Elfling (U.S. Edition)

by Corinna Turner

  “Why did they send you?” I asked at last. “Was it…was it your…fault?”

  He shook his head, his expression subdued. “It was nobody’s fault, as such. Other than that of Arathain and his friends, for letting themselves become separated. Most of the other guardians are related to him as well, at some distance or other. I was sent because I am the youngest. Always the oldest and most experienced guardians stay at the fort whenever possible. The youngest are sent to deal with such things. You do not, after all, become a guardian until you are trusted to be steady-headed enough not to show your skills in front of humans, under any inducement whatsoever. Even at the cost of the dark elfin getting away. You let them go, and you catch them another day.”

  “It’s such a long way,” I said, remembering my long ride to Yorkshire. “Why don’t the London guardians…take care of it?”

  Ystevan shook his head sadly. “That would hardly be fair. Though it is no one’s fault, it is surely more our fault than that of the guardians of the London forts. This is not to say,” he added, “that any guardian would spare a dark elfin they happened across. That any elfin would. But it is only guardians who venture among humans. Anyway, as far as hunting down dark elfin is concerned, each fort deals with their own as far as possible.” He turned his attention back to his arm.

  I watched as he put the finishing touches to his healing, then rolled his sleeve down and gave me a real smile.

  “All better,” he said, then smiled ruefully as he explored the rips in his sleeve. “My mother will get in a state when she sees these, though. Not that she’ll let on, as I’m sure you can imagine.” He added, in a mock confidential tone, “I would try to hide the evidence, but then she’ll just have words with me for making a mess of the repair! Needlework isn’t really my, er, forte, y’know.”

  I couldn’t help laughing at the way he made this confession, despite my thronging thoughts. For a moment, humor glinting in his eyes, he looked more his age, more like the cheerful young guardian I remembered from Torr Elkyn, as though momentarily freed from the weight of the crushing responsibility he’d carried to London with him.

  Looked his age… There was one thing I had to know. “How old are you?”

  Ystevan smiled. “How old do I look?” he teased.

  “Eighteen, nineteen years old?”

  The he-elf chuckled. “My, aren’t I precocious, then. How old are you?”

  “Fourteen,” I admitted, since he’d clearly figured out by now that I was not quite so young as he’d originally supposed when he’d brought me into the fort. “But you haven’t answered my question yet.”

  “I’ve just turned nineteen hadavin—a hadavin is a half-decade in English,” Ystevan told me. “So not so precocious.”

  “You’re joking!” I exclaimed, for I really had thought I must have misheard what he said about Siridean. I began to remember those tales of the Elfin...but they seemed so human...well, comparatively, anyway.

  Ystevan raised his eyebrows. “Of course not, although I suppose it must seem quite old to you.”

  I frowned as I absorbed this new and surprising information. Wait a minute... Something that had been vaguely niggling at my mind for a while suddenly crystallized. “The Queen! Your queen, that is... She spoke as if she knew my great, great, great grandmother personally.”

  “Well, it was only a little over twenty hadavin ago,” said Ystevan mildly. “I only just missed knowing your esteemed ancestor, of course the Queen knew her. She was the Queen’s cousin, I believe, of some degree.”

  While this news was certainly flattering, I scarcely paid it any heed. It must have all happened over a hundred years ago. “How old is she, then? The Queen, I mean?”

  “Hmmm,” said Ystevan, clearly trying to remember. “It would be...seventy-three hadavin, I believe.”

  I performed a quick calculation. Over three hundred and sixty-five years old. “So how long do elfin live?”

  “Oh, somewhere around one hundred hadavin is normal—or five hundred years in human reckoning,” replied the guardian. “You can translate human-elfin development to one year for a human equals one hadavin for an elfin, so that’s the equivalent of about a hundred years.”

  “Long-lived all round, then,” I responded dryly. “How do you live so long?”

