by Carol Browne
“He’s cunning and cruel, Elgiva. But Faine wouldn’t hold you to such a vow.”
“No, I know. But nevertheless . . . ” She lifted her torn, sad gaze to the sky and sighed. “Godwin, what Oswald told you, when you thought him just a lost old man, did you believe him?”
The truth might be hurtful, but Godwin didn’t want to lie to his friend. He skirted round the question. “It’s a rule of mine to take the words of Saxons with a pinch of salt.”
“Perhaps you should have believed him. You should know what elves are capable of.”
“I may have had second thoughts,” he said, “but I knew you weren’t like that.”
“Indeed?”
“You wouldn’t hurt a living thing without a very good reason. Of course, I know nothing of other elves. You might be the only good one among them.”
Elgiva stiffened. “You have far too high an opinion of me, Godwin,” she said in a small, defeated voice. “I killed the Chief Counsellor and Beortnoth. I left a Saxon raider writhing in pain from my elf-bolt. I burned a forest alive. And there was the shendkin . . . ”
“Elgiva, you had good reason to do what you did.”
She shook her head. “Killing is just too easy and with real power, it can only be easier. Vieldrin told me power is a drug and I will come to crave it.”
“You’re not like him.”
“How do you know? You say I’m a good elf, perhaps the only good one, for all you know, in which case, be glad I’m the one you’re travelling with. But I’m not just an elf; I’m a wardain, and I’m completely unschooled in the use of magic. With my powers, I could easily become the kind of elf Oswald described.” She paused and then added, “It would make life so much simpler.”
“But you won’t,” he said.
“You’re sure?”
“I won’t let you.”
Elgiva toyed with a strand of her hair. “I must confess something, Godwin. When I was cold towards you . . . I knew Oswald wasn’t as he appeared. I felt he would try to turn you against me, manipulate you in some way, but I had no idea why he should. Now I know who he really was, I realise he could have used an enchantment. It would have been much easier, though I dare say not half so amusing for him. It was wrong of me, but I thought it would be a test of your friendship.” She paused, but clearly couldn’t look at him, fearing his reaction. “After what happened in the Forest of Shades . . . Look, I’m set on a perilous course, and I have to know who I can trust.” She buried her face in her hands. “A test! Faine help me, as if you needed one. All the time you’ve stayed with me, when you should have been with your family, and I’ve been cruel and made you suffer even more. Who knows if I may not do so again? Yes, I’m suspicious, Godwin. Perhaps I’m jealous, too. I’m insecure and vain and selfish and lots of other things, but how can I measure friendship when I’ve known so little of it?”
Tears of shame clung to her long lashes. “I’ve failed you, Godwin,” she sobbed. “Betrayed you. When I suspected Oswald, I should have been straight with you.”
Mention of his family had wrung Godwin’s heart, but he swallowed his hurt. Leaning towards Elgiva, he put his arm around her. “Perhaps you did right,” he said. “Perhaps I needed a test. I’m the first to admit that I’m weak.”
“No,” she said. “You’re stronger than me.”
“Whether I am or not, you gave me a warning, remember? But I was too proud to accept it. Besides, had we thwarted Vieldrin’s game, who knows what he might have done for his sport?”
“Nevertheless,” she said, “I fear you must find me very wearisome. Perhaps time will cure me of many things, if you have the patience to wait.” She touched the hand that cupped her shoulder, and he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “You’re the truest of friends, and I value that more than I can say.” She faltered, avoided his gaze. “So I would also value your forgiveness, if I may hope to have it.”
“Always,” he said.
***
The companions travelled for the rest of the morning. Elgiva talked to Grimalkin while Godwin watched them from the corner of his eye. He could have felt superfluous, but the sight of them made him smile, and for a time, he forgot the gravity of their quest.
It was later in the afternoon when Godwin became aware of an odd sensation in his mind, as though someone were talking to him just beyond the range of his hearing. He froze. The voice was telling him to turn aside and follow a southerly trail. Straightening himself, he glanced at Elgiva, who was walking some way ahead. He wondered if she were experiencing the same thing, but decided not to mention it, for fear of appearing foolish. To keep his attention focused, he thought of verses he had heard in the mead hall, reciting them to himself to block out all distractions.
