The Exile of Elindel (The Elwardian Chronicles Book 1)

by Carol Browne

  “The wise man was cruel,” said Elgiva, “making you promise to risk yourself.”

  The elfling looked at them both in turn with a lost and anguished expression. “No,” he protested. “He’s not cruel! The wise man was my friend.”

  “So it is with sages,” Elgiva went on, frowning. “What do they know of the real world? They spend all their time with books. They get children to do their dirty work instead of putting their knowledge to good use.”

  “No, lady, no. He’s not like that. The wise man is clever and good!”

  “If he were good, Trystin, he’d have rescued you,” said Elgiva. “Instead, he entrusted you with a mission. You’re much too young for such a burden.”

  Trystin chewed his nails.

  Elgiva turned to Godwin. “What do you think, my friend?”

  “I think we’re wasting our time,” he replied, “and we should get some sleep.”

  Elgiva nodded. “A good idea. Well, Trystin, you can stay here tonight and breakfast with us before you leave tomorrow.”

  Trystin’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Elgiva knew his mind was in turmoil and felt responsible for it, but she turned her back on him, joined Godwin, and readied herself for sleep.

  ***

  Trystin curled up before the fire and closed his weary eyes, but some time later, he was still awake. He was torn between his fear of going home and the promise he had made. And there was no one in the world who could help him reach a decision. He knew what he ought to do, but he didn’t want to do it. Tears welled up in his eyes again as he touched the cheek that was healed and whole.

  Abandoning the warmth of the fire, he went to the shadows to weep unheard. He didn’t get very far. A large shape barred his way. For a moment, he was alarmed, but he quickly realised it was only Grimalkin. He reached out to stroke her neck. She swung her head round, stared at him, and snorted with disdain.

  “Want to hear a riddle, child?”

  He nodded, trying to smile.

  “What must you keep after giving it to someone else?” she asked.

  Trystin shook his head.

  “Your word, stupid!”

  Snickering, the pony sidled away.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  When the travellers awoke the next morning, the sun had just risen and the sky was flushed with pink and gold.

  Elgiva leaned on Grimalkin’s shoulder and followed the wispy clouds with her gaze. Godwin sensed that she wasn’t yet ready to set off on their quest, so he sat by the fire and kept himself occupied by sharpening his knife.

  Trystin was sitting a few feet away, looking downcast and chewing his nails. He had just returned from bathing in the pool, and his face looked even younger without its layer of dirt.

  “A wonderful time of year, spring,” mused Elgiva. “Don’t you agree, Trystin?”

  Trystin looked up and parted his lips, but he merely smiled in an awkward manner and continued to chew his nails.

  “Buds on the trees and birds building nests. Wherever you look, there’s life and power, and the strange thing is,” Elgiva went on, “it arises out of decay.”

  “I wonder what tells the birds to make nests,” said Godwin. “What makes the green things start to grow again?”

  “The need to survive,” she said. “But in the natural world, there’s a balance. The needs of all creatures must be considered. In elves and wilthkin, it corrupts. It makes the strong cruel and the weak faint-hearted.” She cast a quick glance at Trystin. “Some, in order to survive, run away from whatever threatens them, and they’re doomed to run forever, never finding peace of mind. Good creatures must act, or the bad ones will flourish, but they don’t realise that. It’s much wiser to face our fears than to drag out the torment day after day and live in some self-imposed prison. Better to try and fail than to never try at all and wonder what might have been. Wouldn’t you say so, Godwin?”

  “Why, er, yes, Elgiva. Better to die once than die a little every day, I suppose.”

  “Well,” said Elgiva, “if we’re ready, we’d best be on our way. Perhaps, Trystin, you could give us some directions before you leave?”

  Trystin stared at his legs and seemed unaware that she had addressed him. Then he lifted his head and looked at them both with an expression of grim resignation.

  “Lady, you’re right,” he said. “I could never escape the king. I could run a thousand miles away, and he’d always be in my mind. I’m terrified of Misterell, but I love it, too. And my friends, I’ve left them behind. That was wrong of me.”

