The Exile of Elindel

by Carol Browne

  He tensed with apprehension. “What are you going to do?”

  “Don’t worry,” she reassured him. “But you were right, as usual. I destroyed a forest. I was showing off when I should have shown mercy. I can’t shed blood to honour Faine, but a sacrifice of some kind is required.”

  Perplexed and concerned, he gave the knife to his friend. Elgiva tested its edge with her thumb and then turned and ascended the knoll. Once on the summit, she took the blade in one hand and her long black hair in the other. Without hesitation, she severed the gleaming tresses and scattered them on the grass, as though they were contemptible.

  Godwin winced at this, and Trystin gasped in horror.

  “Oh, Master Godwin,” he cried. “Elven ladies never cut their hair!”

  But Godwin wasn’t listening. His attention was drawn to his friend as she stood on top of the knoll.

  “I’ve been guilty of vanity and I’ve misused the power you gave me, Lord Faine. So I sacrifice this symbol of vanity to make amends with you. Forgive me, if you can, and guide me to a truer path.” Elgiva drew a deep breath and straightened herself, as though shrugging off a burden.

  Godwin understood the necessity of her action, though it galled him to see it. He placed a hand on Trystin’s shoulder and opened his mouth to speak, but his attention was snatched away by a rustling in the shrubs nearby, and he spun to confront the unknown threat.

  Trystin’s mouth fell open in horror and Grimalkin let loose a snort of alarm as three elves sprang into the glade, each carrying a spear. They halted several yards from the knoll and assessed the situation. Spangles of sunlight flashed on their spears.

  “So,” cried one. “Intruders, you defy the laws of the king!”

  “The penalty is death,” yelled another.

  Two of the elves, grinning with anticipation, levelled their spears and strode towards Godwin and Trystin.

  “Be gone,” commanded Elgiva. “Leave us alone, or I will attack you.”

  “Yah!” jeered the first elf, and he and his companion marched on.

  Godwin thrust the elfling behind him and drew his sword. His hand shook badly, but trying to steady it only made it tremble more. While he tried to look menacing, the third elf stalked towards the knoll.

  “In Faine’s name, stop,” Elgiva cried. “I don’t want to harm you!”

  But her warning was ignored. The two elves got ready to throw their spears.

  Hampered by Trystin’s clinging presence, Godwin couldn’t move. He looked towards Elgiva as she raised the knife and pointed it at the two attackers. The next thing Godwin knew, there was a great flash of light. He and Trystin fell to the ground as a beam of force spiralled past them. When he could bear to open his eyes, he saw two bodies on the grass ahead of him.

  The remaining elf was taken aback, but he soon threw off his shock. With vengeance gleaming in his eyes, he started to climb the knoll, and as he reached the summit, he drew back his arm to strike.

  Godwin scrambled to his feet and ran to save Elgiva, but the spear had already been released and was sailing towards its target.

  The weapon, however, appeared to hit an invisible wall, and Godwin watched in disbelief as it tumbled to the grass.

  The attacker gaped and watched the spear roll down the knoll, as though it had betrayed him. For several moments, his eyes flipped back and forth between Elgiva and Godwin. It was then Godwin noticed the ridge of scar that twisted the length of the elf’s right cheek. Recovering his wits, the elf scuttled back down the knoll and fled into the forest.

  Godwin sheathed his sword and bounded up the slope. He reached Elgiva, seized her by the shoulders, and turned her round to face him. Spent magic glimmered in her eyes, and her face looked strangely puzzled. The knife slipped from her grasp.

  “Are you hurt?” demanded Godwin.

  She shook her head. “No, I’m fine.”

  He smiled with relief. “By Frigg, don’t look so thunderstruck! Does your power amaze you that much?”

  She seemed confused. “But I didn’t do anything.”

  “Didn’t you kill those two?” He nodded towards the two dead elves lying on the grass.

  Elgiva recoiled in horror. “Yes, oh, Godwin, yes! I keep on killing, don’t I? But I had to. You and Trystin . . . ”

  He tightened his grip on her shoulders. “Stop. It’s okay.” He stooped to retrieve his knife.

