by Brindi Quinn
Rend’s tone, on the other had, was judgmental enough to ruffle even the proper Yes’lechian.
“Well, pardon me, Elf!” he hissed, stomping his foot into the mud. “It’s slim-pickings for us in the dry region!”
“Then eat some grass.”
With that, they were at each other’s throats again.
Nyte shook his head and gave me a smirk.
His green hair was flecked with mud, making him look boyish in the afternoon light. Through his smirk I saw fatigue. Even the Elves with their god-like stamina were becoming worn from the mud.
Half a day’s trudge more.
Kantú was ahead of me, giving Grotts doe eyes and complaining about her muddied feet. He listened with apologetic eyes that were so apologetic, in fact, that if his hands hadn’t been full of hammer, he would have scooped her up and carried her the rest of the way.
In the midst of her whining, Kantú’s tail drooped. It dipped into the goo slightly. She pulled it up too quickly, and a fresh spatter of mud hit me in the cheek.
I flicked away the spatter and groaned. “Couldn’t we have gone around the mud?”
Nyte chuckled, but quickly turned contemplative. “It is good for a person to travel the mud at least once in their life, I suppose.”
“Why’s that?” I scanned the muck, unconvinced. “Aren’t there are other ways of building perseverance?”
“Would you like to hear the story of the Making as it is told by the Elves?” he asked and his eyes turned spirited.
I nodded, grateful for a distraction from the monotonous trudge. He straightened up and started.
“At the time of the Making, the great Creator summoned His angels around Him. ‘I shall make five races of intelligent beings to share dominion over the world,’ He said, commissioning each of His angels with the task of searching the land for a fitting home for His new creations. The angels happily accepted the task, but there was one angel, Lusafael, who was jealous of the great Creator’s love for the new beings. He forged a wicked plot to punish them and instead searched the world for the most barren land he could find, settling on the Mud Sea.
“The rest of the angels faithfully searched the lands and returned to the Creator, presenting Him with evidence of the world’s most suitable places, but Lusafael claimed to have found the greatest place of all. ‘I have discovered a land for all the races to share. It is a great land, bountiful and pure. They will surely be happy there,’ he said, seeking to trick the Creator. The Creator saw through this scheme, of course, and decided to teach the deceitful angel a lesson.
“He cast Lusafael into the great mud pit, telling him that the reward for finding such a ‘fruitful land’ was to live there for five centuries. Begrudgingly, Lusafael suffered in the mud for 500 years before returning to the Creator, fully repentant. The Creator forgave Lusafael, forever marking the Mud Sea as a symbol of His mercy.
“The Creator then went about placing the races upon the earth. He gave to the Elves, a people of nature, the western forests, charging them with care of the trees. To the Daems, He gave the southern rockylands and coast, charging them with care of the sea. The Squirreleans were placed in the northern forests and grasslands, charged with bridging the gap between beast and being. The Sapes were a complex people, free to choose from many ways of life. Some took the grasslands, while others took the caves and mountains, and still others settled along the sea.
“A special sect of the Sapes, to whom the Creator granted mystic powers, were placed in hidden villages scattered about the world. These were few in number and would come to be known as the people of song.”
He released his poised pose and looked at me.
“It’s very similar to Farellah’s Song of the Races,” I said.
Aside from the part about the Mud Sea, Nyte’s story was actually remarkably parallel to the song of creation I’d learned as a child, though the Elven legend’s focus on the origin of songstresses struck me as unusual.
Hidden villages scattered about the world.
Was it really possible that Farellah wasn’t the only city of songstresses? I’d never really considered it, but now I realized that if The Mystress truly was a songstress, there must be others out there.
“But who’re the fifth race?” I asked. Sapes, Daems, Squirreleans, Elves, and . . .
“An alleged ‘people of spirit’. However, they are not spoken of in detail.”
People of spirit? I’d never heard of them, but a fifth race sounded . . . intriguing.
I contemplated the rest of the legend, and becoming worried that my complaining had offended him, asked,
“So this is sort of sacred ground, then?”
“How dare you defile such hallowed ground, Evil Heart of Hav-”
But at my stunned and mortified expression, he burst out laughing.
“Fear not, you have caused no offense,” he struggled to get the words out through gibbering laughs.
“Eh? How mean!” I swatted his arm, but as always, I was unable to produce a frown under the spell of his impish charm.
“Sorry.” Nyte grinned and caught his breath.
I shook my head. “Seriously, though, it’s not sacred or anything, is it?”
“I would not call it sacred exactly,” – he gestured at the mud – “just somewhat important. That is, if you believe the legend. Personally, I think the tale is just an analogy, although Rend would disagree. She is a traditionalist who believes all of the legends are literal word-for-word. I am more of an alternative thinker.” He scratched his collarbone. “Just another thing for us to quarrel about.”
I checked to see that Rend was out of earshot. She was several paces ahead of us, still arguing with Scardo, who appeared to be rabidly annoyed.
“Your relationship with her is . . .” – I stumbled to find an appropriate word – “dysfunctional.”
He glanced at her. “Unfortunately, I have no power over her. Rend is my elder, and . . . we should be engaged.”