  The he-elf pursed his lips. “It seems to be our natural span. Although there is a certain phenomena whereby elfin who go away from the fort age more quickly while they are away. But it’s only just perceptible. What is much more perceptible is that any human who comes into a fort will age at near elfin speed for the duration of their residence. When they go back outside their ageing will gradually return to what is normal for them.”

  I could feel my eyes widening. So there was more to the stories of people disappearing into elfin forts and emerging decades later unchanged than met the eye. “So...when I left the fort I wasn’t any older than when I arrived?”

  “You were older,” Ystevan told me, “but scarcely older than any of us elfin were.”

  That was quite something! But I couldn’t help performing another little calculation. “So...you are about nineteen?” I hazarded, “um, comparatively?”

  He nodded. “We grow and learn at a rather more relaxed pace than humans, so yes, I am merely a rather worldly-wise just-nineteen-year-old, comparatively.”

  I shook my head. Now that really was strange.

  “Well, this has been most charming,” said Ystevan, glancing up at the position of the sun. “Some of it, anyway,” he added dryly. “But I really do have other things to be getting on with, you know.”

  We walked quickly back to pick up our cups. I paused him before we could go through the gate, though. “My father?” I asked desperately.

  “Dragonsbreath, no,” said the guardian. “No, no, no.” He tried to move forward but I still stopped him.

  “How can I contact you, then?”

  He glowered down at me, rather. “In the interests of keeping you from anything suicidal rather than from any possible intention of changing my mind,” he said sarcastically, “here again, tomorrow, same time. Satisfied?”

  I nodded reluctantly. But there didn’t seem to be much else I could do.

  We crept back into the garden, where Susie was still stretching into the depths of her cup with a finger, trying to capture the very last streaks of chocolate, and walking together through the chocolate house, we went our separate ways.

  ~+~

  CHAPTER 40

  NIGHTMARES

  I found that working on persuading Ystevan to save my father was remarkably like trying to persuade my father to seek the Elfin. I could only push so far at one time before I had to stop, although the he-elf tended to show irritation, rather than outright anger. But when sufficiently irritated he got extremely sarcastic, and nigh-impossible to talk with. He seemed to have a hundred reasons to say no and he trotted them out with firm eloquence.

  If it weren’t for my failure in this most important area I would have enjoyed the next few days immensely. After trying to help Haliath around the chambers, I quickly perceived that it was taking the she-elf longer to show me how to do things than to do it herself. So although I had no experience with the elfin bows—and could not hope to draw one, besides!—I asked Ystevan if I could help him with his gathering. It would give me extra time to work on him, and he could at least point out greenery for me to collect.

  But when he saw that I could move quietly enough to stalk game, he lent me a rather antiquated crossbow that had clearly seen little use. A semi-precious stone was set into each of the fat bolts in the quiver, and they worked much like Siridean's dagger—not that I’d ventured to show that to Ystevan yet—so soon enough I’d contributed a couple of rabbits and a wild fowl to the table.

  ~+~

  “Alban Serapion Ravena, Duke of Elfindale, you hereby stand accused of black sorcery and accompanying heresies for which the appointed punishment is the cleansing fire of the stake. How do you plead?” />
  The Duke stood before the thronged court room, one hand gripping the edge of a table in a white-knuckled grip; clearly only this kept him upright. Gaunt beyond belief, he raised a skeletal hand and laid it on the Bible that was presented to him. He raised his hollow face, and a strange, brief, pale smile flickered on his lips.

  “It is with great regret,” he said, voice weak but firm, “that I must plead guilty.” The roar of sound that followed a stunned silence drowned him out as he added tiredly to those nearest to him, “and I'm afraid I really must ask for a chair...”

  I jerked awake with a cry of protest for those dark robed judges—it pierced the night quiet of the fort, and I stifled it hastily—then sat up to try and regain my equilibrium. It was just a dream. A nightmare, like the others, not a true dream such as Raven sent. I could feel the difference. My father was in grave danger of his life, but from my continued failure, not from a court of law. But there was a sense of urgency to the dream, much the same degree of urgency that I felt from Raven, but far more compelling. There was not much time left.