  “I don’t know what made me do it, but I used the blade to channel the power. Iron must be a good medium. Perhaps too good. I kill too easily.”

  Godwin pushed the knife into his belt. “You saved our lives,” he reminded her.

  “Yes, I’m glad of that, but I could do no more.”

  “I assure you, that was enough,” said Godwin with a grin.

  “No, no, I mean . . . I used up my strength with that first bolt of power.” She looked at him intently. “All my strength. I was desperate.”

  Godwin’s composure was shaken. “What?”

  “When the elf attacked me with that spear, I didn’t defend myself. I couldn’t.” She glanced around her, as though searching for words. “Something helped me. Something stood between us and knocked the spear away.” She shivered and placed her hand on his arm, as if his solid presence were an antidote to her fear.

  Godwin didn’t know what to say or how to accept this impossible truth. As they stood in silence on the knoll, he felt they were not alone, and a shiver ran up his spine.

  They descended to level ground, where Trystin sat staring at the dead elves. He was chewing his nails as usual and looked terrified. He ran to greet them and threw his arms around Elgiva, babbling thanks for his deliverance, but she too seemed appalled by the sight of the two corpses and was unable to return his embrace.

  Godwin pulled the elfling aside and enlisted his help in dragging the bodies into the underwood. Together, they hid all trace of the elves.

  Elgiva suddenly gasped in panic. “Godwin, where’s Grimalkin?”

  Trystin was startled. “Oh, Lady Elgiva, she was scared. She must have run away.”

  “She can’t have gone far,” said Godwin. “No doubt she’s found something to eat.”

  “We’d better find her,” Elgiva decided. “Trystin and I will search for her. We know the ways of forests. Stay here and rest awhile, Godwin; you look like you could do with it. I’m sure we’ll be back before that elf returns with reinforcements.” She touched his arm.

  Godwin wasn’t entirely convinced, but Trystin agreed with Elgiva.

  “The elf will have gone to the royal hall, and that’s a long way off, Master Godwin. And they won’t come back here looking for us. We’d be mad to stay after what we’ve done.”

  Mad indeed. He acquiesced and watched his friends depart.

  When they had gone, he sat by the knoll and tried to relax, but it wasn’t easy. He drew his sword, stroked the blade, and mused to himself that, as usual, his dubious skills as a warrior had been completely superfluous. Magic had saved the day.

  Beneath the warmth of the afternoon sun, the forest was very still, but Godwin had disquieting thoughts, despite the pervasive calm. Perhaps his friends would never return. Perhaps they had never existed. Perhaps he was really in the throes of an illness and would wake up back at the settlement, his lumpy straw pallet beneath him and his travels but a dream.

  He got to his feet and stretched until his bones cracked. The dream, however, persisted. He looked up at the Hill-Shrine and decided to climb to the top. What prompted this move, he didn’t know, but he told himself the top of the knoll was a much better vantage point, where he wouldn’t be taken unawares. Yet, this was only a part of the reason. He was too sleepy to be on guard.

  He lay down in the circle of self-heal, like a sacrifice to the spring, the gleaming lengths of Elgiva’s severed hair strewn around him in the sunshine. Laying his sword upon the grass beside him, he let the warmth soak into his bones.

  Birds trilled in the treetops, and insects droned in the tepid air. Wa
rmth, drowsiness, and enchantment flooded like a sleeping draught into Godwin’s limbs, and his eyelids closed, cradling him in darkness.

  Drifting for a time, as though freed from all his fears and doubts, he became aware of a figure strolling through the blackness towards him. It drew into focus, and he could see it was Rowena. She was talking to an unseen companion, and behind her, the mead hall sprang into being, its walls shivering like a mirage. As the vision sharpened, his wife’s words were clear.

  “Yes, our lord says he will bargain for the captives’ return. In my heart, I know Godwin will come back home to me.”

  She was smiling, that well-remembered smile. The long, flaxen hair. The blue eyes like sapphires. If only he could reach out and touch her.

  He sat up with a start, and the vision burst like a bubble, leaving him bewildered and lost. He gasped at the pain of separation.

  Rowena!

