The Elven

by Bernhard Hennen

  “Reilif gave it to me. Maybe I should take it to the Free of Valemas. Their hatred of Emerelle would no doubt be placated a little by what is written in here.”

  The djinn made a glum face. “There’s no point taking any books to Valemas. The oasis has been destroyed.”

  “What?” Nuramon cried. “How could that happen?”

  “The white knights from the north who ride in the name of Tjured . . . they wiped out the Free.”

  “How is that possible? How can human warriors march so deep into the desert? How could they defeat warriors like the Free of Valemas in battle?”

  “With magic. Some of the humans have learned its power. They come together under the banner of Tjured. They are the leaders, and they can sense the power contained in the Albenpaths. They found the stone circle in the desert, and because there were no protective barriers there, they were able to open the gate with their magic. That’s how it came to a fight. I fled. And when I went back, all I found was ruins and bodies. The humans did not even spare the few children there.”

  “This is incomprehensible. Those madmen will destroy everything,” Nuramon said. Then he stopped short. “Have they attacked Albenmark?”

  “Don’t worry about that. I went out to scout the humans for the Free of Valemas. I saw them gathering at an Albenstar, one that led to Albenmark. The priests prayed and asked their god whether that place had his blessing. Then they spoke words I did not understand. The words of the spell, no doubt. I saw something strike the Albenstar. When that happened, the soldiers drew their swords. But that was all. Nothing else happened, and the troops departed again. I looked at the traces they left behind. With the magic they had used, they would never have made it to Albenmark. I found the same traces at the stone circle after the destruction of Valemas. It seems the priests are only able to open gates into the Shattered World.”

  “Why have they spared the library so far?”

  “Oh, they’ve actually been trying to get in here for some time. The keepers of knowledge say that the humans are confused because there are so many Albenpaths crisscrossing Iskendria, and they’re having trouble getting through the defensive spells on the gates. But Reilif believes the humans are slowly breaking down the barriers. Every day, they come a little closer. There is not much time left to absorb all the knowledge of this place and vanish.”

  “Are you the one who can take in all this knowledge so quickly?”

  “I certainly am.”

  “What did they do to persuade you?”

  The djinn’s expression became irate. “The scoundrels tricked me. They finally got me to reveal my name, and now I have to serve them. Those swindlers are just too clever for me. But what can you do? What’s going on here reminds me of the library of the djinns. The fate of great knowledge, it would seem, is simply to perish.” The djinn’s gaze focused on empty space. “Where will it all end, I wonder?”

  Nuramon shook his head. “If fate means to be fair to the Albenkin, then the soldiers will burn everything in these halls. But if fate has more evil ends in mind, then they will exploit this knowledge for themselves . . . if they are able to learn the languages, at least.”

  “We’ve thought of that. The moment the humans penetrate these walls, we will use our magic to obliterate everything stored here. We will be destroyed, too. The incantation has already been cast. All we have to do is say the final words. Then everything here will vanish in . . .” The djinn looked toward the door.

  Nuramon followed the spirit’s gaze, and what he saw took him completely by surprise. A young elven girl entered the room, carrying a stack of books. The child could not have been more than eight years old, and she dropped the books in shock when she saw Nuramon there.

  The djinn rose. “No need to be frightened, little elf. This is Nuramon, a friend from Albenmark.”

  The girl looked down at the books she’d dropped. With a sudden lurch, they floated up and restacked themselves in her arms. Nuramon was speechless. For the girl, the magic seemed mere child’s play. She stepped closer and set the stack of books down beside the spirit’s bookish throne.

  “Come here. Welcome our guest,” said the djinn.

  With a shy smile, the girl stood beside the djinn, and he stroked her dark-brown hair.

  “What is your name?” asked Nuramon.

  “What do you mean?” The little girl spoke with almost the same cadence as the djinn.

  “Don’t you have a name?” Nuramon tried again.

  “Oh, I see. They call me little elf, or elf-child.”

  Nuramon was speechless. The djinn had not even given the child a name.

  “Well, elf-child, take these books back down,” the djinn instructed her.

  She put on a discontented face and set about fetching a number of books from the pile already read. Then she gave Nuramon a final smile and left the circular hall.

  The moment her steps died away down the corridor, Nuramon turned back to the djinn. “How could you not give her a name?”

  “Names just cause problems. I already told you that. All they do is give others power over you.”

  Nuramon pointed to the door. “That doesn’t seem to stop you from ordering the child around like a servant.”

  “Ha! You don’t know the girl. She’s a pest of the first order. She only listened to me just now because you’re here. She’s so pigheaded she makes trolls look positively obliging. Besides, I only sent her away for one reason.”

  “What reason?”

  “She knows nothing about her origins. I told her a story to protect her from the truth.”

  “And what is the truth?” Nuramon asked, then he dismissed the question with a gesture. “Never mind. I think I know. She’s from Valemas, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. She may be the last of the Free.”

  Nuramon looked at the djinn in bewilderment. “How is that possible? I thought at least a hundred years have passed. How is it possible that she is still a child?”

  The djinn laughed. “It all depends how strong the Albenstars’ protective barriers are, and how skillful one is with magic. You went headfirst through the walls, no doubt, without the magic you needed to compensate.”

  Nuramon understood what the djinn was trying to say. “So you both came here in the time we lost when we passed through the gate? That means the Tjured disciples took Iskendria first, and then . . .”

