The Foundling (The Hidden Realm)

by A. Giannetti

  Driven by a need to discover what he could of Elerian’s past, Balbus braved the dangers of the Abercius several times in order to search the area where he had first found Elerian, but he discovered nothing new. Over time, he became convinced that Elerian had come down out of the north, from the depths of Abercius, but he never dared to venture any farther into the forest, resigning himself, instead, to the idea that Elerian’s past might remain a mystery forever.

  Elerian was little concerned with his own history. Before long, it seemed to him that he had always lived with Balbus and that he had always been a Hesperian. With time, even his memories of his flight from the lupins faded so that it seemed more nightmare than remembrance. When Elerian grew old enough to wonder why he had no parents, Balbus told him that they had died when he was young and that he had been taken in by Balbus, his grandfather. Elerian accepted the story without question. As for Balbus, he felt guilty about deceiving Elerian, but he comforted himself with the thought that the story was, in substance, true except for the relationship between himself and Elerian.

  As he grew, Elerian remained short and sturdy with his skin burned a nut brown from constant exposure to the sun. Balbus sometimes forgot that he was not his real grandson, until Elerian abruptly reminded him of how different he was beneath his unremarkable exterior. His bright eyes gleamed constantly with thoughts of mischief, and more than once in his early years, he drove Balbus almost to the end of both his wits and patience, for Elerian loved to hide and possessed an uncanny ability for making himself disappear. He was so quiet in his movements, in the house, on the farm, or in the forest, that one moment he was at Balbus’s side and the next he was gone; hiding somewhere nearby and laughing silently to himself while Balbus panicked and rushed about with his heart pounding, calling for Elerian to come out. In the end, Elerian would appear suddenly, his face all innocence. Balbus would shake his head and mutter to himself, torn between relief and anger, but he never had the heart to say even a harsh word. Instead, he would hug the small rascal that had come into his life and think to himself, “He is only a poor orphan after all,” and all was forgiven until the next time.

  Even more terrifying for Balbus than Elerian’s penchant for disappearing was the boy’s fondness for climbing. Elerian was completely fearless of heights, and occasionally during their walks in the forest, he would quietly disappear only to reappear on a limb fifty feet above the ground, proudly calling for Balbus’s attention. Balbus would feel his heart thudding in his chest as Elerian ran lightly along the branch, ignoring the frantic calls for him to come down. Instead, Elerian would hang upside down by his heels from some small limb, laughing delightedly while Balbus ran in frantic circles beneath him, convinced the boy was about to fall at any moment.

  “Leave him home or put a rope on him,” said Tullius unsympathetically when Balbus poured out his troubles, but Balbus could never bring himself to do any such thing. Fortunately for his peace of mind, Elerian ceased to play tricks of this sort as he grew older and instead became an enjoyable companion, for he loved being in the forest as much as Balbus did. From the first, he displayed an unfailing sense of direction so that he never had any thought of becoming lost. Balbus came to depend on him as much as he did on his staff.

  Balbus gave up his long search for the elusive forest people. Instead, he was content to spend his time with Elerian. They spent a great deal of time in the forest, gathering mushrooms in the spring and honey during the summer. On hot days, Balbus often set aside his basket, preferring to sit and watch as Elerian swam in the deep forest pools or to sit side by side with him as they fished for the silver trout that lived in the clear waters of the streams. In the fall, they gathered sacks of glossy, russet chestnuts to roast over the fire during the winter months.

  For years, Balbus’s life with Elerian ran smooth as a placid meadow stream. Even the venetor appeared to have vanished. It was not seen again after the summer in which Balbus first found Elerian. Try as he might, however, Balbus could not banish occasional thoughts about the Goblins from his mind. Finally, when Elerian turned ten, he decided that it might be a good thing if he taught the boy how to defend himself, even though the chances of his enemies returning now seemed remote.

  Balbus had not done much fighting when he had served in the army long ago, for peace had prevailed for many years, but through long practice, he had become skilled in the use of a soldier’s weapons. Those skills were rusty now from long disuse, but he decided that he would teach Elerian as much as he could remember.

