Bridge Between the Worlds (Dreamwalker Book 1)

by R. B. L. Gillmore

  “I do not know why or even how you have come to be here your majesty but we must not linger. It is not safe. Will you follow me to a nearby haven?”

  Amy did a double take at being referred to as Majesty but wasn’t about to get off topic.

  “Not until I have looked after my friend,” she replied.

  “But of course! My apologies, I needed to check first that you were not spies, and then I was distracted when I discovered your identity. It is no small detail. What troubles your friend?”

  “He was shot and then his wound was reopened in an accident.”

  “It sounds as though you have been plagued by misfortune. Let us see…”

  The elf knelt beside Martay who was on the edge of delirium. He didn’t respond at all as his shoulder and side were inspected gently. The elf’s face seemed more confused than concerned as he carried out his review of the wound. He needed to draw a short knife from his belt in order to cut Martay's clothes away from the wound for a closer look and soon turned questioningly to Amy.

  “You say he was shot but with what weapon? The wound is not terrible, though mildly fouled. Yet its form makes no sense to me. Almost I would say that some small piece of broken metal such as an arrow tip alone has passed through his side without the rest of the arrow following!”

  “Umm, actually that would be a very close comparison,” she replied, “he was shot with a gun… you know, a pistol.” The elf gave her a look of blank incomprehension. “You… don’t know, do you. Well a gun fires a small bullet of metal, about the size of… of a small pebble.”

  “You use strange words and this is an odd weapon you describe but let us put that aside for now. There is still the damage to repair.”

  With these words he drew a small vial out of a pocket in his cloak that looked like simple water. He uncorked it swiftly using his teeth.

  “My apologies friend but this is going to cause some pain for a short time before it starts to work.”

  Martay nodded ever so slightly in acknowledgement then the elf poured a little of the liquid directly onto his wound. Martay cried out and clutched horribly at his shoulder, his faced contorted in pain as he felt the liquid trickle into his wound, stinging, stabbing. The elf quickly pressed his hand over the wound and started speaking slowly in his own language, as if he was chanting. Amy was shocked to realise that she recognised the language, if not the meaning of the words. Her parents had spoken it together on a number of private occasions. This made sense as she thought about it, her mother was, after all, an elf. This was her language.

  Almost as quickly and suddenly as the pain had gripped him, it left Martay's side. He found that his movements were easier than he expected. He didn’t have long to marvel at this before the pain attacked him again. The elf had poured another few drops into the back part of his wound and repeated the process. The pain quickly eased and was gone. The relief made a world of difference. Martay still felt weak and light headed but he felt his mind fill with renewed hope and he got to his feet determinedly.

  “Thank you! Thank you so much!” he exclaimed in Hungarian, “Köszönöm! Köszönöm szépen!”

  The elf raised his eyebrows. “Today is full of surprises. The lost princess returns with a man from another world and as if that is not incredible enough, he speaks some kind of rustic elvish dialect! Come, let us go where we can sit and have your tale told in full. It is clear that there is much to tell.”

  “Lost princess?” Amy asked.

  This time she couldn’t let the remark pass.

  “What do you mean lost princess?”

  “If you do not know then perhaps it is wisest that I do not try to explain, and this is certainly not the right place for it. Come, let us leave this place.”

  Amy stood open mouthed for a moment before shrugging her shoulders and leaving the matter be. She was in a brand new world and a complete stranger believed that he knew her. His thinking that she was some kind of royalty wasn’t exactly a stretch of reality compared to everything else. She embraced Martay out of sheer gladness and then turned to Snipping and did the same before responding.

  “Is it far to where you are taking us,” she asked the disappearing back of the elf. “Also, what exactly did you do to Martay? Was that… magic?”

  The elf looked back and smiled warmly.

  “After a fashion, perhaps. The water comes from a source with powerful healing characteristics. It encourages rapid growth and rejuvenation. I have spoken words to make it flow through the wound deeply and swiftly but it is the body itself which has closed Martay's wound, and it has drawn on his own energy to do so.”

  He turned now to Martay.

  “You will feel very tired until you can get some rest and recover young friend. But take heart, it is not too far to walk, then you may have peace and quiet for a while.”

  With that he made his way through the trees, beckoning to the others in a sign that they should follow him.

  Martay looked to Amy with a relieved and excited expression but his face dropped a little as he realised that Amy’s eyes were fixated on the back of his healer. There was an odd light in her eyes which he had never seen before and something about it made his heart sink low in his chest. Snipping, however, was still paying attention to him.

  “You’re a very lucky man Martay. There’re very few elves left in any mortal worlds. To stumble across one in the nick o’ time to heal you is beyond chance, perhaps. More likely it was fate, or the prophet... Perhaps they’re one and the same,” he added thoughtfully. “At any rate, we can feel safer for the moment than we ‘ave for over a month now. Try not to feel too down.”

  Amy had quickened her pace to stride along beside the elf, feeling childish as she asked, “I am sorry for being so rude, I didn’t ask what your name was?”