  I picked up a leather-bound chunk of quartz that lit up as I touched it; a gift from Ystevan. I slipped out of bed and found the notebook Haliath had given me when I asked her for some paper, in which I had been keeping a strict diary about my time at the probably-only-once-in-a-lifetime-to-be-seen elfin fort. I flicked backwards, counting the days with growing dismay. I’d been here almost two weeks, and that was excluding the days on the road! But it wasn’t as if I weren’t trying! But...

  I couldn’t help biting my lip. I would bring up my father at regular intervals throughout the day, and Ystevan would simply refuse...until I felt I should leave it for another hour.

  Blast! He was no fool, no wonder he wasn’t looking very harried, he’d clearly learned exactly how to behave to make me drop the subject. And I’d been so happy here that despite all my best efforts, I hadn’t noticed that I was getting absolutely nowhere. Well, that was it with the velvet gloves. I didn’t have enough time left. Attrition had failed, so bombardment was left. Every other word out of my mouth was going to be to the point, from now on.

  ~+~

  By midday, Ystevan was certainly looking harried but was by no means more compliant. What I now suspected was feigned irritation—designed to make me back off—had long since given way to genuine irritation. He strode ahead of me down the corridors as though beginning to think that Alliron had the right idea after all. He escaped to the throne room straight after luncheon, leaving me frustrated—and more frightened than ever—by my continued failure.

  By wordless agreement we had long since made the dining table a battle-free zone, out of consideration for Haliath. But after dinner, when I’d finished helping Haliath with the dishes, I returned to the living room and began to steel myself to tackle Ystevan again. This time, he had to listen! Or I really would have to set off home, if I was to be sure of seeing my father before...before...

  Oh, Ystevan, please listen to me!

  Ystevan was moving towards his favorite armchair as though determined that he should at least be comfortable...

  But then he stopped. A frown crossed his face. And suddenly he was heading for the door instead.

  “Where are you going?” I asked, dismayed.

  “The Queen summons me,” he said, but despite this unexpected reprieve he didn’t look happy. The wooden door thudded softly to behind him.

  I sat down in an armchair with a bump, staring disconsolately into the flames.

  ~+~

  The faggots were piled high around the foot of the stake, and the crowd pressed close, as eager as wolves at a kill. The condemned man was led out in his sackcloth, his bald scalp oozing blood where the jailers had been careless with their knife. He was so frail the two guards supported rather than led him, and those on the opposite side of the stake could hardly see him at all. They chained his hands to the post and tied an extra rope under his arms to ensure that he could stand upright.

  The magistrate read out the sentence of sorcery and heresy, but the crowd drowned him out. An old priest stood by the stake, holding his crucifix before the condemned's eyes as well as he could. Some of the crowd taunted and mocked his diligence, but he paid them no heed.

  The executioner thrust a flaming torch in among the faggots, here and there around the circumference, conscientiously setting all alight. The crowd howled, but the man at the stake held his head up and looked steadily at the cross until the smoke and flames obscured it from view.

  ...I jerked upright in the armchair, breathing in harsh sobs and struggling to get hold of myself. It was just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. But the sense of urgency it brought was overpowering, worse than ever before.

  What should I do?

  I'd run out of time, and I knew it.

  Well, for starters I would not go to bed tonight until Ystevan returned. But tomorrow...if he still refused...

  Tomorrow I had to choose. Stay here longer in the hope I might still return in the nick of time with a guardian in tow. Or leave and be sure of...of being able to say goodbye...

  I swallowed hard, tears pricking at my eyes. My intentions had been so good. But I’d only succeeded in wasting the time I would have had left with my father.