  Elgiva walked towards him and drew him to his feet. “I admit, I’ve tried to persuade you to come with us, Trystin, because the search for the Lorestone is so important, but I’ve been very selfish. I haven’t considered your fears at all. And that was wrong of me. I have no right to make you act against your will.”

  “Oh, no, you haven’t, lady,” he assured her. “It was what you said about spring. It just made me think of home.” His eyes misted a little and he smiled, a sorrowful smile, but one full of warmth. “But you shall see for yourself.”

  Elgiva rested her arm on his shoulder. “Very well, my friend. Let’s be strong together.”

  ***

  The sun grew warmer as it climbed towards noon, at which point the travellers stopped to rest. They sat in the tall grass that bordered a meadow. Ahead of them was a wide expanse of closely cropped greensward. Elgiva talked of Elindel, and Trystin listened raptly, but Godwin soon found his attention drifting.

  For a while, he was lost in thoughts of summer, how his children would skip through the fields that surrounded the settlement and dance among the poppies with daisy chains on their heads. Then two hares darted across his line of vision, many yards upwind, dragging him back to the present. They ran out from the long grass and proceeded to dance around each other on their hind legs, forepaws flailing. Godwin watched their antics for a while, grinning.

  “Look at them,” he whispered. “They’re so engrossed in fighting, they don’t even know we’re here.”

  Elgiva looked up and smiled. “Fighting, are they?”

  “I envy you elves, being able to understand animals. I wish I could talk to them like you do. I wonder what two hares could possibly have to say to each other?”

  Elgiva’s eyebrows arched mischievously, and leaning closer to Trystin, she said, “Shall we give the wilthkin his wish?”

  The elfling grinned with glee. “Oh, yes, lady! Can you?”

  Elgiva began muttering words under her breath. Godwin was about to ask her what she was doing when what happened next distracted him.

  “I’ve told you, I’m not in the mood,” insisted one of the hares.

  For a moment, Godwin questioned his own sanity. Not only had the hare spoken, the pitch of its voice told Godwin it was female.

  “Aw, come on, Fernie,” pleaded her male companion. “Ow! That one got me on the nose!”

  “You’ll get another if you don’t back off.”

  Godwin raised himself from his elbows. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Oh no, what’s he doing here?” demanded the male as another hare darted from the long grass and joined in.

  The female, now even more agitated, boxed with both of them.

  “Leave me be, you buggers,” she cried. “I’ve already made my choice of a mate, and it isn’t either of you!”

  Godwin was now on his knees, while behind him, the elves giggled. “You won’t believe this,” he began, spinning round to face them. “What are you laughing at?”

  “Oh, Godwin,” cried Elgiva, “you ought to see your face!”

  “No, spare him that,” snickered Grimalkin. “It’s not a sight bears close inspection.”

  “I see,” said Godwin. “An elf’s trick, by Frigg! Well, thanks for including me in the joke, though I seem to be the object of it.” Godwin was annoyed to find everyone laughing at him, and he frowned at Elgiva. However, in her eyes was a sense of wonder that even surpassed his own
. Clearly, she was pleased with herself, and he tried to conceal his indignation.

  Elgiva’s grin faltered. “Don’t be such a bore, Godwin. You’re not really angry, are you? I gave you your wish. It’s a gift from a friend. Will you spurn it?”

  “Of course not. How long will this spell of yours last?”

  Elgiva shrugged her slender shoulders. “I can’t be sure. As long as you live, I hope. From now on, you will understand animals, elves, and men, and they will understand you.” She tossed her head back haughtily. “That’s quite a gift, you know. Aren’t you going to thank me, at least?”

  Her stance rekindled Godwin’s anger. “Thank you? For making a fool of me?”

  “Cabbage hearts!” snorted Grimalkin. “Don’t credit her with Nature’s work!”

  ***

  As the afternoon wore on, a mild southwesterly breeze blew and clouds rolled sluggishly overhead, but Elgiva and her companions paid little heed to the possibility of rain. Misterell lay ahead of them and dominated their thoughts. A cold, grey silence floated out from under the forest’s skirts, spreading like sea-fog over the grass.