  “It is not rude at all. Had you asked first before revealing your own name I should not have given it to you. It is Arnorial and I am the last of the Guardian Order.”

  “THE Arnorial?” Snipping exclaimed loudly behind them. “I thought you’d departed to the elven home after the last great war. Ya remained in Otthon?”

  “You seem to know more of me than should be, Snipping, whose name I have never heard the like of in all my years. I imagine your own history will be worth hearing when we have time to speak but that is not now nor in this place, as I have already said. Patience. We can all speak together soon.”

  The pace he set kept them all quite speechless as they sought to keep up. He didn’t seem to be moving his limbs all that much faster, nor even stretching his strides, yet he flitted before them so quickly that they almost needed to jog. Martay found the walk the hardest of the three, exhausted as he was. Snipping also had problems thanks to his short legs. Amy alone still felt a degree of comfort in the speed which had been set. She was at least free enough in her movements to take in the fascinating sight of the bizarre new trees, shrubs and flowers which decorated the forest. Their colour may have been subdued by the darkness but nonetheless, they stood out clear and distinct to Amy with her strangely improved eyesight. It was not just what she saw that spiked her intrigue. She caught a multitude of strange yet refreshing scents in the air, clearly rising from the vegetation around her. She breathed deeply, not out of need from walking but because with each breath she found ever more energy, she felt more alive than she ever had before, lighter and more filled up with sensations. She started to notice faint, distant sounds, clearly coming from a very long way off.

  Every few moments she stole glances at Arnorial. He seemed utterly unperturbed by her presence. Rather, he seemed wholly focused on where he was leading them, checking all about them constantly with watchful eyes and pricked up ears. This was almost literal, Amy realised. Arnorial’s ears were ever so slightly pointed at the top, more so than a human’s but not nearly as exaggerated as in movies. It was just enough to be noticeably different.

  She wondered how old he was? Snipping clearly knew something about him. He had said that Arnoria
l had been around in the last war. Amy suddenly realised she had no idea how long ago that was. She considered for a moment whether she should ask him but then decided that that would indeed have been rude. Quite old, she thought, certainly something about the light in his eyes gave away clearly that he was not young. They were so much deeper, deeper even than her mother’s eyes. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that but for the time being her fascination at meeting another elf was enough to drown out sensible thoughts.

  They started to climb steeply and Amy noticed that Arnorial was starting to guide them carefully between sudden uprisings of rock that formed short but impassable cliffs. Even in these places trees grew in marches right up to the rocks’ edge and sprouted up again above them. Had they been able to see through the great canopy of leaves they would have realised that they were steadily making their way towards a great range of tremendously tall mountains. The forest formed a dense blanket which covered the mountain’s shoulders all the way up until the barren peaks could no longer support life due to the cold and lack of rich air. The trees travelled a long way north and south, though cumulatively they were not very wide, travelling but a few kilometres east, away down the smaller hills before fading into brown wilderland. At present they were far up in the forest’s north-eastern corner and just as Martay was starting to stumble with weariness Arnorial announced that they were almost there. In fact, they soon found themselves on what was clearly a trail, formed simply by the regular passage of many feet. They had only followed it for a few minutes when they came to the widest cliff face they had yet seen and a voice cried down to them.

  “Halt and declare yourselves!”

  “It is I, Arnorial, and I bring with me three lost travellers who shall take refuge with us tonight.”

  “Welcome back Sir! My apologies, we did not expect you to return so soon.”

  Arnorial led them on. They never saw the guard, who was clearly well hidden in the trees on the cliff top above. The path ended after following the base of the cliff line for a short way and Arnorial made a sudden double back around a jagged pier of rock which stuck out. There was a series of rough steps hewn into the stone. They were not even or consistent but they made it possible to climb up with relative ease.

  From the clear vantage point above they could look out over much of the forest to the north, south and, primarily, east.

  “The forest seems so narrow from here. I thought it would stretch further out considering how far we walked,” Amy declared after having made out the far-off edge of the tree line.

  “Do you mean to say you can see the forest’s end from 'ere,” Snipping asked.

  “I can see where the trees stop growing so close together. Can’t you?”

  Snipping shook his head slowly. A glance at Martay's face told her that he could not see so far either. Snipping opened his mouth, about to speak when Arnorial cut in.

  “You have certainly received more than your mother’s appearance. You also have her eyes. Even keen sighted men here struggle to see so far during the day.”

  “But…” Amy faltered, “I never used to see so far before. It only started happening here in the forest.”

  “Intriguing,” came Arnorial’s reply, “though you seem to be destined for mystery. Come, we should not stop here on the doorstep.”

  Only a little way further along the cliff, Arnorial dove suddenly west into the trees. Amy was aware of hushed voices and soft footfalls above and around them.

  As she looked up she realised that a network of wood and rope pathways had been slung through the trees, connecting a number of large platforms built into the middle level of the branches.

