The Exile of Elindel (The Elwardian Chronicles Book 1)

by Carol Browne

  Godwin frowned and tried to stretch his mind around the concept of something larger than a settlement. “Kendra implied his spirit may still be working for the benefit of your race,” he said, knowing himself to be surpassed by the topic, but eager to show his interest.

  “Let us hope so, Godwin. We need all the help we can get.”

  ***

  They travelled for two more days, while the snow melted around them and the grey clouds fled before the strengthening sun. The leagues drifted by unrecorded in Elgiva’s mind. Even the spring unfolding around her couldn’t distract her from her gloomy thoughts, from the dread that dogged her footsteps.

  Soon, she spied a dark mass on the horizon. It could be none other than the Forest of Shades. It sprawled across the land like a monstrous animal, sleeping or lying in wait.

  As Elgiva and Godwin approached the outer marge of the forest, it almost reared up at them, as though frozen in the act of pouncing. In the late afternoon silence, Elgiva fancied she could hear the old trees chuckling softly to themselves, though it was only the breeze rustling in the dry branches. Still, she was uneasy. She hadn’t expected them to find the forest so soon, or to find it so grim and forbidding. Now it stood before them, not like an ordinary forest, teeming with natural life, but like a huge, quiet beast with a simmering mind, brooding in the shadows. She was overwhelmed by its size, by the density of the trees, the thickness of the canopy of leaves. Young saplings marched out from among their elders in straggling twos and threes. They looked like sentries, alert for any intruders, and an atmosphere of coiled hostility hung above them like a pall of smoke.

  She turned to Godwin, and it was obvious from his expression that he felt the same way.

  “Not the most welcoming of places,” he said.

  “I think we’ve heard too much about it, or perhaps too little. We’re afraid of the unknown, that’s all.” She tried to ignore the icy shiver that skittered up her spine.

  “I’m not so sure. I may be a thick-skinned wilthkin, but it doesn’t feel right to me, yet what I can see looks normal enough.” He turned to Elgiva and smiled. “Of course, I’ve been fooled by appearances before.”

  Elgiva ignored this remark. “It’s a natural fear of dark forests and wild beasts and nothing more.”

  “Maybe so,” he said, “but the beasts in this particular dark forest are a bit too quiet for comfort.”

  They stood and listened, both holding their breath. The forest was still and deathly calm, as though it, too, listened. Elgiva chewed her lower lip. She wasn’t familiar with forests like this, with such a sinister silence. “What shall we do, then? It blocks our path to Misterell. You can see how big it is. Can we spare the time to walk around it?”

  “Why should we?” Godwin folded his arms and glared at the trees. “I think we’d be mad to be scared of a forest. The trees can’t hurt us, can they?”

  Elgiva shrugged. “I don’t see how. But I don’t like it, Godwin. It doesn’t feel right to me. Perhaps we should make camp here and cross it in the morning.”

  “No, let’s carry on,” he said. “If we let this get the better of us, when worse things lie ahead, how shall we cope with those? Come on, Elgiva. I thought elves lived in forests?”

  “Not forests like this!” she declared.

  Godwin extended his hand, palm upward. “It’s starting to rain, and I’m not getting soaked out here. We’ll have more shelter among the trees. Kendra said it would only take a couple of hours to cross the forest, so we can walk through it now and make camp on the far side. We’ll sleep much better, knowing it’s behind us.”

  “But remember what Kendra told us? We mustn’t stop for any reason. Do you think we can make it before nightfall?”

  “We can try,” he replied. “There’s a few hours of daylight left yet.”

  “Are you being sensible, or just very brave?”

  “I’m trying to be both.”

  Elgiva considered the dark forest and then said, “Very well. Lead on.”

  ***

  Inside the forest, it was much darker than they had expected. The branches were coiled like snakes above them, blotting out the light. A strange gloom filled the air, a chill as dank as a dungeon seeped into Godwin’s bones, and the soil gave off a rancid odour beneath his wary feet. He looked at Elgiva, and her expression indicated she was equally uneasy, but they had committed themselves to crossing the forest and they had to keep going. However, the underwood grew thicker as they pressed on, and they gradually lost their sense of direction. Soon, they began to appreciate the folly of their decision.