“Engaged?!” I tried to imagine Rend and Nyte together in wedlock, but it was way too disturbing, and I quickly pushed the image from mind. The comment must’ve been another joke. A really unfunny joke.
He laughed at my response. “Tradition states that Rend should be my bride. We are cousins, after all. If my father were alive, the marriage would have been arranged; however, since he is not, I am free to propose on my own, and you can understand why I have thus far refrained from making the offer. Many of the younger generations of Elves do not practice such traditions nowadays anyway, although as I mentioned, Rend is very traditional.”
He watched me from the corner of his eye. He was gauging my reaction.
It’s kind of unsettling, but . . . I didn’t know how else to react but to make light of it.
“Be sure to invite me to the wedding; I’m sure you’ll make a lovely couple.”
He snorted.
“What’s that?!” Kantú’s squeak cut through the sea, interrupting our conversation.
I searched the horizon for the source of her outcry.
“What?” Grotts shielded his eyes from the sun and peered into the distance.
She pointed. “That rock thing over there.”
I could vaguely make out a shape in the distance, but it was too far away to determine what it was.
All at once and without warning, the suddenly-energetic Squirrelean took off in a bound toward the discovery.
“Wait, Kantú!” I yelled. But she kept going. “Ugh! Wait!”
I took off after her, and the rest of the party changed course and followed.
Several mud-soaked strides later, I could make out the object clearer. It seemed there really was some sort of rock jutting from the mud, but more than that, it appeared to be balancing on a flat landmass, solid amidst the gooey sea.
“Is that an island?” I asked, squinting.
Scardo tilted his head and studied the object. “If it is, then it’s quite unexpected.” He took the map out of his pock
et and scanned it. “Nothing is marked here. Nyte, have you heard anything about an island?”
Nyte shook his head. “I have not. We should examine the structure, though. If it is solid, we might be able to make camp.” He shrugged at Rend and she nodded.
Kantú called back over her shoulder, “Yay! We can finally rest!”
Geesh, that you heard?
She’d completely ignored our other protests, forgetting all about her muddy feet as she happily skipped through the muck with Grotts bounding after her faithfully. The pair of them were becoming quite close, and despite my frustrations with the disobedient Squirrelean, it put a smile on my weary face.
Anyways . . . Rest.
It sounded like a good idea; in fact, it sounded like the best idea.
Though drained, I forced myself to continue toward the mass.
~
An hour later we stood on what indeed turned out to be a small island of sorts, though rather than earth, it was comprised completely of red rock. The jagged rock that we’d originally seen extended from the exact center of the island’s oval base. Nearly three times my height, it was out of place on the plateau’s otherwise smooth surface.
“This does not seem to be a natural structure,” said Nyte, pacing about the base. “The surface is smooth as though it has been polished, and the center rock balances unnaturally.” He pushed on the rock to prove his point.
It didn’t budge.
Kantú and I didn’t care in the least that the structure was unnatural. We sat on the edge of the island and dangled our feet into the mud, glad to rest.
Grotts cocked a bushy red eyebrow and rubbed the balancing rock. “How’d this even get here? I know this kind ‘o rock; it’s not usually found in Elenque.”
“I agree it’s peculiar,” said Scardo, surveying the area. Then he let out a yawn. “Pardon me, I do apologize.”
Apologize for a yawn? I must’ve seemed entirely uncivilized to him.
“There is room enough here for us to pitch our tents,” said Nyte. “We should camp for the night. We can examine this structure more tomorrow.”
Rend studied the horizon. Though it was not yet nightfall, the sun had set, leaving the island in an odd twilit glow.
She gave one nod in agreement.
I was grateful for the decision. It had been too long since our last camp, and I was confident that the hard surface would feel adequately comfortable under my weary body. The realization that we would soon be able to sleep cut off whatever adrenaline I’d been running on, and I found my eyes fluttering shut.
Just a little longer.
The odd hues of twilight lit up our tents as we pitched them, giving our campsite an almost mystic quality.
“What a weird place,” I said. The glow was hypnotizing.
“Yes, it is a bit unsettling,” agreed Scardo, yawning again – this time into the sleeve of his tuxedo. “We should leave first thing in the morning.”
“In the morning . . .” But first comes night. Sleep.
Being that tired was like being hollow – some sort of shell that just floated from place to place without really feeling any attachment to anything.
Sleep. I need to sleep.
“Well then, goodnight.” Scardo had been staring at the sunset, but he now scuttled away, for once forgetting to bow.
I nodded at no one in particular before following his lead and retiring into the tent for the evening. I settled in next to Kantú and finally allowed my eyes to stay shut. Sleep came quickly. Quicker than it ever had.
~
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I opened my eyes, fully rested.
Kantú was still sleeping next to me, but Rend was no longer in the tent. I dressed quickly and brushed my teeth with water from the canteen before venturing outside to examine the source of the tapping.
The sky was a dimly lit blue-orange, mixed with fragments of purple, exactly the same as it’d looked when I’d gone to sleep.
Is it a new day?