  After fashioning a pair of blunt wooden knives, Balbus took Elerian into the front yard where they could practice in the shade of the great chestnut trees that grew there. After Balbus showed Elerian a few simple moves of offense and defense, they began to spar. At once, Balbus was amazed at the boy’s quickness and the sureness of all his movements. There was none of the awkwardness of a young child about him, and Balbus was caught by surprise when Elerian, in the blink of an eye, smoothly passed his wooden knife to his left hand and slipped through his guard to tap him lightly on the chest over his heart. Elerian then laughed delightedly and danced about, stabbing at the air.

  Balbus looked nervously all around him to see if anyone had observed their mock duel, berating himself for his foolishness in training the boy out in the open. “If anyone had walked down the lane just now and seen us, the boy would have been the talk of the countryside tomorrow,” he thought to himself.

  Fortunately, there was no one about, for Balbus seldom had visitors to his isolated farm, but he decided to continue with the lessons in a less conspicuous place. He cleared out a space in the barn where he and Elerian could practice without being observed, and there, watched by an audience of amazed farm animals, he began to train Elerian for several hours each day.

  A long knife became Elerian’s favorite weapon, but at Balbus’s insistence, he became proficient with a sword and learned to use a shield both for protection and as a weapon. In turn, he also learned how to use a spear, quarterstaff, and ax. Balbus was an indifferent bowman, but he taught Elerian what he knew of that skill also, and Elerian soon surpassed his teacher with that weapon. He also learned to use a crossbow, which was one of Balbus’s favorite weapons. As he grew up, to hone his skills, Elerian spent countless hours throwing a knife, ax, or spear at a wooden target Balbus set up inside the barn.

  From their first practice, Balbus constantly reminded Elerian that he must keep his new skills a secret, but he would not explain why. The need for secrecy made Elerian feel uncomfortable, and he began to feel, for the first time, that Balbus was hiding something from him. Highly pleased with Elerian’s progress in weapons training, Balbus decided he would also teach Elerian the skills of unarmed combat. “You will not always have a weapon to hand,” he told Elerian.

  Because of his great strength and skill, Balbus had been a formidable wrestler in his youth, winning many matches against the champions of other troops when he was in the army. As he began to pass on his knowledge of wrestling to Elerian, Balbus was amazed at how strong the boy had grown. At age twelve, Elerian was almost a match for Balbus in strength, and he was far quicker. Only Balbus’s greater experience kept the contests between them even remotely even. “He will have at least twice the strength of a strong man when he is grown,” thought Balbus to himself after one session. “With such strength and his natural quickness, no enemy will be able to stand against him,” he thought with satisfaction.

  To pass the time in the evenings and to develop the boy’s mind, Balbus taught Elerian to read. He also began to give him lessons on the harp, for Balbus was a fair harper and had a deep, pleasing voice. “If he is ever restored to his family, he may have need of such skills when he is older,” thought Balbus to himself, remembering the boy’s rich clothing.

  Elerian learned to read easily enough, and his clever fingers soon learned the harp strings, but he could not sing a note. Remembering the voice the boy had possessed before his shape change added to the guilt Ba
lbus still felt over what Tullius had done to Elerian to save his life. Even after all these years, he could still remember how pleasing and wonderfully clear Elerian’s voice had been before Tullius changed him. “We took a great deal away from him to keep him safe,” he thought sadly to himself. “I hope in the end, it will be worth it.”

  As Elerian’s skills and abilities grew, they became a source of both pride and constant worry for Balbus. His frequent warnings to Elerian about concealing his new skills began to puzzle Elerian more and more.

  “Why should it matter if anyone knows how strong I am?” he asked Balbus. “The strong, swift boys are admired by everyone.”

  “I cannot explain now,” Balbus replied uncomfortably, “but it would mark you as different from the other boys your age. Your strength and quickness are so remarkable that it might cause talk. Something very bad could happen to both of us if such talk reached the wrong ears.”

