The Legacy of Skur: Volume One

by L. F. Falconer

  The wizard stood back up, shaking his head. “Never heard of him.”

  “But he was a great and powerful wizard,” I stated. “And a warrior, as well. He died doing battle with the dragon on Skur.”

  The wizard turned back to the Chief Warden of Lorane. “Did you ever know of such a wizard?”

  The warden shook his head. “I can recall no such man passing through Lorane. Perhaps he passed through Avar.”

  I cringed. Now surely he would take me to Avar and it would be known that I was Papa’s child and I would be given back to him and Mama and it would be all over for me then.

  “He passed through no villages,” I shouted in panic, clutching at the wizard’s robe.

  “Relax, child,” the wizard said. He reached down and pried my fingers loose, and as he did, a light suddenly seemed to glow in his brown eyes and the rainbow flared. He knelt beside me, still holding my fingers within his hand. Slowly, he brought his other hand before my face, withdrawing it before it touched, then brought it back again, letting it linger without touching. Taking it away once more, his expression was one of amazement and awe.

  He stood quickly and turned to the chief warden. “Since she is a wizard’s child, she will stay with me.”

  “Are you prepared to take on the responsibility of a child, sir?” the warden asked. “I had no intention of leaving her out here with you.”

  “She will stay,” the wizard said flatly. “And that’s all there is to it. I do seem to recall her father now, and it seems to me he mentioned his daughter, and how he hoped that if anything were to ever happen to him, he would wish another wizard see to her welfare.”

  The chief warden scowled dubiously. “If you truly want this responsibility, you are welcome to it.” He lifted himself back into the saddle. “But I will be back on occasion to check on the child. She had better be well when I do.”

  “Sir,” I shouted as he turned his horse to ride away. “Wait!”

  “What is it? Do you not want to stay?”

  “Oh, no, sir. I want to stay.” This wizard had known my father! “But I would ask you to let Gwin know where I am at.”

  “Who is Gwin?”

  “The hunter’s son. The one with only one arm.”

  He nodded. “I will let him know.”

  The chief warden spurred his horse to a trot and headed away, and as he went, a tear trickled down my cheek. A tear inspired by a haunting memory. My Papa.

  5

  The Lessons of Skile

  “I am the wizard Skile,” the wizard spoke after the chief warden finally disappeared from view. “How is it that I never heard of your father before?”

  Oh, he had lied. He had never really known my father. “I don’t know,” I murmured, feeling suddenly quite weary.

  Skile sat upon the stoop and bade me to join him. “Tell me about him.”

  I recounted the tale Papa had told me so often of my father’s journey to Skur and his eventual demise.

  “Why are you no longer in your uncle’s care?” Skile asked when I finished the tale.

  I was afraid to tell the truth. “He tried … to have me killed,” I finally said. “But I escaped death and now I am here.”

  Skile scratched at his cheek. “Was your uncle frightened of you? Is that why he would have you killed?”

  “I was too ugly for him to bear.”

  “No, I believe he was probably frightened. You have a great deal of power, child … er, what is your name again?”

  I had never told him. “My name is Elva.”

  Skile nodded. “You have a great deal of power, Elva. Immense power. So much, that I could feel it without even touching you. It radiates from you like the corona of the sun. Never have I come across anyone with such an aura. I was bound to keep you here. It is my duty, and my privilege, to teach you how to harness and use that power.”

  “You will teach me wizardry?”

  “Indeed. Power such as yours should not go to waste, and your lessons will begin immediately.” He pointed at the lake. “Tell me what you see there.”

  I peered hard. Was there something hiding out there? All I could see was the lake, the lakeshore, and the woods beyond.

  “I see a lake,” I stated, disappointed that I couldn’t see what he wanted me to see.

  “Your first lesson, Elva, is to listen to the lake. Don’t just see the lake. Listen, and then tell me what it says to you.”

  “But a lake has no voice. How can it speak?”

