The Road's End

by Daniel Kirk

  “You’re lucky I let you live at all,” Macta sneered. “What do you think are the odds that I lose my temper and have you cut into tiny pieces and fed to the crows?”

  “Not so fast, Macta,” said Lehtinen in a steely voice. “If you think you are in charge here, you’re sadly mistaken. Since your father’s death, there’s been a shift in power in Helfratheim. We have the military on our side, as well as the Techmagicians, and all those in cabinet positions in the government who wish to see our nation evolve and thrive. Though you may remain King, you’re but a figurehead, here to do our bidding and follow our orders. That’s all. Now step away from Prashta.”

  A pair of guards moved hesitantly toward Macta, their hands on the hilts of their swords. Macta pointed a mechanical finger at Lehtinen. His voice was a fearsome snarl. “You, my friend, are sadly mistaken if you think you can tell me what to do. I will have your head for treason. I will have the heads of the lot of you!”

  Prashta was on his feet now, an imploring look on his face. “This is not the way we wish to do business,” he said. “There should be no conflict among us; we must act as parts of one well-oiled machine, with the same goal, the same destination in sight. Lehtinen, you speak out of place when you say those things to your King. If there be a pecking order in our new regime, ’tis there only to see that each of us does our proper duty, showing fealty to the empire we love so well.”

  “You will show fealty to me alone!” Macta roared.

  “No,” said Lehtinen, “the rules of this game have changed, Macta, and you must change with them. That is why we’ve given you a new arm, and a quest to fulfill. You’ll be a hero, thanks to us! Be grateful.” The Elf scratched his chin and cast a glance at Asra. “Perhaps we were harsh with the Elfmaid. Take her with you if you wish, Macta; we don’t need her kind of trouble. But return to your preparations for the speech tonight! There is much to be done before the Arvada comes to deliver you to your destiny.”

  “The two of us, you mean,” Asra said to Lehtinen. “I’m going along, in search of Rebecca as well as the Seed.” This was a time for new allegiances, she understood. If she needed to stay at Macta’s side in order to get out of the dungeon, then so be it. It was her own choice, made of her own free will. Just because she chose to walk at his side, though, didn’t mean she would be tied to him forever.

  “Let us pass,” Macta said, turning toward the guards who stood aghast in the doorway. He shook his fist at Prashta, Lehtinen, and the others. “This little discussion isn’t over!” He took Asra by the arm and stormed into the corridor.

  Asra stayed with Macta as he puffed and postured away the afternoon, plotting one revenge fantasy after another against his Council. All the while he stroked the fur of his new Goblin pup, feeding it treats, cooing and coaxing it to behave. Asra sat silently as tailors finished sewing Macta’s gleaming satin suit, as the speechwriters coached him on how and where in the speech he should try to sound heartfelt, and where he should speak with righteous indignation. Later that night, smiling beatifically, Asra stood beside Macta on the balcony as he delivered his address to the Elves of Helfratheim. She wore a new gown, and she bowed and waved at the appropriate moments. She accepted, without quarrel, her introduction as Macta’s fiancée. She dined with Macta and the Council members after the speech, as Powcca prowled beneath the table, begging for scraps. She listened to the royal mythmakers explain the legend of Fada and the heroes of the past who had planted the Sacred Seed of the Adri and saved Elf Realm. Asra smiled, and nodded, and held her feelings in check. She was making a bargain with herself, that she could rein in her emotions and play the role required of her, in exchange for the payoff—finding Rebecca, and winning her freedom.

  Late that night, alone in her bed, Asra shivered. Though she willed the tears to come, to wash away her sadness, her loneliness, her contempt for this kingdom and everyone in it, her cheeks remained dry. Asra wondered how her heart was growing so cold. Then she felt something in her mind turn, just slightly. It was as if she were looking at her life through a crystal, and the light had shifted just enough for her to see it from another angle. In this strange and different light, Macta was no longer a vile, contemptible villain. He was simply another lost soul, trying to find a way to claim a few crumbs from life’s vast, inequitable table. There was no longer a wall of hate between her and the King of Helfratheim, and she felt … what was it? Pity? She’d felt that, before. Sympathy? Compassion? Was it an understanding that they were on the same road, following the same path, moving inexorably toward the same end? When the history books were written, Asra’s and Macta’s names would be there, side by side. There was no way around it. Asra pulled the blankets close in around her neck. Her eyes and her lips were pressed tightly shut. She curled herself into a ball and for a moment, just before sleep overcame her, thought of herself as a seed, lying dormant inside a dark, hard shell, waiting to be born.

