You will find love amongst us. A love that will last the ages.”
“It has been done before. They still tell of Arwen and Aragorn, of Beren and Luthien, of Idril and Tuor. Why cannot there be a tale of Erulisse and Adam?”
“If your heart is set on this—”
“It is, Father.”
He embraced her, swallowing her thin frame in his thick, protective arms. “We will be guarding our borders jealously, Lisse. Men are no longer welcome here. There will be no choice for your children, not as Elrond and Elros were given. They will be sons of men. I will never see my grandchildren.”
She pulled away from his embrace and stared at him with cold eyes. “I understand.” She walked away, not looking back.
Arbellason wept.
Chapter 9: The Rejection
1954
“Now you know the truth of it,” King Arbellason said, averting his eyes from his son who was pacing back and forth in agitation. He looked instead at Darrick. “I suppose my words did not prove true. I have seen my grandson tonight, though I wish it were under better circumstances. Ah well, I have never been a prophet. That was Idhren’s job.”
A flash of pain crossed his fa
ce before he added, “Your late grandmother.”
“Are you—are you sure...” Unsure how to address the King, Darrick let his sentence trail, finally tagging on a belated “Sire?”
The King smiled. “About what?” He traced Darrick’s profile with his finger. “Exactly like hers. Besides, I can sense you.”
“Sense?”
“One of the lesser-known secrets of the elvish community.” He lifted a finger to his lips. “I can sense the life force all my subjects, and apparently now you too. Though for you—” he paused in thought, a curious look on his face. “I only started sensing you when I recognised you. I wonder why that is. Interesting. Lisse would have loved to study that.”
Darrick wanted to ask what he meant, but was side-tracked by another thought. “My late grandmother? I thought elves don’t die.”
Arbellason sighed. “We don’t normally do. Unless, like Lisse, you tie yourself to the life of a mortal. But Idhren… Idhren died of a broken heart. I didn’t realise that Lisse was her everything. I should have known. Well, I probably did. And now—” He gestured at Erurainon who was striding towards them.
Darrick turned to look.
“You never told me, Father,” Erurainon growled. “You never told any of us! You allowed Mother to pine away thinking that Lisse had been captured and murdered and you didn’t say a word.”
“How could I? It was not my secret to keep.”
“What difference would it have made if you had told us? If you had at least told Mother?”
“I thought it best... it was for the best—for all of us—to have a clean break. Lisse, so that she could start her new life with Adam. And for us too, so that we could grieve together over losing her once and not have to grieve again when she died as all humans are wont to do. Who would it hurt but me? What you did not know would not continue to haunt you.”
“I still search for her every night, hoping that she has found her way home. I thought her lost. Wandering. Why did you let me hold on to that hope?”
“I told you she was gone. I told you to stop searching. You refused to listen. You disobeyed my orders.” The King sighed. The two elves sat silently in their shared grief.
Arbellason’s gaze drifted over to his grandson again. “Oh, how you look like her when you do that,” he said a tinge of tenderness in his voice.
“When I do what?” Darrick asked.
“Erulisse used to twist her fingers around in that same manner when she was worried.”
“Oh.”
“Are you worried?”
“My daughter...” Darrick trailed off. Erurainon spoke a few hushed words into his father’s ear.
“Ah.” The King’s face became grim again. “I can do nothing about that.”
He stood, beckoning for Darrick to stand as well. “We signed the covenant to protect our dwindling folk from the world of men. Less than fifty years on, they have forgotten. The lives of men are short and their memories are shorter still. You do understand that you have broken the covenant?”
“Now I do. But the people of the village—”
“We will rectify that in our own time.”
They stood staring at each other wordlessly. The Elven King’s face was hard, as if all the compassion and grief that Darrick had seen in the past few minutes had drained out of him as he rose to his feet.
“What will you do with me now?” Darrick asked.
“Do with you? Nothing. I can’t do anything to you. Go home, Darrick Adanion, and never come back. You have no place here.”
Chapter 10: The Mother’s Fear
1954
It was barely light out. Ivy Hays rolled on to her side and wondered if she could stay in bed today. She could feel the fatigue in her body showing up as aches and pains deep in her muscles and bones; yesterday’s all-day meeting was taking its usual toll. Darrick had apparently already gotten up so she pushed herself to get out of bed as well. There were too many things to be done and if she didn’t get started, she never would. That was one thing about the monthly women’s meeting: it left her so exhausted that she would fall ill the next day even whilst loading her with so many things to think about and do, that she couldn’t afford to be ill. And yet, there was no other way to ensure that the council didn’t ruin the village. Why they couldn’t just boot out the old council and replace them with the women’s meeting she would never understand. It wasn’t as if they weren’t already running the place.