  The wizard touched a finger to his forehead. “Indeed, it does have a voice and it will speak to those who harness the power to hear it. There is magic in all things, Elva, and if you but learn to listen, they will reveal their secrets to you. You have the power. Use it to listen.”

  “I don’t know how.” Pouting, I crossed my arms. “I didn’t even know I had power. How can I use it?”

  “You must listen from here,” Skile said, patting my chest. “And from here.” He touched my forehead. “Not with these.” He laid his hands upon the sides of my head and we both shrank back. I, in terror—but his face held nothing but astonishment.

  “Take off your cap and show me what you have hidden beneath it,” he told me.

  I was ashamed to do so, but slowly obeyed, knowing that now he would see that truly, I was too ugly to bear and Papa was right to want me dead. Once the cap was off, he brushed my hair back and stared at my ears.

  “What do you call yourself?” he gasped. “What kind of being are you?”

  What could I tell him? Was I a human? Was I a troll? I couldn’t even look at him. I was too embarrassed. “I am called Elva. My father was a man. My mother … was not.”

  “She must have been one of Them. You are … one of Them! Did you know your mother?”

  I shook my head. I did not know her, but I had truly seen her kind, and did not want to admit that I was born of a troll.

  “There are others like you, you know,” he told me.

  I gazed into his eyes. Were there really others who were half Man and half Troll? I couldn’t believe it.

  “Not long ago, Meroth, the wandering wizard, passed some time with me here. He told me of a small, fair folk with pointed ears and powers of magic who dwell in the heart of the Black Wood, far to the east. But he knew not what they called themselves, or much of anything else. They were shy and elusive, and often quite savage. He was too wary to befriend them. Surely your mother was one of Them.”

  “There are truly others like me?”

  “Positively. Meroth described them in some detail. Lithe and diminutive and graceful, with a love of beauty and song, though they could be quite fierce in a battle. He said they had pointed ears and compelling eyes and did not need lamplight to find their way through the dark. And most amazingly they could appear and disappear into the very air around them.”

  Now I was fully confused. Was my mother really a troll? Or had she been one of these elusive creatures Skile spoke of? I was little and had pointed ears. I could see well in the night and I loved songs. Was I really one of Them?

  “Do not be ashamed of who you are, Elva. Do not hide your heritage.”

  “I hide my ears because they are ugly,” I told him. “They are an embarrassment to those around me.”

  Skile shook his head. “They are a part of who you are, and they are as beautiful as the rest of you.” He rested his hands upon my shoulders. “You must believe that you are beautiful, Elva. If you believe otherwise, you will only diminish your power. Trust me as I tell you it is so. And trust your heart when it tells you it is so. You are a wondrous being of great beauty and power. Tell me, Elva, what are you?”

  I looked up at him, confused. “I am Elva?”

  “You are Elva. And what is Elva?”

  Again, I hesitated. “Elva is … one of the forest folk?”

  Skile shook his head. “Have you forgotten already? What is Elva?”

  “Elva is a wondrous being of great beauty and power,” I murmured.

 
He beamed and let go of my shoulders. “Now, my beautiful apprentice, go and listen to the lake.” He gathered the bundle of herbs and stepped inside the house.

  I walked over to the lakeshore and sat upon it, closing my eyes, trying to listen. I heard the gentle lap of the water against the shore and the breeze that rustled through the firs. Birds chittered gaily, and gnats and flies hummed about me. Sandpipers pattered across the shore. I heard a fish jump. But try as I might, I could not hear the lake say anything.

  My thoughts kept getting distracted. Had it been possible that my mother had only been mistaken as a troll because of her pointed ears? Or were those forest folk only the offspring of other men and trolls? Whatever they were, it was comforting to know that there were others in the world like me. I was not all alone. And Skile did not think me ugly. Nor did Gwin.

  Oh, Gwin. How I missed him so, already. Perhaps someday he would wander out this way. Or perhaps Skile would take me to Lorane.