  set aside by the monks of Hunaland for their Human guest, Becky shivered. It was not from inner turmoil, though; she was simply cold. Since Jardaine’s warming spell had worn off, she’d spent the night tossing and turning on a lumpy pallet stuffed with tiny seed husks. Her blanket had little more weight or substance than dried brown leaves stitched together. As Hunaland was situated at the top of the Elfin world, Becky had assumed that the temperature there had always been frigid, like the North Pole was to the humans. She learned that assumption had been wrong. Not long ago, when the great tree, Yggdrasil, was healthy and strong, its trunk and branches radiated warmth that kept the citizens of Hunaland comfortable year-round. But now, since the tree around which the city had been built was dying, its warmth was fading as well. Slowly the climate around Hunaland had begun to change, and cold was settling around it like a blanket of ice. Everyone in Hunaland shivered away the long nights; their dwellings were not as cold as the temperature outside the gates of the city, to be sure; none could survive that for long. The tree still had some feeble life left in it, so the citizens of Hunaland did not freeze. Few had clothing fit for extremely low temperatures, though, and the dwellings of the Elves of Hunaland had never been heated with fireplaces. The cold kept Becky at the edge of sleep, where she dreamed fitfully of summer waves crashing on a beach, and the eager ring of an ice-cream-truck bell. It rang and rang.

  “Wake up!” a voice called from the darkness.

  Becky sat up, rubbing her eyes, and saw three creatures standing in the shadows of the doorway, ringing a bell. She was startled, and it took her a moment to discern from their robes that they were Hunaland monks, wearing strange, carved masks. The noses of their masks were long, pointed things, almost like the beaks of aquatic birds. Each of them carried what looked like a wooden egg, and tendrils of smoke curled from little holes pierced in the wood. The air stank of incense. Vapor puffs came from the mouth holes of the masks as one of the creatures spoke again in a harsh whisper. “Get up! Get moving, Human! ’Tis time to stand before the Queen and the Holiest of Holies, the Mage of Hunaland!”

  “Where are Astrid and Nick?” Becky asked warily.

  Silence. Then one of the monks spoke. “Nearby. You will join them soon.”

  Becky was annoyed by the fierce expressions carved on the Elves’ false faces, and embarrassed that she had been more than a little frightened when she first saw them in the corner of her dark room. “Why are you wearing those masks?”

  Again, silence. The monks were reluctant to speak with a Human, even though she had come to be part of a ritual that would save all their lives. “To spare us from contagion,” one of them finally said. “Your breath may be poison to us, so we take precautions.”

  The night before, when Becky and her companions were first ushered into the palace of Hunaland, the monks quickly separated Becky from the others and whisked her off to a distant room. Though they had long hoped and prayed for a trio of Human, Troll, and Elf to save them, they found themselves unprepared for the emotions they would feel when the Arvada arrived at the gates of Hunala
nd. With their fingers pressed ineffectually over their mouths and noses, they frantically rushed to lock the girl inside. Then they waved their little incense-filled eggs around until the air was thick with the scent of burning herbs. The Elves were overwrought at the sight of a Human girl, and terrified of the craft that had brought the three strangers into their midst. Like all Elves, they had been taught to hate Humans for all the wrong they had done, intentionally or not, to Faerie Folk. This girl, tall as a giant, was a fearsome sight. Though they all knew the legend of Fada and understood that the presence of a Human was necessary to the hero’s quest, the presence of the girl filled their hearts with fear.