He became so set on closing his mind to all external forces that when Elgiva called his name, she had to repeat it several times before it claimed his attention. He looked around. Dusk was falling, and on the horizon, a sprawling mass lay dark against the sky.
Elgiva and Godwin looked at each other. It could have been any forest, but Godwin knew it was Misterell: the object of their quest. He was sure Elgiva must share his conviction.
The pony suddenly cantered away, and when Elgiva and Godwin caught up with her, they found her lapping at a small, shallow pool, its edges broken by rushes. The sun was falling in the west, and they both decided to make camp.
Godwin struggled out of his pack, but he couldn’t find the energy required to make a fire. Instead, he strolled to a nearby alder, whose limbs reached out across the pool, and sat himself down at the water’s edge. Elgiva joined him, slumped against the trunk of the alder, and let out a sigh.
At length, Godwin fought his languor and returned to a sitting position, but the will was being sucked from his mind and his muscles felt almost useless. “I think there’s something wrong,” he finally managed to say.
“The enchantment of Misterell saps our will,” she said. “It wants us to leave. Do you remember?”
“Bellic.”
She combed her hair with her fingers and gazed at the darkening sky. “I’m convinced we should turn back, but it will pass. We must ignore the enchantment.”
“I think I should build a fire,” he said.
Grimalkin raised her head and stamped one hoof. Elgiva leant forward and gripped Godwin’s arm.
“Be on your guard,” she whispered. “We have company.”
“Where?” hissed Godwin, spinning around. He scanned the foliage.
“That bush over there.” She nodded to the right. “Someone’s hiding in it.”
“I see nothing.”
“Neither do I, but Grimalkin and I can sense it.”
Godwin fumbled for the hilt of his sword, his fingers clumsy with haste. “Shall we see who it is?”
She shook her head. “No, let it be. I feel it’s harmless,” she said. “Let’s wait and see if it declares itself.”
“Whatever you say.” Godwin relaxed, his hand spurning the sword.
“No, draw your sword, Godwin,” she advised. “We’re close to Misterell. It wouldn’t hurt to be cautious. We’ll have some supper, and then we’ll pretend to be asleep.”
He raised his eyebrows but voiced no objection, and Elgiva went to fetch their provisions. After making a small fire, they ate without haste and talked awhile. Soon, it was time to bed down, and they wrapped themselves up in Oswald’s blanket, resigned to waiting.
Silence settled over them and soon, their pretence of sleep began to approach the reality. At length, whatever had hidden itself moved towards them.
Godwin tightened his grip on his sword, every muscle tensed. Beside him, Elgiva seemed rigid with apprehension. The pony cocked her ears, and the whites of her eyes flashed in the firelight.
A small, dark shape crawled into the open. It crept up to their pack of food and began to rummage inside. Godwin jumped up. He seized the intruder and pinned it down before raising his sword above him. The struggling captive emitted a pitiful sque
al.
“He’s an elf!” cried Elgiva.
The intruder began to beg for mercy.
“Stop struggling,” shouted Godwin. “We won’t hurt you.”
The elf relaxed a little, and his thin chest heaved as he fought for air. Shortly, he said in the Saxon tongue, “All I wanted was food.”
“We’ll give you food,” said Elgiva calmly. “Don’t be afraid. We mean no harm. Godwin, you’d better put some more wood on the fire so we can see what we’ve caught.”
***
In the fire’s glow, they studied their captive more closely as he bolted the food they gave him. He seemed very young, was grimy and barefooted, and his skinny frame was clothed in rags, his hair tangled with burrs. An ugly scar on his left cheek ran from his eye to his chin. His features were pinched with malnutrition, which made his black eyes seem unusually large; they looked like wells of sorrow in which his hopes had drowned.
“Now,” said Elgiva, “if you’ve finished eating, perhaps you could tell us your name.”
The elf wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “T-Trystin. My name is Trystin.”
“Well, Trystin, this is Godwin, and I am called Elgiva.”
The elfling’s eyes grew larger. “The one the wise man spoke of?”