  The ancient trees were impossibly verdant, as if they had heard the call of spring some weeks before the surrounding land.

  All too soon, the travellers were standing before the edge of the forest, confronted by a wall of trees that stood together like sentinels. Their branches overlapped and meshed, and their roots were buried deep beneath a tangle of shrubs. The travellers listened for hostile sounds, and in the shadow of the mighty forest, they felt their insignificance.

  For her part, Elgiva wondered still at the forest’s vernal splendour. The branches above were rife with leaves, and despite the eerie calm surrounding it, inside the forest, a host of birds filled the boughs with song. It was almost as if the birds had flocked to the enchantment of Misterell.

  She gazed up at the trees; they were dour and forbidding. There was a feeling of power about them. But when she probed them with her elven senses, she found no wrong in them.

  Yet, beneath their quiet murmur of life was a stern command. Turn back.

  She looked at her companions. Trystin chewed his fingernails, while Grimalkin snorted and pawed at the ground. Godwin stood hugging his chest and gazing at the forest before him, as though it were a forty-foot wall and he had been asked to climb it.

  “Well, here we are, then,” he stated. “How far must we go into the forest?”

  “To the middle,” snickered Grimalkin. “After that, we’d be going out.”

  “The trees aren’t so crowded inside. There are many paths and glades. I know the way, Master Godwin.” Trystin gave his friends a nervous grin.

  Elgiva peered up at the lofty trees. She felt like an ant dwarfed by bulrushes. This was one more threshold that had to be crossed, and she hoped she had the courage to face the challenges that lay on the other side of it. She placed her hand on the elfling’s shoulder.

  “Very well, Trystin. Lead on.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  In single file, they threaded their way between the knuckled trunks of the ancient trees. Once this initial barrier had been breached, an astounding sight met their eyes, and they stopped and gazed around, astonished.

  Inside the forest, the air seemed warmer and bird-song filled the treetops. Wherever Godwin looked, the shrubs and plants were prematurely in bloom and a rich and peppery perfume rode the silken breeze. There were tangles of elder and hawthorn and clumps of hazel, heavy with catkins. Rowans stood proudly between the old oaks, and the emerald sward was ablaze with coltsfoot, daffodils, and daisies. Fungi clustered in the shade beneath the grey-barked beech trees, and the sun that pierced the branches above seemed to lie on the shrubs like powdered gold.

  Godwin stared about him in wonder, as hundreds of white petals, the discarded blossoms of many trees, drifted around him like snow. On every side were throngs of harebells and clouds of feathery ferns. They danced beneath the trees in an almost dreamlike shimmer. And the trees grew together in defiance of their natures. He was used to woods where one type of tree dominated over the rest, usually oak or beech, but this was like an ideal forest, a vision of health and beauty. Misterell was a haven for green, growing things, a sanctuary for natural life.

  Elgiva turned to her companions. “No wonder this place is enchanted,” she said. “It guards itself against intruders. This is a special place.”

  “It’s wonderful,” agreed Godwin. He inhaled, savouring the scent of the rich, dark earth, the radiant flowers, and the woody perfume of the trees. It was as life-affirming as the first breath after birth.

  Grimalkin’s nostrils flared with delight. “It smells delicious.”

  “Spring always comes early in Misterell,” explained Trystin. “One of the Founder’s gifts to us. This place is good and beautiful. There’s no forest like it in all the land.”

  “I never expected this,” said Elgiva. “My people fear Misterell as a place of evil.”

  “Perhaps it’s evil now,” sighed Trystin, “but it wasn’t always so. Misterell is enchanted, and other kingdoms have feared its power, but they don’t know the truth. The wise man feared to come here too, but when he did, he realised that Misterell is sacred, not evil. He said the enchantment comes from Faine and we should feel honoured to live here. Faine brought all the people together at a place we call the Hill-Shrine, and he did great magic there long ago. We used to go there to worship his memory and share our love for the Earth, but now the penalty for worshipping Faine is death. Grandfather says that Vieldrin is jealous of the Founder.”

