by Kim Wedlock
The sudden whinny of Garon's horse interrupted her as he pulled it to a short stop. Rathen's snorted in protest as he jerked the reins a second later to avoid trotting into him, but he raised his hand for silence before Rathen could bite off a curse. The inquisitor looked around, slowly and carefully, his grey eyes sharp as he strained his ears to listen into the depths of the forest, and Rathen and Anthis equally raised their guard as they moved up quietly beside him, scanning for whatever had put him on alert. But they were met by silence, broken only by the song of a few nearby birds. It took a long moment for any of them to ease in their saddles.
"What was it?" Rathen asked as Aria continued peering about, her recital forgotten, and Garon pointed towards the roots of a tree ahead of them.
"Ditchlings."
They followed the inquisitor's finger and promptly spotted the small footprint stamped in the mud amongst the tangle of the tree base.
"There's only one print," Anthis noted warily, "and it could be a child's."
Rathen shook his head. "It's not a child's."
"Do you think it's a trap?"
"No." He looked to Garon, who stared at it a moment longer before agreeing. "It's too close to the tree, and look: the bush beside it has been snapped. It was an accident, and it doesn't look too recent. But..."
"Ditchlings don't roam," Garon finished. "For there to be a single footprint, there will be a sett nearby. We need to be away from here."
"What are ditchlings?" Aria asked, her voice a mixture of concern and interest as she looked about to spot one.
"Monsters. Creatures that look like children with a reputation for being more than just a nuisance on their own. In groups they're a real menace. We'd do well not to run into them."
Aria frowned at the concern on her father's face. "But they're not children?" She asked. "Because they sound like children..."
"They're wild and they're dangerous," Garon stated firmly before Rathen could answer with more delicacy, "with a reputation for kidnapping and 'changing' children, stealing anything they can get their hands on, and attacking lone travellers in groups whenever they get the chance. Your father's right: we don't want to risk crossing their path."
Rathen sighed and shook his head as Aria's eyes widened in fear, and even Anthis frowned at the inquisitor's thoughtless response - he had yet to display much finesse when dealing with her.
"Now, from what I can tell from the direction of the print and the damage to the trees, this one was heading west. Ditchlings don't typically move like this close to their homes, so they were likely out hunting for something."
Anthis squinted into the dark forest. "I can't see the damage, where is it?"
"What do we do?"
Garon gestured east. "We take a detour. The forest is denser to the west, so that's where they'll have made their home. If we skirt around through the thinner parts of the woods we can avoid them. It will add a few hours onto the journey, but it would be for the best."
"Daddy, I'm scared."
"We'll be all right," he assured her softly, wrapping an arm around her to usher the fear from her voice, "I'm here."
"You'll be fine," Anthis agreed. "Not even Garon would let anything happen to you."
"I know he wouldn't," she said, though her voice was still small, "he's a good person, too."
Garon ignored her and turned his horse towards a new heading. "Let's move."
The group remained silent as they focused on putting distance between themselves and the single track, but after ten minutes, even as the others began to relax and the trees began to thin, Aria hadn't remotely eased. Anthis was as aware of it as Rathen, but her father seemed more interested in keeping her safe than calm as he constantly scanned the forest, and it didn't take long for her big and fearful eyes to weaken the historian.
"What--"
"Why do you like elves so much?"
Anthis blinked in surprise as she snapped towards him and posed her sudden question, interrupting his attempt to revive the last conversation. But as it served the same purpose of taking her mind off of the forest, he answered: "I grew up near ruins. I used to climb on them with my friends, but I never gave them much thought. I must have been just a little bit older than you when the word 'ruin' really dawned on me; before then I'd just assumed someone had built them to look that way, but I asked my parents about it and they told me that, thousands of years ago, they looked as tidy as my own house did."
Aria's jaw dropped. "A thousand?" She looked around to her distracted father. "Daddy, how old are you?"
"Not a thousand."
