by K T Durham
He cleared his throat and took another puff on his pipe.
“We felt such gratitude towards those two creatures. How could we thank them? Polly had a good idea. ‘Didn’t you see those flimsy things they were wearing? In weather like this, they should be wearing much warmer garments,’ she said in a disapproving tone.
“Their tiny size didn’t deter her. She was accustomed to making dainty clothes for those elegant dolls that get sold in the fancy little toy shops downtown.
“Anyway, Polly set to work that very morning, despite having barely slept a wink the previous night. She sewed for hours and hours, stopping only to take a few bites for lunch and supper. Your grandmother was the most wonderful seamstress. Even when we were so poor we couldn’t afford to buy any meat, she would find a way to make me the warmest sweaters for the bitterly cold months. She had such nimble fingers, my Polly.
“By midnight, she had made three lovely outfits for each, six in total. You should have seen them! Three coats with matching cardigans and scarves, three shirts, three pairs of breeches, and even socks! Such delicate, fine clothes they were, in green, blue, and yellow. We carefully laid out the outfits on the worktable. Like the previous night, we hid in the storage space and waited.
“Once again, I dozed off and fell asleep with one side of my face pressed up against the wall. Polly was knitting again, this time a blue sweater of a complicated pattern for me. By that time, we could have easily afforded to buy new clothes, but she still insisted on making them.
“It was dark, and the moon was out, bright and round like a shiny penny. This time, I got woken up when Polly accidentally stepped on my foot; she was so excited to see the little creatures again! We both peeked through the curtains, and sure enough, the two little angels were there at the worktable. But this time, instead of getting down to work with their tools, they began laughing and clapping their hands. They tried on the new clothes with such glee, you would have thought they had never been given such fine clothes to wear. They sang and danced about for a while, such sweet little voices they had. I cannot describe to you how delightful it was to simply watch them.
“Then suddenly both of them turned in our direction and waved, as though they had known all along we had been watching them! Your Grandmother Polly cried out, ‘Wait! Please don’t go! We want to thank you. Thank you for everything you have done for us. Who are you?’
“Their sweet voices rang out like little bells. We couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but we did hear one word quite clearly as they pointed to themselves: ‘elves’. That was the first time we had ever come across such a word. They bowed in farewell, and then they leapt towards the blue stone and were gone.
“That was the last we saw of the elves. For many days after that, I kept the blue stone beside me on the worktable, hoping they would emerge from it and say hello. Whatever magic they’d left behind, they made sure that we never had to worry about food or money ever again.”
Indeed, the burgeoning business made the shoemaker and his wife rich and renowned in London. Thankful for their good fortune, they became philanthropists, donating much of their wealth to the poor and needy. Lawrence Cobble taught his trade to his son Richard, who then taught it to his son Horace.
But Horace, having inherited the house and business from his father, never acquired quite the same love for shoemaking as his predecessors. Elves were never mentioned again after Lawrence Cobble passed away peacefully in his sleep at the ripe old age of ninety-eight. By then, Horace was a disillusioned young man, convinced that his Grandfather had not been quite right in the head.
As Horace stared up at the black-haired and green-eyed creature clinging onto his (shamefully dusty) chandelier, he came to the uncomfortable realization that he had wrongfully labelled his Grandfather as a fruit loop.
All along, Grandfather had been telling the truth.
Before he died, Lawrence Cobble bequeathed to Horace the blue stone. “Please take care of this, my boy. The elves used to come through this blue stone from wherever they lived. One day, they might return!”
But by then, Horace had grown tired of his grandfather’s crazy tale. The blue stone wasn’t encrusted with gold or diamonds; the so-called heirloom looked to be nothing more than a shabby slab of rock. So it got relegated to an old broom cupboard, and for many years Horace forgot all about it. Miriam once asked him to put it away in a safe place. “It is a family heirloom, after all, regardless whether your grandfather was in his right mind or not,” she admonished. Horace scoffed and ignored her. “Use it as a paper weight, for all I care!” he snapped.