  “Misterell has been fickle before,” said Elgiva. “Bellic told me some of the legends, how the people of Misterell turned against the Founder and so he left them and never returned. And when they realised their loss, it was too late. All they had left were guilt and remorse.”

  “So it’s said, lady. Before Faine left, he blessed the forest, and he wouldn’t take back such a gift. Not even in anger, Grandfather said. I don’t believe we lost his love, either. The elders still argue about it, but I’m sure Faine forgave us. Grandfather told me our forebears repented and the Hill-Shrine was consecrated and dedicated to Faine. But then the guilt of the people began to infect the forest. It withered and shrank back into itself. So, when the spring returns each year, it makes us both happy and sad. As Grandfather says, we remember Faine’s love and also how that love was spurned. Now the enchantment Faine gave to Misterell has become a thing of fear. The forest is warped by guilt.”

  Elgiva grasped the elfling’s arm and made him look at her. “This is a sorry tale indeed, but I do think you’re forgiven. The Founder wasn’t easily spurned, and it seems to me he trusted you above all his other kingdoms because he left the Lorestone in your keeping.”

  Trystin stared at her with hope in his gaze. “If the Lorestone’s really here . . . ”

  “That’s what we have to find out. But first, I’d like to see this shrine.”

  Trystin’s gaunt features brightened, and he took her by the hand. “It’s this way, Lady Elgiva.”

  ***

  Trystin led his companions through a coppiced area and then across the ford of a shallow stream. A well-trodden path took them on through the trees, through clumps of sow thistle and betony, and skirted round a group of abandoned huts that had fallen into decay. Trystin moved at a quicker pace and averted his eyes from the crumbling huts, as though some horror were crouching there. A cloud of dark memories crowded around him, and he touched his healed cheek, as though it helped to steady him on his course.

  At length, the path snaked out into a clearing, and at its centre was a shallow knoll. Rowans grew around its base, and buttercups swarmed on the grass below it. Trystin stopped and grinned at his friends.

  “The Hill-Shrine,” he announced.

  Elgiva prepared to climb the knoll, but Trystin tugged at her sleeve. “No, Lady Elgiva, it’s forbidden. The penalty is death!”

  “I will climb this knoll, no matter what,” sh
e said, her eyes bright with purpose.

  Trystin chewed his finger and watched Elgiva climb the knoll. Then he looked at Godwin, but Godwin merely shrugged and sat upon the grass, as though he had resigned himself to waiting. Trystin had been delighted by his friends’ response to his home and excited to be their guide, but now that he was back in Misterell, the old fear began to resurface. He searched for courage, made his choice, and then scampered up the knoll.

  The flat crest of the Hill-Shrine bore a crown of flowering plants, a ring of purple self-heal nearly a foot in height. Trystin stepped into the circle and stood at Elgiva’s side.

  “They always grow like this here, lady.” He pointed at the flowers. “Grandfather says Faine ordained it. They represent the counsellors who stood with Faine at his first court.”

  Elgiva merely nodded at this simple explanation. “Self-heal,” she mused. “Is that the Founder’s message to Misterell? To Elvendom itself? And what about these rowans, the trees with power over death?”

  Trystin was lost. “Such things are beyond me, lady.”

  She knelt upon the grass and placed her palms on the ground. “There’s power here. It’s sharing itself with me.” She looked up at Trystin and smiled. “But there’s something else too. Some memory. A residue of something wonderful. A feeling of oneness.”

  Though Elgiva continued to smile, her eyes sparkled with tears.

  ***

  Godwin waited patiently. Out of respect, he stifled the yawn that threatened to crack his jaw, but he longed to stretch himself full-length upon the deep, rich grass. The forest’s balmy, fragrant air was making him feel drowsy.

  At length, Elgiva and Trystin walked down the slope of the knoll, holding hands. Their faces shone like those of children who were on their best behaviour.

  Godwin clambered to his feet and tried to look alert. “Should you make a sacrifice or something?”

  He felt pleased to make a contribution to the proceedings, but Elgiva’s pert nose wrinkled, as though he had uttered an oath.

  “What sacrifice do you have in mind? We don’t shed blood in the name of Lord Faine. He taught us to love our fellow creatures, not kill them.”