She spun back to Anthis, amazement flaming in her eyes and searing away her distress. "Then it must have been a really long time ago!"
"It was," he grinned once his laughter subsided, "and it fascinated me. I wanted to know more, but when my parents exhausted their knowledge of it, I struck out to discover more on my own."
"But why elves? Why not people?"
"Because the elves aren't around any more."
She cocked her head and frowned. "Where did they go? Did they all die?"
He considered her for a long moment as he decided how to answer, but his choice was made for him when he recognised the potency of the interest in her eyes. He smiled. "No one knows."
Her expression snapped into a frown as her confusion and intrigue swelled, just as he hoped it would. "How can no one know?"
"Because the elves were here one day, gone the next."
"It can't be that simple," Rathen mumbled through his study of the forest, but the historian's smile only grew.
"And yet, that's what happened. There were no remains - the only ones that have ever been found are those that were formally buried or entombed by other elves - and while human servants wouldn't have been privy to direct information, war is a hard thing to hide and they would have been aware of it. There were tensions between nations, as there always have been and always will be, but there was no hint of a war, no sudden attack, nor any survivors from any such thing. And nothing was gathered to be taken to another land, either - homes are still being discovered full of belongings even now." Against possibility, Anthis's smile had broadened even further in endless fascination. "They really do seem to have just disappeared."
Despite Rathen's increasingly sceptical frown, he found himself unwilling to challenge him, or try to devalue his excitement. Everything the learned young man had just said was true; the very foundations of the mystery that fuelled so many of his colleagues, and one that perplexed even Rathen enough to want an answer, even if he only spared it the briefest of thoughts while his mind drifted towards sleep. Now, however, he regarded Anthis curiously. "What's your theory?"
"My theory? The Craitic legend. Zikhon got to them. Slipped past Vastal and destroyed them all, just like the legends say, and Vastal swooped in to save the rest of us just in the nick of time." He grinned. "After all, gods destroying them is just as unlikely as all the other ideas floating around, but by far the most colourful. Living among the stars comes a close second, but there's simply no way they would have changed their appearance to live among humans, given their disdain for them."
"What about packing up the bare essentials and just leaving?" Rathen suggested. "Magic originated with the elves; they could easily have used it to disappear overnight, and to conceal their new home. Perhaps they hated humans enough to just drop everything and get away from us once and for all."
"And yet there's no mention of such a thing. No plans or concerns in journals - nothing at all. Businesses and possessions were abandoned, social plans were half-made, and every single elf vanished. A world-wide change of heart is just as unlikely as divine intervention." His grin suddenly broadened again. "And that's why it's such a fascinating mystery! But one I doubt will ever be answered. That's why I like the idea of gods destroying them - that the God of Death finally overpowered the God of Life in an epic struggle and managed to lay waste to her creations: because it could never be proven anyway. I find it easier
to live with."
"Why can't you find out?"
"Rathen."
The mage looked towards the inquisitor as Aria chimed in with more questions. He'd kept his voice low enough that the others wouldn't hear; rather than ride up beside him, the mage simply nodded. "I feel it," he murmured as his gaze sharpened and movements softened, searching subtly through the forest for the eyes they could feel upon them, "but we're not under any magic yet."
"If the elves were still alive, would you still want to know so much about them?" Aria asked, oblivious to the concerns exchanged over her head.
"No," Anthis admitted with a smile, "I probably wouldn't."
"Hmmm... Daddy says that sometimes I don't appreciate something until I don't have it anymore. Maybe it's the same thing."
"Maybe."
Aria leaned forwards in the saddle. "Do you like to learn, Mister Inquis'tor?"
"When it's relevant," he replied flatly.
"I can teach you something," she offered. "It's a song."
"I'm fine, thank you."
The little girl pouted. "But it's about a goat."
"No--"
"We wanna hear it."