  I tried to banish my thoughts of Gwin and the forest folk, attempting to keep my mind focused on what Skile had asked of me, but my tired mind was a jumble and I couldn’t keep my thoughts from drifting about.

  After several frustrating hours of that, Skile finally came beside me. “Have you heard it yet?” he asked.

  I shook my head. I had failed. He wouldn’t want to teach me any magic now.

  “Tomorrow is another day,” he said. “Come inside. I’ve prepared some supper.”

  “You’re not angry that I couldn’t hear the lake’s words?” I asked as we walked back to the house.

  “Not at all. It takes time to learn to listen. Most people never learn to listen at all, being too harried with their common lives to care. Not even all wizards can hear the voices of the world. But I have faith that you will hear.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever hear anything.”

  “It will come to you in a quiet moment, when you least expect it. You will listen again tomorrow.”

  And in the morning, I listened again. I listened in vain all through that day and all through the next. I was growing tired of this. Why wouldn’t that wretched lake speak to me?

  “When will I learn any real magic?” I whined to Skile on the evening of the fourth fruitless day as he helped me sew a robe for myself out of blue cloth painted with bright yellow stars.

  “You are learning magic, Elva. And once you master the art of listening, we will move on to more mundane matters.”

  I heaved a deep sigh. I would spend my entire life trying to hear a lake that refused to speak. Or so I thought.

  I had been listening to the lake for two fortnights when its voice finally filtered through to me, and I rushed over to Skile, who was waving a switch madly about the air as if trying to swat some pesky bug.

  “I heard it,” I shouted. “I heard the lake!”

  He stopped his movements and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Did you now?”

  “Yes. Yes I did,” I told him, prancing about. I couldn’t keep my joy contained. “I heard it as clearly as I hear you.”

  “And what did it tell you?”

  I stood still and attempted to sound quite serious. “It said, ‘I am the life of the world. I am the eternal force and all who live, live because of me’.”

  “Bang up, Elva!” Skile exclaimed, grasping my shoulders. “You did well. You have heard the voice of the waters. Now,” he pointed to the outcropping of rocks along the lakeshore, “go listen to the stones.”

  My face fell. It had taken forever for the water to speak to me. Now I had to go listen to the stupid rocks. I stomped away, sitting upon them. Hopefully they wouldn’t be as stubborn as the water had been. But the rocks were even more obstinate. Three fortnights passed before I heard the stones speak.

  “I am the world,” the rocks spoke. “My solid essence is flexible and ever-evolving, and all that exists, exists upon me.”

  Then Skile had me listen to the forest, and the trees said, “I am the mother of the world. My roots take in the world and the life of the world, and I give back to all creatures of the world the nourishment, warmth, and shelter of my arms.”

  “Bang up!” Skile would exclaim, before sending me off to listen to something else.

  I spent that first year with Skile, listening. I had listened to everything about me, until I could hear without even trying. Everything about me had something to say, and I would stop and listen. And learn. And what had at first seemed a horrible waste of time, I could now see had merely opened the gates, allowing me to enter a wondrous new world. A world of secrets, and history, and truth. A world very few people would ever set foot in.

  I began to enjoy speaking with the world about me and spent every spare moment I had wandering about the wold and the woods, conversing with the natural elements around me.

  Then, one day, as I was wandering the wold, conversing with it, the figure of a horseman came upon the horizon. When the rider drew closer, I screeched and raced toward him.

  “Gwin! Gwin!” I cried, recognizing him as he sat atop the horse behind the chief warden.

  “Elva,” he shouted, sliding from the back of the horse as it slowed.

  We fell into each other’s arms, hugging one another so hard it hurt.

  “Oh, Gwin, I’m so glad you came,” I gasped, pulling back to look at him.

  “The chief warden asked if I’d like to come see you. How could I refuse? I’ve wanted to come every day.”

  “I take it you are well,” the chief warden asked, bringing his horse up beside me.

  “Yes. I’ve never been better. Skile takes very good care of me, sir.”