Elgiva was surprised. “What did the wise man say?”
“That someone would come to free us.” He glanced about him. “He said it was you. But I mustn’t tell. And I’ve kept my secret, lady.”
Elgiva regarded him steadily. “How old are you?”
“Twelve, I think. I’m not sure, lady.”
“Why are you out here? Where are your parents?”
The elfling lowered his melancholy gaze and his bottom lip trembled. “Dead. A long time. Killed.”
“The king?” asked Elgiva gently.
The elfling nodded and turned his face away. Elgiva reached out and took his hand.
“I know your king,” she told him. “He’s an evil elf. Are you one of his slaves?”
“We all are,” said Trystin. “We’re cursed and starved and beaten. There’s nothing but slavery in Misterell.” His red-rimmed eyes were wet with tears, and they gazed at Elgiva in supplication. “Have you come to help us, lady?”
She shouldered his question aside. “This wise man, Trystin, where does he live?”
Trystin’s disappointment was naked in his expression. “In the hills beyond the river. He came to Misterell a few months ago. He wore a cloak and a hood, so I don’t know what he looks like. I was out collecting mushrooms, lady, near the edge of the forest. He wouldn’t tell me his name, but he talked to me and I liked him. He told me of you and said I should meet you. He said I should help you, but I couldn’t stay.” At this, the tears fell freely down his cheeks, leaving trails in the grime on his skin. He smudged them away with the back of his hand. “He was kind to me, and he trusted me. He promised to visit whenever he could, and I saw him twice, at night. It was good to talk to him. I could tell him things. There was no one else I could talk to. But I haven’t seen him for weeks, lady.”
“Is he an elf?”
He shrugged his thin shoulders. “I don’t know, lady, but he spoke in the elven tongue. He asked me what was happening in Misterell, and he said no one must know we’d spoken. The king has lots of spies, he said. I was told to keep watch for you, and when you arrived, I was to help you, but I couldn’t stay in Misterell. So I’ve failed him, haven’t I?”
“You’ve run away,” she said matter-of-factly.
“I was afraid,” he exclaimed, his dark eyes round with terror. “They caught me stealing bread in the kitchens. They beat me with a stick. So yesterday, I ran away, because . . . because . . . ”
“You’ve had enough of beatings.”
Trystin sobbed into his grimy hands, and Elgiva felt a surge of compassion. She reached out and touched his scarred cheek.
“Who did this to you?”
He clapped his hand to the damaged flesh and pulled away, as though ashamed. “The Captain of the Guard,” he sniffed. “Two summers ago. For insolence.”
Elgiva frowned at this. “Don’t back away from me. Come here.” She seized his thin arm and drew him towards her. “Whatever happens, trust me. I will not hurt you.” She pressed her palm against the scar.
Elgiva focused, ignoring all distractions. For what she wanted to do, she needed to find belief in her powers, to cast aside all previous doubts. No thought of failure could be allowed to spoil her concentration. It was time to consciously summon the magic and bend it to her will.
She had no strong emotion, no threat of danger to trigger her might, so she focused on the ugly scar, the disfigurement of healthy flesh and the cruelty that had caused it. Soon, her anger stirred in response to this unjust act. She brought her will, her ability to heal, and her hatred of cruelty to a point of convergence.
As she focused upon the scar, Trystin trembled in fear.
Elgiva smiled to herself as the magic blossomed in her limbs, quickened, and gathered strength. Power hummed along her nerves. It wasn’t magic apt for destruction, but warm and controlled and sanative. When she felt the time was right, she willed it to flow into Trystin’s face.
Trystin recoiled, clearly terrified of magic. Godwin, kneeling beside Elgiva, seized the elfling’s wrist to keep him still. Godwin snatched in a breath, and Elgiva smiled.
“You can feel it too, can’t you?” she said. “What is it like, this healing magic?”
Godwin grinned at her. “Like stepping out of a dark hut into the summer sunshine.”
Elgiva released Trystin and sat back, breathing hard. “Now, little elf,” she said with a smile. “Touch your face. Tell me what you feel.”