  “Who would wish to harm us if they found out about me?” Elerian asked at once, for this was the first time Balbus had mentioned that they might be in danger. No matter how much he pleaded, however, Balbus would not say any more. He and Tullius had never come to any agreement on the subject of Elerian’s past, but for now, they both agreed that it was still too dangerous to say anything at all to Elerian, lest he give himself away somehow. In the face of Elerian’s questions, Balbus could only maintain a guilty silence that added to Elerian’s unease.

  “Did my parents commit some terrible crime?” he began to wonder to himself when he was alone. “Is that why I must remain hidden?” These thoughts began to disturb him a great deal, although he said nothing to Balbus. Elerian was not afraid for himself, but the thought that that a single misstep on his part might put Balbus in some sort of danger worried him. A dark cloud now seemed to hover over the easy, carefree life he had lived before. He became reserved and wary, for he felt that he must be continually on the alert, lest he make some misstep which might give him away to his mysterious enemies. His reserve gained him the reputation of being cold and aloof, which only added to his growing sense of isolation.

  During one of their hunts for honey, Elerian suddenly received a distraction from his worries. He had never questioned how Balbus found the bees’ nests they raided, but one day at the edge of a meadow, he briefly saw a golden film of light cover Balbus’s staff.

  “What is that light that covered your staff for a moment,” Elerian asked Balbus as they walked along.

  Balbus, of course, had not seen any light, for he lacked Elerian’s gift of seeing spells. “I did not see any light,” he said in a puzzled voice.

  “I saw it clearly,” insisted Elerian. “When you raised your staff, it was covered with a golden light for a moment.” Although the memory had faded over the years, Elerian suddenly remembered seeing the same light covering the buckets in Tullius’s house when he had played with them as a young child. “I saw the same light in Tullius’s house, years ago,” he said excitedly. As if a veil was lifted from his mind, Elerian suddenly remembered the magic light Tullius had lit on the night Julian’s children were captured by Goblins. “Is Tullius a mage, grandfather?” he asked abruptly.

  The question brought Balbus to a stop. “Now, what do I do?” thought Balbus to himself, torn between a need to protect Tullius and an unwillingness to tell an outright lie. “Yes Elerian,” he said after a moment, “Tullius is a mage. He placed a finding spell on my staff long ago, but you must not tell anyone about either of these things. Tullius wishes his powers to remain a secret. There are many people who are suspicious of mages.”

  “I will not tell anyone,” promised Elerian immediately. He lapsed into silence as they resumed walking. Balbus hoped the matter was closed, but the news that Tullius was a mage brought back other memories to Elerian. He suddenly remembered healing Carbo and chasing the Goblins under the guise of a woodcutter. “How could I have forgotten that I performed magic of my own?” he wondered, and a sudden desire to learn more about the magical arts took hold of him. “I will need to talk to Tullius,” thought Elerian to himself. “Now that I know he is a mage, he may be willing to teach me his craft.”

  THE LEOPARD

  Elerian did not have to wait long to inform Tullius about his desire to become a mage. Balbus had recently begun to allow him to travel to Tullius’s house several times a week at the mage’s request. “The boy needs to begin a proper education,” was how Tullius had phrased it to Balbus.

  The day after he discovered the hidden power of Balbus’s staff, Elerian bid Balbus goodbye after their noon meal and set out for Tullius’s house. Despite some initial doubts, Balbus allowed him to walk to Tullius’s by himself, for despite his young age, Elerian’s woodcraft was already exceptional, and he was unlikely to come to any harm in the forest during the daylight hours.

  Usually, Elerian took his time walking to Tullius’s house, for he was never in any great hurry to begin his lessons. Elerian liked Tullius, despite his brusque ways, but up to now, he had found his education to be a dull business. He and Tullius spent most of their time reading from the old scrolls and books that filled Tullius’s disorderly shelves, both to improve Elerian’s reading skills and to instruct him in the history of the Middle Realm. Most of the events talked about in the books had happened long ago and held little interest for Elerian. Even worse than the reading lessons were the essays Tullius made Elerian write about what he had learned. Then, as if the task of writing in the common tongue was not tedious enough, Tullius made Elerian translate his compositions into Hesperian, Corach, the Dwarf tongue, and an obscure language called Eirian that no one spoke anymore.