  He rubbed his eyes and looked around. There was no sign of his friends. No sign of enemies, either. The glade was deserted and quiet, an island of unimpeachable stillness in the tangled, lush-leaved forest.

  Before he could wonder at the strangeness of his dream, an inexplicable compulsion made him lie down again. Whatever it was, he couldn’t resist it. His eyelids felt like slabs of marble, and he was forced to close them. For a time, he floated in a lazy warmth, a silken breeze caressing his skin and filling his lungs with the scents of the forest. Lulled by a bone-deep feeling of security, he was surprised to hear a voice, a voice that seemed to be in his mind, a mild and soothing voice that spoke to him without words, yet he understood the meaning. It hummed around him and within him, like the very air he breathed, a voice of authority, but gentleness, too. An anodyne that flowed into his veins like peace. He fancied that, if the Earth could speak, she would speak in such a voice.

  “They who persecute evil shall prosper

  “And come to their inheritance.

  “The sword now sleeps,

  “But awakened, it shall guard the good.

  “The iron shall be invincible,

  “The metal made mighty,

  “The steel strengthened.

  “The light-of-battle will protect its lord.”

  Godwin rolled over onto his stomach. Surely he must be awake? Why couldn’t he open his eyes? The ground he lay upon seemed to yield, and his body sank gladly into it, as though it sought oneness with the Earth. He opened his mind once more to the voice.

  “’Tis time thy natal gift to claim,

  “The warrior’s fame that was forsaken;

  “So when in peril, say its name,

  “Then Taranuil will awaken.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Are you asleep, Master Godwin?”

  Godwin struggled to wake himself. Shafts of sunlight sliced through the clouds, dappling his vision with the shadows of leaves. He sat up, fighting his confusion. He couldn’t remember where he was, but he felt as though he had slept for many hours.

  “We found Grimalkin,” Trystin informed him. He turned and scampered back down the knoll to join Elgiva.

  “She cast off most of our baggage in her hurry to get away, and we were forced to retrieve it,” said Elgiva. “Luckily, she left us a good trail to follow, and as you predicted, the local plants are much too tasty for her to stray very far.”

  “How long were you gone?” asked Godwin.

  “Not long at all,” she said. “But we’d better make a move, I think.”

  Godwin nodded his assent, though he needed more time to gather his wits. His recent dreams had clouded his brain, but he had to acknowledge the need for haste. He followed his friends as they left the glade, but his mind wandered still in visions.

  Hardly had they left the clearing when a skirl of shrill cries snatched their attention back to the top of the knoll. A host of birds had descended on the Shrine, and each one picked up a hank of dark hair before taking flight again. Their cries rang with triumph as they bore their spoils aloft. Elgiva seemed briefly taken aback, but then she laughed with delight.

  “At least I have some use in this world, even if only for lining nests.”

  Her companions shared her amusement, and with Trystin leading once again, they set off through the forest.

  As they threaded their way through the undergrowth, it grew increasingly thicker, thwarting their need for both speed and stealth.

  “We’re making no headway at all,” complained Godwin, stabbing at the shrubs with his sword. He suspected that Trystin was leading them astray, but he didn’t want to offend the elfling’s overly sensitive nature with ill-considered criticism.

  To ease his frustration, he took a swipe at a low-hanging branch with his sword. The weapon cut cleanly through the bough, as though it had been a twig.

  “This fellow was sired by an axe,” he said. “Whoever forged this weapon gave it the temper of stone.”

  “Must you mutilate the trees to prove it?” asked Elgiva behind him.

  He didn’t deign to answer this, for his answer would have been hurtful. Perhaps it was an answer she deserved for having deflated his pride. No, what had happened in the Forest of Shades was something best forgotten.

  He plied the blade once more to the vegetation that blocked their way, clearing the path of obstructions. Trystin gave up the position of leader and followed in his wake.

  At length, they came to a small clearing. Daylight was leaving the forest, but there was enough left to threaten their safety away from the underwood’s concealment. They looked at each other, and by some unspoken agreement, they decided to cross the clearing.

  As if from nowhere, a tiny figure appeared from the trees, a sackful of firewood strapped to its back. At once, the four companions melted back into the forest.