  They knew they shouldn’t stop, but it was useless to continue. When they reached a glade that offered relief from the tangle of thorny shrubs, Godwin suggested they make camp. Slipping his arms out of the straps, he lowered his pack to the ground with a sigh of relief. Elgiva didn’t argue with his decision and helped him gather wood for a fire.

  Godwin spread his cloak out beneath a towering elm. “The soil’s damp,” he said, frowning. “I hope it doesn’t seep through my cloak.”

  Elgiva sank down upon it. “I’ll soon complain if it does.”

  Godwin stacked the wood a few yards away and got the fire going. Such menial tasks held no mystery for him. He could have done it in his sleep. Soon, the wood was crackling with bright flames that nudged the darkness back against the trees.

  “What have we left to eat?” asked Elgiva.

  Godwin inspected their pack of provisions.

  As he spoke, he shared out the food between them. “Some cheese . . . oatcakes . . . dried fruit . . . bread. And there’s something I’ve been saving for a time of extremity.” With a grin and a flourish, he drew out a jug with a stopper in the neck. Removing the stopper, he sniffed expectantly at the contents. “Gale beer . . . and by Frigg, it might have gone off! It smells like horse liniment.”

  Elgiva let loose a peal of laughter. It echoed through the brooding forest and then faded into silence.

  Godwin drew his breath in as a chill ran up his spine. “The fire won’t last long. We’re going to need more wood.” He shuddered at the thought of being plunged into darkness in this cold and gloomy place. “Perhaps the ale will warm us before it rots our guts.” He tasted it and screwed up his face. “It’s not so bad.”

  They sat in silence and shared the food and ale. Godwin emptied the last of the ale into his mouth and cursed at the bitterness of the dregs. In a sudden flare of temper, he swung back his arm and hurled the jug across the glade with all the strength he could muster. It struck against one of the nearest trees and broke into jagged pieces.

  Elgiva sighed at his outburst, but she said nothing.

  The forest’s oppressive aura asserted itself more strongly, and Godwin became aware of the rain as it sifted through the leaf canopy above him. It resembled the angry hissing of serpents. He began to feel queasy. He blamed his nausea on the ale, but suspected fear was the real culprit. If only he could hear the hoot of an owl, the scream of a fox—natural things, things he understood. But this creeping darkness wasn’t right. This dread of something intangible had no remedy known to him.

  He wrapped his arms about his chest, trying to maintain control. Curse Kendra for putting ideas into his head.

  “I don’t feel very well.”

  Elgiva’s announcement startled him, but he pulled himself together. Sliding his arm round her back, he drew her to his side. As though she were an ailing child, to distract her from discomfort, he began to tell her a tale he had once heard in the mead hall, a hundred years ago, it seemed. But he couldn’t look at her. The effort of focusing made him giddy.

  He chattered on while she listened raptly. As he continued with the tale, a story about a dragon and the man who went to slay it, a change occurred in his mood.

  He ceased and looked around like a man who had lost his way. He scowled at the encircling trees, and Elgiva tugged at his sleeve.

  “What happened next?” she asked him.

  “What?�
�

  “The story, Godwin. You were telling me a story.”

  “Frigg take the stupid story. What about this forest?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “If there are any monsters here, I’ll wager they’re too scared to come out.”

  He struggled to his feet, while she watched him through half-closed eyes. “What monsters are these?” she asked.

  He cocked his fists on his hips. “That old crone Kendra has frightened us stupid. Come on now, admit it.”

  “I don’t know.” She sighed and supported her head with both hands.

  “What if she made it all up?” he persisted. “There’s nothing wrong with this forest at all. It’s lies, by Frigg. Just lies.”

  “If she lied about the forest, then she lied about—”

  “Dangerous trees? Shit. We’ve been here for ages, and they’re not attacking us, are they?”

  Elgiva gasped as he drew his sword and waved it at the shadows.

  “If you’re so bloody dangerous, come on, then. Do your damnedest! You know who this is?” He flung out his arm, swaying drunkenly, and pointed at Elgiva. “This, my friends, is an elf-queen. No, the elf-queen, the ordained one!”