  Becky, for her part, was full of questions and longing for answers. Astrid had warned her while they were still in the Arvada that upon their arrival at Hunaland, she should keep quiet, say nothing, ask nothing, and keep her eyes down. But Astrid was not around now, and Becky simply couldn’t help herself. “But if there are germs,” she argued, “Human germs that I’m breathing, you’re just going to breathe them right into your bodies. Those masks won’t help you at all. And I’m breathing air from your lungs, too, so don’t you worry about me getting sick from you? I’m here to help, you know. Once I find my brother, and stop the bad Elves, you’ll be a lot better off. Why won’t you tell me when my brother got here? The monks last night wouldn’t tell me anything, either. Why won’t you?”

  The monks did not reply, but gestured impatiently for Becky to follow, then turned and walked through the archway into the next room. She crawled out of bed and followed the three, ducking beneath the arch to avoid hitting her head. There was a large, varnished wooden tub in the next room, full of steaming water. Light from a high sconce fell like a shaft of sunlight on a lake. Becky looked up to see a Fire Sprite peering down at her. “You know I already had a bath,” she said to the Elves, “last night, before bed.”

  “And you will have another bath now, because you must be clean and pure when you stand before the Queen and the Mage. Get in.”

  Becky sighed, but did as she was told. The three turned their backs as the girl slipped out of her thin, ill-fitting robe, and climbed into the tub. The water was very hot, and very deep, and Becky shuddered with relief at the sensation; she didn’t realize how tense her body had grown after a long restless night in that cold bed. She watched the steam drift up from the water and disappear into the chilly air. One of the monks said, “Your wingless b-b-bird—”

  “I told you last night,” Becky interrupted, “it isn’t a bird. It’s some kind of … slug, or newt, or something. Just because it flies doesn’t mean it’s a bird.”

  All three Elves shuddered with revulsion; Becky could tell that they were frightened of birds. It had accounted, in part, for their reaction when the Arvada first arrived at Hunaland—an airborne creature, to them, must certainly be some kind of bird. Becky let herself sink up to her neck in the hot water. “What’s the deal with you and birds?” she asked.

  “The deal?”

  “The problem,” Becky explained.

  “They eat seeds,” said the second of the monks.

  “That’s what birds are supposed to do! They eat fruit, and then they spread the seeds around in their poop so trees and plants will grow somewhere else. It’s part of nature. I guess you don’t see many birds this far north, though. Penguins live at the South Pole, and they don’t fly. How do you even know about birds? From all the carvings on the walls around here?”

  The third monk stole a glance at Becky over her shoulder. Becky thought she saw sadness in the monk’s eyes. “We have not always been surrounded by ice and snow. Not long ago we had flying creatures, gentle birds and insects, and warm breezes that caressed fields of green. But as the veil between our world and the Human world came undone, Hunaland grew cold. The trees and flowering plants all died, except for the great tree, Yggdrasil, and the hungry birds stole the fruit from our one remaining tree. We thank the Goddess that the cold killed the awful creatures before they devoured the last of our fruit. ’Twas important that there remained one final Seed to give the saviors of our world.”

  “Oh,” Becky said. The water in the tub was cooling. She thought of her brother, and the story the Elves had told him about planting a seed to save the world. It was a very odd story, she thought, though the Elves all seemed to put their faith in it. She couldn’t imagine what Matt must have been thinking to go along with Tuava-Li and Tomtar. Now, unless she was able to stop them, the Faeries would kill Matt at the center of the earth in some kind of crazy, sacrificial ritual. And no one here in Hunaland would tell her anything about when Matt had arrived, or which path he had taken to go to the center of the Faerie world. She had no idea how far behind she was, or how long it would take for her to catch up. As far as she was concerned there was no time to lose, and the sooner they met the Queen of this place, the sooner they could get out of here and find Matt.

  The monks produced a towel of thick green moss. Becky dried herself and slipped into a white undergarment, as thin and uncomfortably cut as the nightgown she’d been forced to wear. She put on a thicker white robe with sleeves that hung limply around her wrists, and a thick cowl around the neck. All the clothes had been quickly stitched together from smaller Elfin garb to fit her. Becky followed the monks along the dark corridors, her hair brushing against the ceiling, until they came to a place where two paths intersected. A number of monks waited there, each wearing one of the horrible carved masks. Each of them carried a Kolli with a glowing Fire Sprite inside. The air reeked of spices—myrrh, copal, and cedar. In the midst of the crowd Becky saw two familiar faces. Both of her friends were dressed from head to toe in white. “Astrid!” she called, reaching out to the Elf.