Gingerly, Trystin touched his cheek and gazed at Elgiva in wonder. She couldn’t help but be pleased with herself for removing that ugly seam of skin. The elfling’s cheek was now as flawless as the rest of his young face.
“It’s gone, it’s gone!” he shouted with joy. “Oh, Lady Elgiva, thank you!”
He threw his arms about her and hugged her for all he was worth.
“Don’t take on so,” she said. “It was nothing, Trystin. Godwin, give him some more to eat. He’s so thin, it makes me shudder.”
“You’ve healed me, lady, with magic. Good magic!”
Elgiva’s cheeks flushed at the elfling’s worshipful gaze, and her eyes met Godwin’s. He smiled at her and then handed more food to the elfling. Trystin gladly accepted it and grinned at them both in turn. As he ate, he stopped repeatedly to thank Elgiva and praise her, and he hummed a little tune to himself while his mouth was crammed with food.
Godwin warmed his hands before the fire. “You’ll choke, lad. Eat more slowly, for your stomach’s sake.”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” said Trystin.
Godwin laughed. “My name is Godwin, and I’m no one’s lord, merely a runaway slave. Just like you, in fact. And Elgiva. Why, even our pony, Grimalkin. We’ve all escaped from slavery. You have joined a band of outlaws, lad.”
Elgiva rather liked this idea. She caught Godwin’s eye and grinned at him to show she approved.
“You’re not from the village, then, Master Godwin?”
Godwin looked puzzled. “What village is that?”
“A day’s walk on the other side of Misterell,” Trystin explained. “Southwest. In the river valley. The people who live there look like you. We trade with them. But it’s not fair. This trade is the king’s idea. He’s taken all their gold, and now they have to give him half their crops as well, and in return, he leaves them alone and doesn’t use magic against them. But even so, they’re under a spell. Grandfather calls it elf-bane. It won’t let them leave the valley. I think if they try, it will kill them. We were their friends once, Grandfather says. And now their chief is old and ill. Poor wilthkin, their lives are hard.”
“Have you any news of Elindel? Did the wise man ever speak of it?” Elgiva asked.
Trystin screwed up his face. “I’m tr
ying to remember, lady, but it doesn’t make sense to me. The wise man said King Thallinore has a mind fever. He wanders the forest all day and makes toy warriors out of twigs. Slow poison, the wise man says. Who is this king?”
“It doesn’t matter, Trystin. He’s just a watered-down version of Vieldrin. Well, I’d like to meet this wise man, but the main thing now is Misterell.”
Trystin gasped and stumbled to his feet, as though preparing to flee. Elgiva stood up, placed her hands on his shoulders, and looked him in the eye.
“We’re looking for the Lorestone. Did the wise man speak of it?”
Trystin looked sheepish and then nodded.
“Does he know where it is?” she asked.
“He thought he knew where it might be,” said Trystin. “Somewhere deep in the heart of the forest, where Faine would go for solitude, according to the legends. I told the wise man I knew where this place was. It’s called Faine’s Lynn.”
“So you could take us to it?”
He chewed his badly bitten fingernails and avoided Elgiva’s eyes. “He made me promise to show you, lady. It’s well hidden, but I can’t go back. I can’t!”
“Be reasonable, lad,” said Godwin. “It’s vital you show us where it is. We will protect you.”
“No, please, Master Godwin, I’m afraid. Please. You don’t understand.”
“I understand that you’ve broken your promise.”
“No,” said Elgiva, “let him do what he likes.” She turned to her friend with an arch look, hoping that he would guess her meaning. “So, Trystin, where will you go now?”
“I was going to the wise man to beg for shelter,” said Trystin, “but now I can’t. I don’t care, as long as I’m away from Misterell. I’ll find a cave or wood to hide in and stay there forever, if I have to.”
A memory flitted like a shadow across Elgiva’s mind. “A sad end for one so young.” She sighed and looked at Godwin, who seemed to know what was required of him.
“You’d be better off with us, fighting for freedom, than hiding in a cave for the rest of your days, afraid to stick your head out, like a snail that fears being trodden on. But I guess you know what you want.” He shrugged.