  Today, however, driven by excitement, Elerian ran most of the way to Tullius’s home, his light footfalls carrying him silently through the forest. When he arrived at Tullius’s clearing, he placed his left hand on the gate and cleared it in a single, supple leap. Running up to Tullius’s front door, he knocked vigorously on the weathered gray wood.

  “Will you teach me to be a mage?” he asked breathlessly when Tullius opened the door. “I know that you put a finding spell on Balbus’s staff.”

  Tullius frowned, wondering where Elerian had come by his information about Balbus’s staff. “Come inside,” he ordered with more than his usual brusqueness.

  Some of Elerian’s excitement leaked away. He could see that Tullius was upset and regretted blurting out his request. “I promised Balbus that I would keep your secret,” he said to placate the mage as he followed Tullius inside.

  “If Balbus told you about the staff, then it was most unwise of him,” Tullius said sharply as soon as the door was closed.

  “I guessed most of it,” said Elerian at once, for he did not want any of Tullius’s anger directed at Balbus.

  Some of the frown lifted from Tullius’s face. “I suppose you were bound to find out sooner or later,” he said after a moment. “As for your desire to be a mage, someday, when you are older, I may decide to train you, but until then you must be patient.” Disappointment swept over Elerian’s face at Tullius’s announcement, but he consoled himself with Tullius’s half promise.

  Tullius was immediately angry with himself for making even this vague promise to Elerian. “You softhearted fool,” he thought to himself scornfully. “You should not build up his expectations. He has not shown any evidence of mage powers since healing Carbo years ago. It would be kinder to tell him now that it is unlikely that he will ever become a mage,” he thought to himself, but he found that he could not bring himself to dash Elerian’s hopes entirely and remained silent.

  Tullius led the way over to his battered table where a thick, dusty book was already open for the day’s lesson. Elerian followed him in such a dispirited fashion that Tullius suddenly took pity on him and changed his plans for the afternoon.

  “Enough of reading,” he said briskly. “It is too fine a day to be inside. How would you like to go for a walk Elerian?”

  “I would like that very much,” said Elerian, cheering up at
once at the thought of leaving behind the dusty book on the table. Together, they left the house and walked out through the gate that led through the ring of rowan trees growing around Tullius’s clearing. Walking in a westerly direction, toward the border of the Abercius, they traveled at a leisurely pace, examining everything in their path. In four languages, Tullius began to teach Elerian the names of the trees they passed, but even this did not dim Elerian’s enjoyment at being outside. Only half listening to Tullius, for Balbus had already taught him a great deal about the forest, Elerian immersed himself in his surroundings, and the time passed quickly and pleasantly for him.

  Suddenly, Tullius stopped walking. “It is time to go back,” he said abruptly. “We are close to the edge of the Abercius.”

  Elerian’s curiosity was instantly aroused, for he had heard stories about the dangers of the old forest from Balbus. He thought at once of the Ondredon.

  “Do the Ondredon really exist?” asked Elerian of Tullius. “Balbus says they look like trees, but they can move about and perform magic.”

  “The Ondredon are quite real,” said Tullius as he turned around and began walking in the direction of his home. “There are many stories about them, but most are false or wild exaggerations. Very few people know that the Ondredon did not begin life as trees. In the beginning, they were men who became powerful mages. To escape death when they grew older, they changed themselves into trees, thinking to extend their lives, but over the long years, their memories of being human faded. That is a danger all shape changers face. The new form they assume constantly seeks to overwhelm the old form the shape changer was born with. Those who practice the art must be possessed of an iron will, but time will wear away even iron. The Ondredon think and act like trees now, but they still retain their mage powers. It is these powers that allow them to move about when they wish and which make them so dangerous.”