  A flock of rooks cawed across the darkening sky, and the tiny figure jumped in alarm. She watched them speeding home to roost and then, as silence drifted down once more upon the glade, she went on with her chore. The sack she carried seemed cruelly large, but she continued to fill it with twigs, as if inured to the task.

  “That’s Kinchine,” declared Trystin. “She’s my friend!”

  Without further consideration, he broke from cover and ran to meet her. His companions shared a thoughtful look and then followed his example. When Kinchine saw Trystin running towards her, she dropped the twigs she carried and covered her mouth with her hands.

  “Kinchine, what’s wrong? It’s me. It’s Trystin!”

  “Go away,” she wailed, stepping back. “You ran off. They’ll catch you! They’ll kill you, and Kinchine, too! I mustn’t talk to you. Haldrin said so.”

  Trystin turned to his friends for support, his large eyes full of hurt.

  “Don’t be afraid, little elf,” said Elgiva, smiling at the child.

  “Kinchine not afraid of you! Kinchine afraid of warriors! Kinchine wants to go home now!” The child’s gaze darted about in panic.

  Godwin sheathed his sword and approached the elf-child. “There’s really no reason to be afraid.” He gave her a generous smile. “Nobody saw us come to this place, so Kinchine is quite safe.”

  She pouted at him while she considered his statement. He moved forward, scooped her up, and held her in his arms. A tiny squeal escaped her lips, and she tried to pull away.

  “Don’t make a fuss,” said Godwin. “We won’t let them get you, and we won’t hurt you, either, but you’d best be quiet, or someone might hear.” He squatted on the grass and sat her on his knee, and at length, the tiny elf relaxed. “There we are. That’s better.”

  She looked at him from under her lashes. “Wilthkin,” she said in a small, awed voice.

  “That’s right,” said Godwin. “What a clever girl you are. I’ll wager this is the first time you’ve seen one, isn’t it? Do you think we could be friends?”

  Kinchine nodded, a tentative smile on her lips, while her small fingers plucked at the hem of her robe.

  Godwin looked at Elgiva. “The poor mite’s afraid to trust any
one.”

  “She trusted me once,” said Trystin.

  Elgiva smiled at the elf-child. “Time you went home. It’s getting dark.”

  “Goodbye, Kinchine,” Godwin said, setting her on the grass.

  “No,” she protested. “Let Kinchine come, too, and ride on that great big horse!”

  Grimalkin emitted a loud snort.

  “Take Kinchine home, please, lady? It’s not far.”

  Elgiva seemed to consider this for a moment, and then she ran her fingers through her shorn locks. “Perhaps it might be a good idea to meet the other elves,” she said. “What do you say, Trystin? Will this child’s kin embrace our cause?”

  “Oh, yes!” he affirmed. “They all hate the king, though they’re too scared to say so.”

  “Very well,” decided Elgiva. “Godwin, lift Kinchine onto Grimalkin’s back, if you please, and we’ll see her safely home.”

  Godwin hoisted the tiny elf onto the animal’s broad back.

  “Now, Grimalkin,” he said, “I hope you’re not going to complain at so small a burden.”

  “The last thing I want to do is complain,” said the pony, and then she swung her head round and glared at him. “But it’s still on my list.”

  ***

  Kinchine’s home was a sprawl of huts, dwarfed by a ring of elms and oaks. Godwin decided it wasn’t a welcoming sight to anyone in need of comfort. The circular huts, two dozen or so, were warped and weather-worn, their thatched roofs thinning with age. Above them, the trees seemed to sag with despair, as though their roots were buried in gloom, and the air was thick with the smell of decay. What keeps this collection of daub and wattle dog-holes from falling apart? he wondered.

  A paltry fire burned in the centre of the settlement, and before it sat an elderly elf, his shoulders slumped forwards. Upon hearing the arrival of strangers, he raised his hoary head, but seemed too apathetic to show his surprise.

  “Look at Kinchine, Haldrin. Look!” squealed the elf-child. “Kinchine’s riding a great big horse!”

  “Where have you been to, spindle-shanks?” demanded the old elf, not unkindly, his wizened face a sullen mask in the firelight. “’Tis late. Who is that with you?”