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Rend and Nyte were feeling along the jutting rock, tapping it in various places.
“What are you doing awake?” Rend didn’t look at all pleased to see me.
“Good Morning, Miss Havoc,” said Nyte.
Morning. So I had slept through the night. It was just so early that the sun had yet to rise. I scanned the island. Grotts and Scardo had yet to emerge for the day.
“What are you guys doing?” I asked.
Rend rolled her eyes. She was upset that I’d interrupted her alone time with Nyte.
“There is something odd about this rock,” said Nyte. “It appears to be hollow.” He gave it another tap.
“Hollow?” Sure enough, there was an echo from the interior of the rock.
I placed my hand where he’d tapped, about to try it myself but was quickly distracted by something in my pocket that was rapidly growing warm. I reached down, but promptly had to pull my hand out.
“Ow!” The bead from Toll Garrich was searing hot.
“What is it?” Nyte looked worried by my exclamation of pain.
I looked around for a cloth and found Grotts’ yellowed one several feet away. I used it to carefully pick up the burning object. Holding it out, I showed it to the Elves.
Nyte gasped.
“Where did you get that!?” Rend grabbed my wrist and examined the bead, which had turned from black to blood red.
“Toll gave it to me. What is it?”
Nyte glanced at Rend darkly. “It is an angel stone,” he said.
“An angel stone?”
“They are very rare and extremely valuable,” said Rend. “Why would he give it to you?”
“Maybe he didn’t know what it was.” I didn’t know what it was.
“He would not be a very good trader if he did not know the value of a stone such as this,” spat Rend. She eyed me suspiciously, most likely imagining the ways I could have possibly seduced the stone from the Squirrelean.
Oh, please. I chose to ignore her.
“I don’t understand.” I turned to Nyte. “It was really cold before.”
“Maybe it is reacting to the rock.” He furrowed his brows. “Can I see it?”
I handed him the cloth, and his expression quickly became puzzled.
“What?” I asked.
“It is cooling.” He picked the bead up with his bare hand and held it out to me. It was slowly darkening back to black.
“Huh.” I reached out my hand, but when my finger brushed the bead, it seared once more.
“It is responding to her touch,” hissed Rend, narrowing her eyes.
My touch? It did seem to be the case, but I couldn’t imagine why I should have an effect on the bead.
“I touched it before, though, and nothing happened. Why would it respond now?”
“It might be because of this place. Here, try holding it against the rock.” Nyte handed me the bead, now safely back in the cloth.
I did as he said, and for a moment nothing happened, but then the stone abruptly hopped from the cloth and flew to the wall, like some invisible force had sucked it up. Then, as if bewitched, the stone rolled along the side of the rock before sinking into a small divot. There was a click, and the wall cracked open, revealing an ornately carved door with strange symbols.
Rend and I gasped.
This was hidden back here!? Out in the middle of the mud?
“A door?” Nyte ran forward to examine the crack. He rubbed his hand along the symbols, trying to decipher them, and his face rapidly filled with amazement.
“Is it Elven?” I asked.
“No. It is something ancient. Something I have never encountered before.”
Something ancient? What’s more ancient than Elven?
“Should we go inside?” I asked. I felt strangely excited, having inexplicably aided in the revealing of this strange door. Could I somehow have a connection to whoever built it?
Nyte’s nod was full of adventure, but Rend looked
wary.
“We do not know what lies ahead. You wish to go bolting into danger?” she said. “I refuse to allow such nonsense.”
“Would it please you to find out what the others think?” appeased Nyte.
She nodded stiffly.
We went to retrieve the rest of the group. Scardo was already starting to stir when we entered his tent, but Grotts and Kantú both looked annoyed when prodded awake. We recounted to them what had happened, and they each took a turn examining the strange crack. Grotts used his hammer to remove the fragments of rock that still covered a portion of the door.
“What’s this weird ‘ol writin’?” he asked, chiseling.
“It is a language I have never seen,” said Nyte, “but there are a few similarities with ancient Elftongue. The elders might know of it.” He fumbled about in his pack for a piece of parchment on which to copy the text.
Scardo had never before seen the strange symbols either. He shared Rend’s reservations about opening the door, but Grotts and Kantú were both eager to find out what lay beyond.
“Maybe there’s a treasure in there!” said Kantú with eyes of wonderment. “A hidden pirate treasure!”
“Mud pirates?” I asked doubtingly – but still I hoped.
Rend folded her arms. “Or there might be danger. Are we not supposed to deliver the . . . the . . . girl safely?”
But the way she cringed at the word ‘girl’, gave away that she was not at all worried about my safety. I suspected that her only reservation sit in wasted travel time. She wished to deliver me to Yes’lech as quickly as possible so as to be rid of the task altogether.
“What would you prefer to do, Miss Heart?” asked Scardo. “After all, we are your guard.”
I was glad, but also surprised, when the decision was left to me. “Let’s at least open it.”
“Aaaalright!” Kantú did a fist pump.
Grotts gripped the door’s handle, having removed all stray fragments of rock, and tried to pull; but it was stuck from ages of disuse, and even the great man struggled under its weight.