  “Godwin, please . . . ”

  “This is a wardain, you stupid bastards, and if you give us any trouble, she’ll sort you all out, don’t you worry.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  Godwin spun round to face her. She had covered her mouth with one hand, trying to stifle giggles, but he had no time for her perverse, elvish humour; he wanted to see her eyes alight with the stirring of magic. He couldn’t resist the urge to goad her.

  “You’re the greatest of elves. Why don’t you prove it? Kendra would want you to practise.”

  “But you said she made everything up.”

  “What are you waiting for? Are you afraid?”

  “Kendra said not to—”

  “What right has she to tell you what to do?”

  “What right have you?”

  He shrugged with mock indifference and sheathed his sword. “I’m disappointed. I thought to find some courage in that icy heart of yours.”

  She pushed herself upright. Beside the elm, discarded branches lay among the shadows, and she stooped and grasped one. Then she turned to her friend.

  “Courage enough to knock your brains out!”

  She circled him, waving the branch, but he merely laughed. “I don’t expect you to change night into day, or anything like that. Can’t you do something about the fire? It’ll soon be out, and we’ll be cold. That’s using magic wisely, I’d say. Of course, if you can’t, if it’s too much for you . . . ” He shrugged, but inside, he was churning with fear and excitement. “Perhaps you’re not up to much after all.”

  Violence bloomed in Elgiva’s eyes. She gripped the branch with both hands and exerted enough force to snap it in two.

  “We can all snap rotten twigs, you know. Is that the extent of your powers?”

  There was a wicked grin on Elgiva’s face, and he grinned too. The air reeked of conspiracy. Godwin had the conviction that they were the victims of this conspiracy, but also players in it. There was a chaotic mix of love and hatred in his heart that went beyond all the bounds of reason. There was no going back for either of them. The game must be played out for good or ill.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Elgiva hurled the riven branch into the shadows, and then she swept back the gleaming darkness of her hair. “You want fire, Godwin?” she asked with a chilling softness. “Then you shall have it!”

  Her gaze was feverish with the possibilities of power, and it made excitement seethe in Godwin’s breast. His legs felt boneless, incapable of support, and anticipation left him breathless. Entranced, he watched her turn towards a tree behind him. She raised her arms, as though in greeting.

  No, no, no! Imprisoned in a dark chamber, deep within his mind, a tiny voice pleaded, but he pushed it even deeper and crushed it into silence.

  The tree was gnarled and brittle-barked. Its denuded branches strained upwards to the canopy above, where they burst into leaf, as though the air below the forest’s roof were poisonous to life.

  “I know no suitable incantations, so this will have to do,” said Elgiva. “I command you, denizen of the dark forest, I compel, I order you to take fire and perish. I, Elgiva, Queen of Elindel would have it so. It is my will.”

  Her voice began strong but soon trailed away to embarrassed giggling. After a while, it became apparent that nothing was going to happen, and silence fraught with apprehension swooped into the glade. Elgiva glanced at Godwin, who frowned with frustration, his expectations thwarted.

  “You’ve not done it right,” he said.

  “I’ve not been taught. I don’t know what to do. I feel . . . I feel silly.”

  “And so you are, by Frigg.”

  “Damn you, then I’ll try again.”

  She inhaled and flexed her fingers. Her eyes closed and a furrow of effort appeared on her brow. Her hands clenched into fists.

  Her eyes sprang open, shining with confidence, and tossing back her long hair, she once more confronted the tree.

  “You hideous, evil tree,” she cried, “I command the Earth-magic, and you will obey me. I order you to take fire and perish. As I say, so mote it be!”

  Still nothing happened, but time passed and the sky grew heavy with darkness.

  ***

  Elgiva stood glaring at the tree. Her pulse was a painful thump in her temple. She had found the magic. It welled up in her, a tight shiver of passion that crawled along her nerves, seeking an outlet. A strange, alarming sensation and yet, it pleased her even so. But nothing had happened. The power needed direction. Her impatience flared upwards, boiled like magma. She stamped her foot in frustration, and almost at once, she felt the heat leave her in a dizzy rush of force that sucked the strength from her limbs.