A clamour of curses and startled neighs broke out as all around them came dozens of sudden footfalls and only the slightest rustle of leaves. Hooves clattered over embedded rocks as they hastened their horses into a tight group over Garon's barked orders, and Aria's short, sharp scream pierced the air as she spun around in the saddle. Within only a moment of the rough voice's interruption, almost twenty pale children had sprung out and surrounded them, many having dropped from the treetops. They were markedly wild; their hair tangled and skin caked in dirt, clad in roughly-stitched skins, though a few wore dirty shirts or trousers stolen from washing lines, and every one of them was armed, some with slingshots, others sharpened sticks, but none to be taken lightly.
But despite his alarm, Rathen quickly noticed that not one of the ditchlings had readied those weapons. Their spears stood beside them, rock slingers held limp, and they stared closely back at them with oversized eyes that weren't quite silver, nor quite green, absorbing every detail with a critical harshness. Then they each fixed upon Aria.
He barred a protective arm across her, and though she clung onto it, she must also have noticed their passive manner, for she simply frowned back at them with caution.
The inquisitor straightened in his saddle and eyed their ambushers carefully. "Let us go," he began, trying to decide which of the inhuman children might be the leader, "and we'll leave you alone. We have no business with you, and nothing you want."
The creature who wore the tidiest shirt - or the least distressed - turned its sharp orbs onto him and cocked its matted head. The gaze of the others shortly followed. "Why?" It asked, its voice curious but harsh, as though manners and proper speech were completely alien concepts. "What're you doing?"
"That is none of your business."
"Never said it was," it replied, its impish eyes never leaving him, just as none of the others' did. "Still wanna know, though."
Aria looked up at her father. The lines in his face were deep and stern, and his unblinking eyes were vigilant, but they only gave her pause for a moment. "It might be their business," she said thoughtfully, but she was spared only the briefest frown of confusion before his attention snapped back to their apparent captors.
Then, upon an unknown cue, all silver-green eyes shifted suddenly away from Garon and turned onto Rathen instead. He became rigid in his saddle beneath their abrupt attention, but he didn't otherwise react - though he ensured his right hand was empty of the reins, should he need it.
"Is it you?" The child-thing asked him with a great degree of suspicion.
"Is it me, what?"
"All the hocus pocus," it replied, twisting its slender white fingers ridiculously in demonstration. "It's doing something to the Tree. We want you to stop it. Now."
"That's why you've come out, isn't it?" Anthis asked carefully, though only the shirted ditchling looked back to him. "We wouldn't have seen you for even a moment if you were going to target us. You would have followed us, waited for us to get distracted then taken what you wanted - no one ever knows a ditchling was there until they've already gone."
It grunted and exaggeratedly rolled its giant eyes, and now the group's attention fell upon him instead, and they all seemed to share the same insult and ego. "We're not 'ditchlings'," it drawled, "we are Arkhamas."
Anthis restrained his amusement from touching his lips. "'Lords of Mischief'. How is that any better?"
"'Cause it's our name," it pointed out, then grinned suddenly, revealing chipped teeth, "and it's the truth."
"What's going on?" Rathen asked, though he regretted speaking when all eyes snatched back to him.
"'Arkh' is elven for 'mischief'," Anthis replied quietly, "and '-amas' means 'superior'."
"It was them elves what started calling us 'ditchlings'," it grumbled, folding its arms across its narrow chest as if having one of Aria's sulky turns. "They used to show us respect, but they turned away from us just like they did everything else when they reckoned they were 'too good' for us, and called us that stupid name instead. What does it matter if we play in the mud?! It ain't no harm!" It looked abruptly back to Rathen and jabbed a dirty finger towards him. "And you never answered our question."
"I'm not doing anything."
The creature's shoulders suddenly dropped in a huff. "It's only a question!" It complained. "It's not hard! Just answer it!"
"I..." Rathen frowned. "No, I meant I'm not responsible for the magic..."