Stupid human thinking, as if maleness was an inherent qualification. She shrugged off the thought. She was in the midst of making the bed when she realised that Darrick’s side of the bed hadn’t been slept in at all. She couldn’t remember if he had come in last night.
Wasn’t he supposed to be home with the girls? She vaguely remembered seeing him pacing anxiously by the front door when she had stumbled in, drenched by the heavy downpour. He’d said something, but she couldn’t remember what. Then she’d gone to shower and had gone directly to bed, not even checking on the girls to say goodnight. Had he mentioned something about missing someone? Something missing? She shook her head and tried to clear her thoughts, but couldn’t get back any clear recollection of what Darrick had said. She had just been too bone-weary.
Shivering, she relit the fire in the living room. Most of her neighbours had converted to the newer electric systems, but she had adamantly refused. To pacify Darrick, she had agreed that he could install a gas stove in the kitchen. He smiled as he called her archaic. It wasn’t that she was against modernity and advancement, where everything seemed to be so easily available. It wasn’t the cost either, because she was fairly sure that they would have been able to afford it. It was just that she preferred things to be the way they were—close to nature—even if fire required logs, and logs required that some trees died. It was a minimal loss that she could live with, just as she had for many years. Besides, it was entirely possible to talk the trees into throwing off dead branches for their firewood—and she often had. She didn’t know how they extracted gas and if you could talk whatever provided it (rocks, she heard) into giving it up without pain, just as she didn’t know what this new advancement would bring. Knowing humans, it would likely turn out bad in the long run.
She peered out of the window as she mixed her morning brew, an eclectic mix of herbs that was designed to strengthen her body, hoping to see him outside. Nothing stirred in her line of vision. The thick scent of flowers enveloped her as she carried her steaming mug back into the living room. Mary walked in just as Ivy settled into the sofa by the fire.
“Good morning, dear. Slept well?”
Mary nodded, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes as she curled up on the sofa beside her mother. Ivy smiled as she smoothed down her daughter’s tussled hair.
“What time did Father and Jane go out?” Mary asked with a yawn.
“I haven’t seen your father since I came home yesterday.”
“Oh. Didn’t he come back from...” she trailed off as she saw the worried look in her mother’s eyes.
“From? From where? Where did he go? I thought he stayed at home with you and your sister?”
“Yes he did, but... Well, he was worried because you’d come back and gone to bed but Jane hadn’t come home yet so he went out to look for her.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?” she said sharply, her brow contracting into a frown.
“He tried but you weren’t listening. And you looked so ill and he didn’t want you to get sicker if he told you and you went out in the rain again. Anyway, you went to bed. He didn’t want to wake you.”
“I’m not that weak,” Ivy said with a grimace. Sometimes having a careful husband had its downside. “So you haven’t seen Jane this morning either?”
“No.”
“Then why did you think they’d come home and gone out?”
“Because Euthalia said—” she stopped with a gasp.
“Mary...”
“Don’t scold, Mother, please.”
“You follo
wed him, didn’t you?”
“Mother, please don’t get angry. You’ll get sick.”
“Just tell me what happened.” Ivy’s face was pale, her hands trembling as she held her mug.
Warily, Mary told her mother what had happened the night before, carefully trying to edit out Charon’s involvement. When Ivy pressed her, she finally said, “Well, it was a Centaur that I met, but he made me promise not to tell.”
Ivy nodded in return. “That’s fine. I don’t need to know who it is.” Though I probably could guess. Euthalia, though, was a name she was not quite familiar with.
“What does this Euthalia look like?” Ivy asked, her dark eyes like black obsidian.
“She was really beautiful, with green eyes and flowing pale hair,” Mary smiled as she recalled the dryad. “At first, I thought she was sick. She turned so pale that she looked almost green. Like what you look like sometimes when you haven’t had your tea.”
That describes just about half the dryads in the Fairy Kingdom. Ivy nodded anyway, realizing that Mary probably had no understanding of the differences between dryads. “And she said Jane was safe? Are you sure about that?”
Mary nodded in return, relieved that Ivy looked thoughtful, rather than angry. Sometimes when Ivy was in a rage, she would have fainting spells. Mary didn’t know what she would do if her mother fainted now without her father around.
“Can you remember her exact words?”
Mary was about to shake her head when she suddenly remembered. “Oh! She said ‘She’s safe for now’. And then something about getting me home before Father had another fright. So I thought that meant Father had found her and was on the way home. Mother, she said she knew Father.”
“Hmmm? Oh, maybe she does. I don’t know.” She seemed to come to a decision. “Stay here, Mary. I need to speak to the council.”