  “This is ridiculous,” Godwin fumed, spinning round to face her. “How can a tree just burst into flames?”

  A roar of hot air sent him staggering. In amazement, he turned and gaped at the tree, which was now engulfed in fire. Grinning with delight, he rushed up to Elgiva and grasped her by the shoulders. “You did it, by Grim! You did it!”

  Elgiva pushed him away. “Faine, oh, Faine! Look what I’ve done! Godwin, this is murder!”

  “What do you mean? Elgiva, look. It’s wonderful!”

  She glared at him and for a moment held the conviction that he was the most loathsome creature on Earth. “But the tree is alive. Alive!”

  “So? It’s only a bloody tree. Trees don’t feel, you stupid girl.”

  She stepped forward, knotted her small fists in the fabric of his tunic, and tried to shake him, though she hadn’t the strength. “Of course they do! I know, curse you! Because your senses don’t stretch that far, you dismiss the suffering of other creatures. How do you know what a tree feels? You’re not a tree!”

  He grabbed her by the wrists and easily unhooked her hands from his tunic.

  She raged at him. “This is all your fault. You provoked me!”

  “You were easily provoked.”

  “You wanted me to do that,” she said, gesturing towards the tree, “to satisfy your need for excitement. You’re just like all the rest of them. A bloody barbarian. You’re cruel. I hate you!”

  “Don’t think the feeling isn’t mutual. You think you have all the answers, don’t you? You and your Faine and your bloody magic. You’re an arrogant little sprite from the woods, and you’ve no right to preach to me.”

  She flew at him in a desperate rage, kicking and flailing her fists, while he tried to fend her off. The shadows billowed up around them, gyrating about the burning tree. Flakes of its blistering flesh wafted skywards, while the rain steamed in its branches.

  As the rain grew heavier, it began to sift through the lattice-work of branches and its whisperings cooled the frenzy in the glade.

  A mist lifted from Elgiva’s m
ind, and she reeled with the pain of awareness. Panting, she pulled away from Godwin, her muscles slack with exertion.

  “Stop! Godwin, let me stop it. Let me save the tree!”

  He was deaf to her plea and didn’t reply. Without warning, he struck her hard across the face and sprawled her in the grass. Stunned by the blow, she was helpless to resist as he pinned her to the ground. Her vision occluded by whirls of darkness, she watched him unsheathe his sword. Firelight danced along its edge like glee.

  No, you can’t! But she couldn’t say the words.

  Elgiva fought the blackness in her mind and struggled in Godwin’s grip. The forest shivered in its cloak of darkness, and a pulse of desire left its murky heart to thump beneath her in the cold marl. Or perhaps it was her own heart pounding with fear at what her friend planned to do. “The forest is angry,” she managed to wail. “Listen! Can’t you hear it? I’ve done murder. It will kill us both!”

  “I’ll save it the trouble of killing you,” he said with cold, mocking laughter.

  Leaning forwards, he pressed the edge of the blade against her neck, with the pressure of a kiss and the spite of an old adversary. His arms trembled, as though they feared to obey him, but his mouth was set in a grim line of cruelty.

  He dragged the blade across her throat.

  Elgiva winced. It was only a shallow slice, but the blade left a line of fire on her flesh, and a sticky wetness trickled down her neck. The smart brought tears to her eyes. “Fool. We’ll die. We trespass!” She grabbed his wrists to hold him away.

  “It’s all your fault,” he growled at her. “Everything is your doing. You seduced me from my family.”

  “You seduced yourself.”

  “You’ve an answer for everything, haven’t you? You’re evil clothed in flesh. As all elves are. You’re demons. You’re filth. Every last one of you!” His eyes burned with an intensity that was nothing short of madness, and it left Elgiva so empty of will, she could hardly recall who she was. “It’s my duty to free the world from the tyranny of evil elves.”

  He raised his sword arm. For a moment, he held it high, trembling and poised to strike. Yet the blade did not fall. Instead, his eyes widened in horror.