  “It would appear so,” he said. “I’m going to take my horse to the lake to rest. You and the boy have a little time to visit.” He rode on, leaving us alone upon the wold.

  “He does seem like a fair man, Gwin. At first I doubted him, but now I know my doubts were unfounded.”

  “So, are you becoming a wizard, Elva? You wear a wizard’s robe. Is he teaching you magic?”

  I laughed and took his hand into mine. “Oh, Gwin, there is so much more I learn every single day. But tell me about you. Do you still sing? Do you do anything other than wander?”

  He shook his head. “I sing, but still only for myself. And sometimes I wander even more.” His voice dropped low. “Father is gone, Elva. He went hunting last autumn and never returned.”

  “I’m so sorry, Gwin.” I petted his cheek.

  “Now Mother treats me worse than ever. Most of the time I stay in the barn, where you did. It seems to make her happier having me out of sight.”

  Oh, why couldn’t it have been that nasty old woman who had disappeared and not the hunter?

  I took his face into my hands, hearing the cries of his soul. “You will be all right,” I told him. “Keep strong, Gwin. Your mother will be gone soon enough herself and your brothers will take care of you.”

  His eyes grew wide. “Do you know this for certain, Elva, or are you just guessing?”

  I didn’t know what had made me say those words. They had just come out. They had crept out of The Telling.

  “My mother was taken ill just two days ago,” Gwin said. “Are you telling me she’s going to die?”

  Would it be so terrible if she did? “Oh, Gwin, I don’t know. I just meant … she’s getting older and sometimes older people …well …”

  “I don’t think I want her to die. She’s mean and selfish, but she is my mother.”

  “Of course she is,” I said, sorry I had said anything about it at all. “But no matter what happens, you will be all right. You’re strong, Gwin.”

  “Not as strong as you.”

  “Yes you are. But if you don’t think you are, your doubt will make you weak. Don’t doubt yourself, Gwin.”

  “Sometimes it’s hard not to. There’s so much I can’t do.”

  “Then do the things you can do. You have a gift of song that few others come close to. Your songs add beauty to the world.”

  “Ma
ybe you’re right,” he said as we walked through the heath in the late morning sun. “Tell me, Elva. Do you still want to be a warrior?”

  “Yes, Gwin. Yes, I do.” I would need both magic and a blade to undo the dragonslayer. And I would undo him someday. I would make him regret what he’d done to me, my spirit urged on by the dark flame flickering inside.

  “I think I know someone who might be able to help you,” Gwin told me. “His name is Rudne. I was at the marketplace one day and overheard him and some of the other boys talking, and Rudne was saying how all girls are weak and silly and cry too much. So I told him I knew a girl who wasn’t weak and silly and who was strong enough to even be a warrior if she really wanted to be, and that she did want to be, but probably couldn’t just because she was a girl. He said he’d like to meet a girl who’s strong enough to be a warrior, and if he thinks you’ve got what it takes, he’d even help you get into the Service. He’s got influence, Elva. His uncle is a captain.”

  “Oh, yes,” I said, excitedly. “Bring him to me. I will show him I can be a warrior.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said as we walked aimlessly across the wold, nearing the upland woods. Then his pure, sweet voice broke forth in a refreshing, lively tune that made me want to dance:

  “There’s a beautiful girl with a sword of gold

  Who lives with a wizard upon the wold.

  Only once before did my eyes behold

  The marvelous secret she does hold

  Sheathed beneath mahogany folds

  On this beautiful girl upon the wold.

  Oh fare thee well, we’ll meet again

  Upon some starry night,

  And we’ll sing and dance and sail to the moon

  On a ship of pure delight,

  Oh, this beautiful girl and I.

  Only once before did my eyes behold

  The marvelous secret she does hold

  Sheathed beneath mahogany folds

  On this beautiful girl upon the wold.

  Oh, this beautiful girl with a sword of gold

  Who lives with a wizard upon the wold.

  Yes, she lives with a wizard upon the wold.