"Where is this tree?" Anthis asked slowly, dismounting cautiously despite Garon's order, and Rathen shortly followed, sensing the same lack of threat though he kept his guard all the same, and remained close to Aria's side.
"If we tell you, you might go and make it worse."
"How could we make it worse?"
"'Cause you might be lying." Its gaze gripped the mage with open suspicion. "I can't see your head's insides. If we tell you, and it's you what's done it, then you could make it worse. And then we'll all be in trouble."
Anthis glanced towards Rathen who looked back with the same brush of concern, and they both came to the same conclusion. "You'll just have to trust us," Rathen replied. "We're out here to try to put a stop to it."
It shook its head again. "Could still be lying."
"You're not very trusting."
"We can't see your head's insides."
"You said that before."
"'Cause it's still true."
"They're telling the truth."
All eyes, including those of the adults, shifted onto Aria as she dangled from the horse. Rathen caught her as she let go, but rather than set her feet on the ground, he lifted her back into the saddle.
"Daddy, let me down," she ordered him quite firmly.
"You're safer up there."
"Do you promise?" The ditchlings' collective eyes remained glued upon her, but their distrust had been replaced by doubt, as though they were still disinclined to believe but at least willing to listen to her, if not to the others.
She sat taller in the saddle, as she'd seen Garon do, and gave them a single, certain nod before slipping back down with Rathen's reluctant help.
The lead ditchling stared at her closely. "What's your name?"
"Aria."
"I'm Nug." He stepped away from the circle of ditchlings and approached her. Anthis shuffled closer and Garon finally dismounted, his hand gripping his sword hilt, but Aria didn't shrink back. Nug stopped in front of her, and as she smiled at his earthy scent - he smelled like home - he stared studiously into her eyes. "I can't see inside your head," he began slowly, "but I can see your eyes. And that's the next best thing where hoomans are concerned." He gave her a nod, and the surrounding circle of wild children finally moved, shifting their weight with ease as if they'd all been holding their breath since they'd gathered. "We believe you. We'll take you to the Tree - b
ut only you."
"Absolutely not," Rathen growled, snatching her back towards him.
"What's wrong?" Nug frowned, then rolled his eyes again. "Ohhh, it's them rumours, ain't it? Well, we don't take kids like you think. Some live with us sometimes, yeah, but only 'cause they wanted to. We don't turn 'em away if they're lonely or lost, but we also don't make 'em lonely or lost." His eyes narrowed fiercely at the mage. "It's a load of horse dung you folks made up about us 'cause we're not like you."
"Stop it," Aria demanded, stomping her way between Nug and her father just as he inhaled to respond, "both of you. Now, Nug, I'm sorry, but either they come with me, or none of us go at all."
"Why?"
"Because there's no use just me seeing it, I won't know what to do. They're the only ones that can help it." She offered him a reassuring smile, which he duly scrutinised. "Trust me, they won't make it worse."
His silver-green eyes flicked to Rathen, Anthis and Garon in turn. "We don't trust them...but..."
"But you have no choice."
Nug hung his head in defeat, and a few of the ditchlings smiled. "Fiiine," he groaned as he looked back up to her, "but you have to make sure they don't cause any trouble."
"They won't," she promised with a grin, "cross my heart."
"This don't mean we trust you, mind - we won't take you there for nothing."
"What do you want?" Anthis asked carefully.
"Dunno," Nug shrugged, then turned around and beckoned them to follow as he and the others began disappearing into the trees.
The three adults glanced at each other in bewilderment, and after Aria had turned and ordered them with a look to do the same, they took their horse's reins and trekked obediently behind her, Rathen keeping so close he almost stepped on her heels.
Anthis lowered his voice to a whisper. "It's funny, I thought we were moving away from their territory."
"Well it seems they were looking for us," Garon replied just as quietly, ignoring his condescension. "You said yourself that if they'd wanted anything from us, we would never have known they were here - and at least we've discovered why people feel like they're being watched."