Horace now swivelled around towards the broom cupboard, and groaned in disbelief at the sight of the blue stone, cracked cleanly in two on the wooden floor. It had turned a dull grey.
Miriam followed his gaze nervously, clutching the front of her floral housecoat. She almost said, “I told you so!” but promptly swallowed back the words. Horace did not like to be corrected.
He gazed at the broken stone regretfully. He would have to deal with it later. Clearing his throat again, he looked up at the chandelier. “H-hello, there? Please don’t be afraid, we won’t hurt you,” he called, trying to adopt a soothing voice that came so easily to his wife whenever she spoke to her snooty cat. Snowy adored Miriam, but treated Horace like he didn’t exist.
The chandelier had by now stopped swinging, and Elly wasn’t trembling so much. She peered down at the face of the talking man. He looked a little flustered, but otherwise he looked harmless enough. She glanced at the lady, who looked even more frightened than Elly felt. The black cat was glowering up at her with its yellow eyes, unmoving.
His voice shaking slightly, Horace asked, “Excuse me, but are you… are you an… an elf?” He cringed, hardly able to believe how preposterous he sounded.
Elly was surprised. How did he know about elves? Slowly, she nodded. “Yes, I am an elf from Alendria,” she called out. Horace and Miriam both jumped at the sound of her clear voice, not quite expecting her to speak in a way they would understand. Horace swallowed nervously, hoping the elf would not unleash any magic on them. He would have to keep her as calm as possible. It wouldn’t bode well for them if she felt threatened.
“My Grandfather had an… encounter with two of your kind, long ago. He was a shoemaker, the best in town. But he and his wife fell on hard times, and they would’ve starved to death if he didn’t get help from… from your people. We didn’t believe him back then. But now that I see you, I wish I had. Please don’t be afraid of us. We will not hurt you.”
Elly hesitated. Shoemaker? She had read about this in A History of the Dealings between Elves and Humans. Apparently, two rogue elves who were particularly gifted in the crafts decided to “interfere” with the affairs of two humans. The two elves, whose identities remained confidential, had been teleporting back and forth between the human realm and Alendria when they chanced upon a poor shoemaker and his wife, and had taken pity on them.
Elly had always secretly admired those two elves, and wondered who they were. If what this man was saying was true, then maybe it would be harmless to reveal herself to them.
She steeled herself. “Excuse me, but what is this place? Where am I?” she asked tentatively. Though she knew she had passed into the human realm, she had no idea where she was exactly.
Horace and Miriam exchanged surprised looks. “You are in London, Great Britain. To be precise, you are presently in the Cobble household on Number Eight, Adelaide Drive, in the suburb of Edgware.”
Elly gawped. She was in London? This was on her list of must-see places in the human realm, along with many others.
She was still a little afraid, but the man and the lady really did not look malicious. They were not goblins. Or could they be imposters? Elly just couldn’t be sure anymore… Edellina had made sure of that.
But she would have to take the plunge. There was no othe
r way.
She took a deep breath and slowly stood up on the chandelier. Horace could see that even at her full height, she was as tiny as a teaspoon. Then she descended slowly, floating in mid-air—then shot down and landed soundlessly on the low table where the cup of tea had long ago grown cold.
Horace looked at Miriam uncertainly. Men can be so full of it, she thought disdainfully. They can get all prideful and controlling, but sometimes they can be so clueless. She smiled warmly at Elly, who was staring up at them from the coffee table. Slowly, she walked up and squatted, so that her eyes were level with the little green ones. She gasped, pressing her hands together in delight.
“Oh, my!” she said softly, resisting the urge to cradle the small creature in her hands. “You are so beautiful!”
Elly blushed. Then she bowed. “My name is Ellanor Celendis. But everyone calls me Elly. Very pleased to meet you.” Her voice reminded Miriam of jingling bells.