  Almost more importantly, I’d wasted the brief time he had left with me. I’d deprived him of the company that might have made his long illness bearable, left him alone in miserable worry, for weeks, and for what...? To trickle home and mumble a shame-faced ‘sorry’ as he drew his last breath? I was a stupid, stupid little girl, trying to re-form the world to my wishes, and I had the awful feeling that I might never forgive myself. Would he...?

  No, I thought, brushing hair and tears from my eyes, some part of me stirred to anger by my agonized self-reproach. It wasn’t for nothing. The cure is here. It is possible. I just can’t...get it.

  He told you that from the start, the resigned half of me said sadly.

  He wasn’t prepared to even try, the angry part of me shot back, but at least I tried.

  And I wasn’t leaving that instant, I still had this evening. But I sighed and swallowed. Why would Ystevan yield now, and not before? He must realize I could not stay indefinitely. All he had ever needed to do was play a waiting game—my position had never been strong.

  Thinking about Ystevan made me feel even worse. I was sure I would miss him terribly. Yet still he said no, still he condemned my father to death so...so pitilessly...

  ~+~

  I was actually able to have luncheon with my father for once in his room. I ate a good meal, still hungry from my chilly and underfed exploits the day before, but my father seemed to have no appetite at all. He tried his best, clearly aware of my anxious gaze on him, but he still put his plate aside largely untouched.

  “It’s not as if I need much food, sitting around all day like this,” he joked from the depths of his armchair.

  I was neither amused nor comforted, but there wasn’t much I could say. I knew he’d made an effort.

  “I suppose you’ll want to be off out again,” my father said quietly, when the butler had taken our plates away.

  The quiet sadness in his voice wrung my heart. “I’m staying right here with you this afternoon,” I said, squeezing myself into the armchair and wrapping my arms around him. A few strands of grey now streaked his hair at the temples, I noted unhappily.

  He sighed contentedly into my hair, though. “Ah, child, I have missed you so much,” he murmured. “And I love you even more.”

  This unusually blunt declaration of affection told me more clearly than anything how close he felt himself to be to the end. I nestled to him for a few short hours until exhaustion forced him back to bed and sleep rapidly claimed him. I sat with him for a while longer, staring at his pale, emaciated face in mingled love and terror.

  Eventually, I could stand it no longer and departed for the stables. As soon as Hellion was saddled, I set off for the first fort, the one where I’d seen the golden-hair
ed elfin youth. Or near which I’d seen him; presumably that was where he’d been heading.

  ~+~

  I struggled to stay awake, afraid of another nightmare and even more afraid of missing Ystevan, but I was dozing when the sound of the door and soft footsteps along the passage brought me fully awake.

  Looking around as Ystevan entered the living room, I saw Haliath pop her head from her own chamber and give her son an inquiring—and rather anxious—look. His eyes travelled from her to me, and he stopped about halfway between us.

  “I must to London,” he announced. “I leave at safe light tomorrow. I am to take you with me, Serapia, and see you home.”

  My mouth fell open in shock. He was going to London? We were going to London. My thoughts skidded around in confusion...was this good, or bad? Well, there were three guardians here who could heal my father, and only one would be accompanying me...but considering I’d given up all hope as far as the other two were concerned.

  This would get me back to my father in time whilst simultaneously giving me extra days to persuade Ystevan—all while getting the guardian to exactly where I so desperately need him to be.

  This wasn’t good, this was...perfect!

  ~+~

  Packing in the morning was a quick enough task. I chose two elfin dresses that I thought likely to pass without over-much comment among humankind, one to wear and one for a change of clothes along the way. No need for groom’s garb and that excruciating corset when travelling with my very own elfin guardian, though I slipped the uniform into my saddlebags. Just in case I ever needed it again.

  Most of my time was spent carefully wrapping the notebook Haliath had given me to protect it from rain, and placing Ystevan’s prized gift—my hand-quartz—securely in the bottom of the bag.