  Arnorial called up to one of the platforms and a man appeared, leaning over the edge for a moment before disappearing again. A rope ladder dropped down in front of them so that they could clamber up.

  A fairly large number of people were making their way about on the walkways with soft steps and no one seemed to speak much louder than a whisper. On noticing that Arnorial had returned however, a number of voices rang out in greeting and someone lit a bright lantern at the centre of the platform. A host of people tightened in a ring around the three companions. who realised with slight discomfort that they were all the targets of peering eyes. Their clothes must have looked extremely outlandish, Martay thought to himself. Then the lantern bearer pushed through the crowd and came to a stop in front of Arnorial, bowing low.

  “Welcome back my Lord! We are glad at your return but it was unlooked for. Have you a pressing errand with these new folk, or do you all perhaps have time for a meal? The scouts sent signals saying you had hurried some distance through the forest.”

  “We shall take a meal Kallen. Come,” he said to the three companions, “let us ease your hunger and your weariness a little. We have much to discuss.”

  The circle of onlookers stared with wide eyes and open mouths. Many bowed reverently, whilst others could be heard whispering hurriedly to one another. They were led across a few pathways to what appeared to be the largest platform of all. Even walls of well crafted wood had been installed with many curved beams rising up to form a dome with the tree trunk at its centre like a circus tent.

  The space inside was impressive. It was almost the size of an entire home with no internal separation. There were plenty of low set tables where people could sit simply on the floor to use them. At the furthest end of the hall from where they entered stood a stone oven of substantial proportions. It was, as the companions realised, the mess hall of this strange encampment.

  They were all seated and food in plenty was placed before them, along with plain but sturdy flagons of clear wine.

  There was a period of silence amongst them, broken only by the noise of their eating. Martay in particular had been in desperate need of food and drink but was soon slumped in deep contentment, trying to fight off the sleepiness that was overwhelming him.

  “Take rest friend,” said Arnorial, “you have earned it with courageous stamina.”

  Martay didn’t need telling twice. He lay straight back on the spot with his hands behind his head and was immediately drifting off into dreamless, blissful sleep. Snipping too seemed greatly eased and content but he was still wary. Amy on the other hand felt no shadow of tiredness upon her and after finishing her meal she turned to Arnorial with a head full of questions.

  They would have to wait because Arnorial was much quicker to speak.

  “Now, young Amriel, tell me your tale in full, for it cannot be happy chance that brings you to Otthon out of the realm of the unknown.”

  And so, Amy started to tell him everything she could remember, from the creation of the strange tree, so long ago it seemed to be now, all the way up to their meeting the prophet and passing through the way between the worlds.

  Arnorial interrupted on rare occassion with a question and for the most part left her to speak freely. Amy wondered whether it was wise to tell him so much but she felt, rather than thought, that she could trust him with anything. The story took a long time to tell and sunlight had started to creep over the horizon and was finding its way through small gaps in the strange walls by the time she was finished.

  “This is all grim news, though not altogether surprising. The enemy has been highly active for a number of years now, slowly rebuilding his strength, growing his followers, fortifying his position and stretching his shadow out over the world around him. War, I fear, waged against the men of this world is coming. For humans have ever been a resource which he can turn to evil use for his true goals. Now I see his plan is more complex than that. He has discovered you at last. Perhaps he expected to find you. So it seems, judging from your tale. However, I am not sure what this portends.”

  He sighed heavily and there was an aura of sorrow around him that quickly left.

  “One thing I see clearly at least. You are unique. Your potential is unfathomable, a power which Gorhoth both fears and desires. If there is any hope of destroying him forever then that hope cert
ainly lies with you.”

  Amy didn’t respond. At these words all she could think of was the pleas of the enemy. An uncomfortable feeling rose in her as she thought about how right he had been. All these people were bent on the idea that she would destroy him in the end. They were pushing her towards it.

  She shook these thoughts out of her head and tried to change the topic.

  “What is this place exactly? A town, village, outpost of some kind?” she asked.

  “The short answer is that ‘outpost’ would be the closest word. It is a long story to explain its true purpose.”

  “Do you have time to tell me?”

  “Certainly, there is time,” replied Arnorial. He paused, measuring her up, gauging her courage, “Nevertheless, at this point I am not sure if you are ready to become embroiled in the struggles of this world.”

  “I’m not afraid,” said Amy defiantly.

  “I did not say you were. In fact, your courage is one of my chief fears. I have not had long to gain an understanding of you Amriel but I see much of your mother in you and I know how she would have reacted to our plight when she was your age.”

  This threw Amy off guard and it raised a wave of new questions that she wanted to ask of him. She had to push them from her mind so as not to get sidetracked.

  “Try me anyway,” she said. “I’ve been told I take after my father more in personality.”

  Arnorial let out a long, clear and warm laugh, which lasted some time. When he stopped he continued smiling broadly with eyes full of mirth at Amy. She felt a strange sensation spreading somewhere in her stomach as he did.