“Oh, we are very pleased to meet you, too! Ellanor is such a pretty name. Well, Elly, I am Miriam, and this is Horace.” She gestured over to her speechless husband, who suddenly looked like a shy schoolboy. Horace closed his eyes, half wondering if he was actually hallucinating.
Miriam turned to grab something from a table behind her. Gently, she plopped a red grape and a small cup of water next to Elly. “Here, please have something to eat and drink. Don’t be afraid—we just want to talk.”
It then occurred to Elly that she was famished. Smiling gratefully, she reached out a hand towards the grape when suddenly there was a menacing snarl. Horace cried, “No, you silly cat!”
It all happened too quickly. Snowy had pounced on the table in front of Elly, her fangs bared, ready to strike.
“Don’t you dare come between us!” hissed the jealous cat, taking a vicious swipe at Elly. Miriam screamed in horror.
But by then, Elly had already hurtled out of the open window and disappeared.
CHAPTER SIX
Greymore and Hobbes
Elly cried out as she plunged into the icy cold. Back home in Evergreen City, weather was always pleasantly warm, a perpetual spring. This sub-zero temperature pricked her like a thousand needles.
She darted upward, her heart hammering madly. She had just narrowly escaped that cat’s clutches. If she had reacted a second too late, she would’ve been badly hurt. She could’ve died! She wheeled around and around, frantically searching for somewhere to hide.
She was surrounded by a grey landscape of drab-looking buildings, where a thick bank of clouds hung over the horizon. She spotted a patch of green in the distance, and her heart lifted. It was like stumbling upon an oasis in the desert. Trees! She drew a deep breath and flew as fast as she could, hurtled towards the tallest elm tree, darted to the base of the trunk, and ducked behind some tall blades of grass. She couldn’t risk being seen by any humans, not looking like this.
Elly could hear voices nearby. Someone cried out, “Mummy, a giant purple butterfly just landed behind that tree! I want to go see!” Her heart almost jumped out as she clutched at the tree trunk in blind fear. Footsteps were approaching. She squeezed her eyes shut. Please don’t, please don’t.
Then an impatient voice rang out. “We don’t have time, Jimmy. Let’s go; otherwise we’ll miss the bus!” There were hurried footsteps, then they faded away. The silence that followed was punctuated by low voices murmuring in the distance, and the creaking of a swing nearby.
She wrapped her arms around herself and realized she was shivering uncontrollably. It was freezing. “Oh, what should I do now?” she whispered, wringing her hands in desperation. Her breath was turning to steam in the chill air.
Ellanor, what ever will you do?
Startled, she gasped and swivelled around. It was that same voice in her head, the one that had spoken to her when she was in the Celestan Forest.
Then she realized where the voice had come from. How could she have missed it?
“Is… is that you, Greymore?” she whispered, touching the book on her belt. She hadn’t realized her Royan had been trying to talk to her all along! She had never spoken to a Royan before.
Greymore emitted a low rumble, like a reproach. So—finally you are ready to listen to me.
Elly bowed her head in apology. I’m sorry, Greymore. I didn’t realize it was you talking to me back in the Celestan Forest.
Regardless, you did not want to listen. You knew you were doing something wrong, but you went ahead with it anyway.
Elly’s silence was heavy with regret. Greymore was right. She had let curiosity get the better of her. She had let Edellina… that wretched goblin… goad her on. It was her own fault.
Ellanor, we are now in Gaya, the human realm. Elflings are forbidden here.
She winced. I know that! I didn’t mean for this to happen. Edellina wasn’t a friend! She was a goblin! Oh, Greymore . . .
She began to cry. She had gone behind her parents’ backs and snuck out in the middle of the night. She had deceived Sir Jarome, who had let down his guard because he’d trusted her. She had selfishly given in to her curiosity without regard for the consequences. If only she hadn’t been so desperate to impress a false friend. If only she hadn’t been so weak and foolish.