  “The hour has arrived,” Jardaine said, stepping back from Becky and smiling stiffly. She had chosen the name Astrid on a whim, and now she was regretting her choice. Every time the Human girl said it, she got chills up her spine. How much worse it would be, she thought, if the girl were to utter her real name! But then again, nearly everything the girl said made her quiver with disgust. She held out her hand and let the girl touch it. She was already very tense, and for the moment, that was all she could bear.

  Becky was beginning to realize that despite Astrid’s apparent good intentions, the Elf was far more wary of touching Humans than Asra had been. But, of course, in the beginning, Asra had been wary, too. It only made sense, Becky supposed, for creatures of a different species to be cautious. “Are we going to eat now?” she asked, hoping one of the monks would volunteer some information as they marched through a maze of corridors. Jardaine cast a harsh look at the girl. She put her finger to her lips, urging Becky to be silent. Becky’s stomach was grumbling, though; in the preceding weeks she’d grown very thin. The feel of her ribs reminded her that it had been a long, long time since she’d eaten a proper meal.

  “Food afterwards,” said a monk. “You must be pure when you stand before the Holy Ones, not packed with digesting matter.” She said the last words as if the very thought of eating was vile and loathsome. “Likewise, you must wear white, to offset the darkness in your hearts.”

  “My heart isn’t dark,” Becky said.

  The walls along the corridors were carved wood, rescued from ancient trees. Intricate lacy carvings of vines, leaves, and berries went from floor to ceiling. Nick ran his fingers along the carvings and one of the monks slapped his hand away. After a few minutes they came to a large open space with a wide set of stairs leading downward. There was a door, wreathed in carvings, at the foot of the stairs. Becky took one look at the door and realized she would never fit through the opening. She felt a flicker of hope that perhaps the Queen and Mage would come out to meet their guests in the larger room.

  The door creaked open from within, and another monk in a carved mask gestured for the crowd to enter. The Elves formed a line and went through the door. As the door shut, Becky realized she was not going to meet the Queen and Mage. She heard a sound behind her and turned to see
a pair of Elves in the dim light, near the top of the stairs. At the sight of the girl’s face they backed away. “They said I was going to stand before the Queen and Mage,” Becky said.

  “The Holiest of Holies is just beyond, out of the reach of contamination. We all stand before her, even if we cannot see her.”

  “Okay,” Becky said, her brow knitted in frustration. “Do you know anything about my brother? I know he was here. He came for the Seed.”

  The monks stood stiffly, alarm in their huge Elfin eyes, and said nothing.

  Jardaine and Nick had the unmistakable feeling that they were walking downhill. The monks’ Kolli, held before them, sizzled and snapped. The light threw eerie shadows on the walls, where sculpted figures, representing the earliest of the Elfin Gods and Goddesses, danced. Over their heads the wooden figures waved long, fat snakes. There were images of snakes everywhere in Hunaland, Nick suddenly realized. He shuddered, glad that the snakes weren’t real. Though he knew that snakes represented the Great Goddess, and the Cord that bound them all to her, he had always been frightened of them.

  The reek of incense grew stronger as they descended another flight of stairs. Surrounded by a retinue of monks, Jardaine, with Nick close behind her, approached a raised platform. There an oaken throne stood, and on it sat Geror, the Queen of Hunaland.

  Fire Sprites cast a spotlight glow on the Queen. She was very old, Nick thought to himself, as he looked over Jardaine’s shoulder. She was older than old, more like a withered, parchment-skinned mummy than a living being. At first, Nick wasn’t sure she was even alive. Her body was frail and hunched, and leaned against the side of the throne as if she herself might turn to ancient oak. Her head nearly sank inside the collar of her baggy white gown. Over her thinning white hair she wore a crystal crown, studded with diamonds. The monks had already dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. Jardaine and Nick followed their example. Then the Queen’s eyes flickered open, and she gazed down upon her visitors. “You have come for the Seed,” she said, her voice like wind whispering through trees. “We have been waiting long for your arrival, pilgrims. Elfmaid, tell me the name of your Human companion.”