And now, everyone she cared about could be in danger because of what she had set into motion.
Greymore had fallen silent at Elly’s heartrending sobs. From the moment Edellina had tried to touch him at Elly’s birthday party, he had sensed there was something unwholesome about that girl. The fact that she was a goblin in disguise was beyond disturbing. To his knowledge, this sort of infiltration had never occurred in Alendria before.
But Greymore spared Elly this piece of information. Shame and guilt had already put her in bad enough shape.
Elly was so cold her lips were turning blue, and she could barely feel her fingers. “Please. I just want to go home,” she croaked. She had never been away from Alendria, nor Evergreen City for that matter. She had always wanted to see what the human realm was like, but not this way.
Ellanor, the portal through which you came is damaged. For you to return to Alendria, the portal must be repaired.
Elly closed her eyes in disbelief. No, that cannot be. Isn’t the portal supposed to be swathed in protective unbreakable spells if it’s something so . . . so important? How could it have broken so easily?
She placed one hand on her Royan. The leather was warm to the touch, which was comforting in this merciless cold. Yes, the portal was supposed to be protected. But over the years, it diminished while it was left to collect dust in Horace Cobble’s broom cupboard. The portal is not a lifeless slab of stone, Ellanor. The protective magic that it was originally swathed in must have worn off as it slowly diminished. But once the portal realizes how much it is still valued, it will regenerate.
Elly groaned. As if she wasn’t already in enough trouble… and now she had to deal with this as well? Greymore, how can the portal be repaired? What do I need to do?
The portal is made of an extremely rare substance called blue amber, which is produced in only one place in Gaya. Listen carefully. You must not only find genuine blue amber, but it must be of the purest grade that has been imbued with magic. If it is the right type of blue amber, it will be assimilated into the broken portal, and it shall become whole again.
Elly felt dizzy just from listening. Blue amber? Purest grade? Magic imbued? She had no idea what he was talking about.
Greymore continued. This particular type of blue amber was produced by a special tree that once stood at the peak of a volcanic mountain named Mount Organoth, once the tallest mountain in Gaya. Because it was of the purest grade, the blue amber was used to forge the portals. This was done by one of the Four Guardians many ages ago. He was the most gifted alchemist out of all the guardians, and he was given the task of forging the two portals that connect Alendria and Gaya. He i
mbued the blue amber with his powers, and forged the portals on Mount Organoth. Shortly afterwards there was an earthquake, and the residual blue amber left over from the forging of the portals was scattered over the land. Those bits of blue amber were then found and taken by the local inhabitants, who called them Organoth blue amber in their own language. They did not know it is at least a hundred times more precious than diamonds.
Her head was spinning. This was the first time she’d ever heard of the Four Guardians. At that moment, she felt terribly small in this vast world filled with so many things she had yet to see and find out.
Understanding who the Guardians are is not pertinent to our immediate problem, Ellanor. You shall find out about them in due time. For now, focus on your task.
Elly sighed. All right, so what did those people do with the Organoth blue amber?
The local inhabitants who once dwelt in the land of Mount Organoth were simple farmers and shepherds who were skilled in the crafts of pottery and jewellery making. They used the Organoth blue amber in the making of these crafts, totally oblivious of the sacred, magical properties of the amber. Bear in mind, Ellanor, much time has passed since then, and many of those crafts are now lost to us. But some have survived to this day. Organoth blue amber can still be found.
Elly shook her head, bewildered. But how will I know it’s Organoth blue amber? I mean, how can I differentiate it from ordinary blue amber?
Greymore rumbled approvingly. Good question. You are listening well. Organoth blue amber looks identical to ordinary blue amber. But there is one thing that sets them apart. Organoth blue amber responds to life, Ellanor. Just as it appears golden-yellow when put up against sunlight, Organoth blue amber will glow a golden yellow when you breathe on it.
She recalled the portal back in Alendria turning a golden yellow when she stood so close to it that she breathed on it.