  “Valemas. And other places, too, I’m sure. That’s how it was. The girl was entrusted to me when the attack on Valemas was imminent. Hildachi, her mother, was a powerful sorceress and seer. She said we should take the children to safety, but because there were only very few children and the fighters of Valemas sorely underestimated the danger, this little one was the only one I took away. Hildachi told me I should take her to a safe place and return her to Valemas later. After I found the ruins of Valemas, I brought her here. That was six years ago. At that time, she could not even speak. I’ve taught her several languages since, and how to read and write in many different scripts. I’ve taught her a little magic, too. Don’t underestimate her. The problem is that I’m bound to this place for as long as the keepers of knowledge refuse to leave, and I can’t get her to safety. I don’t want her to have to live under the threat this library is facing . . . It may be that we don’t achieve our aim before the humans get through.”

  Nuramon thought about what the djinn was asking. A child was the last thing they needed on their search. But the djinn was right to say that this was no place for an elven child. “I will take her with me. My companions won’t like it, but I will make it clear to them that she’s coming. Having her with us will make our quest more difficult.”

  “I hear you’re searching for an Albenstone.”

  “Do you happen to know about them?”

  “Well, of course. But everything that I, in my remarkable wisdom, can bestow on you, I already
have.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just what I say,” the djinn replied with a smile. “You will find out nothing new from me.”

  What could the djinn mean by that? That he’d already told him everything about the Albenstones? He hadn’t said anything at all. Not today, and not in Valemas. They had never talked about Albenstones.

  “Take your time. Think about it. In the meantime, I’ll read.” The djinn picked up a book and started turning the pages slowly. Nuramon noticed how quickly the spirit’s eyes moved. He was not simply turning pages. He was reading.

  Nuramon went through what the djinn had told him back in Valemas. He had told Nuramon about the Shattered World and that it was impossible to travel through the endless gloom. But they never discussed a stone. Or did they? “The fire opal,” he whispered.

  The djinn put his book aside. “You have a good memory, Nuramon.”

  “You mean the fire opal in the lost crown of the Maharaja of Berseiniji? Is it an Albenstone?” Nuramon still remembered the djinn’s words. He had asked him if it was easier to believe that the opal was a movable Albenstar. After everything that Reilif had told him about the power of the Albenstones, he now understood the meaning behind the djinn’s words. Nuramon shook his head. “The Albenstone of the djinns. That would be just like you, hiding your stone somewhere so openly that no one would ever suspect it was there.”

  “We spirits are clever . . . or perhaps not. We had no idea that Elebal, the imbecile, would take his crown with him on his campaigns.”

  “I can hardly believe it. You’re telling me the truth, aren’t you?”

  The djinn grinned mischievously. “Have I ever lied to you?”

  “No, that you haven’t. You even told me where I should start looking for the crown.” In Drusna, Maharaja Elebal had lost a decisive battle, and the crown with the fire opal had disappeared. “There’s only one thing I don’t understand. Why didn’t you search for the crown yourself? Were you bound to Valemas by your name, the same way it keeps you here?”

  “No, I was not. I searched for the crown. I just did not find it. Either it has been destroyed or a protective spell surrounds it. In the past, I was always able to sense it wherever it was in the world.”

  “I thought Albenstones could not be sensed from a distance.”

  “True, but we put a special enchantment on the stone, one that only we djinns know, and it told us where the fire opal was. But it’s as I said, we can’t hear its voice anymore. And one could not hear it beyond the borders of a world in any case.”

  Perhaps Farodin would be able to help. His seeking spell might be able to pick up the crown’s location. “Is there a picture of the crown?”

  “Yes, there is. In this library, no less. The first time I came here, I had one of the artists here paint it for me. Back then, I was still searching for the crown, and I’d hoped to find something here about its location. Come along. I’ll show you,” he said, and he rose from his throne.

  “My companion Farodin has mastered a seeking spell. If we show him a picture of the crown and you explain what you know about it, he may be able to find it. But would we be permitted to use the stone for our own purposes if we found it?”

  “If you find the fire opal, the djinns will line up to kiss your feet. Each and every one of them would tell you his name and read your heart’s desire from your eyes. To put it plainly, Nuramon, yes.”

  Little Elf

  Nuramon sat in his room, poring over the book the djinn had given him, studying the crown of the maharaja, painted in brilliant colors on parchment. A true masterpiece. It was hard to believe that a man could actually carry the huge creation on his head. The crown looked almost like a citadel of gold studded with precious stones. The large fire opal formed the centerpiece around which all the other stones gathered.

  He knew that, with this image, he had found an important clue. He wondered excitedly what his two companions would make of it. Suddenly, he heard a noise. It sounded like someone sobbing. He clapped the book closed and strode to the door. Someone outside was crying. Carefully, he opened the door and stepped out. The little girl was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, weeping. Beside her lay a bag and three books.

  “What’s the matter?” Nuramon asked, and he crouched in front of the girl.

  “You know what the matter is,” she said, her lips quivering. She turned her eyes away and stared at the floor.

  Nuramon sat beside her on the floor. He waited for a moment before speaking. “The djinn told you everything, didn’t he?”

  The girl did not reply.

  “Look at me,” Nuramon said, quietly but firmly.

  She looked him in the eye. Her brown eyes sparkled.

  “Now you know where you came from.”

  “Yes . . . the djinn told me where I was born and who my parents were. He told me what happened to Valemas, too.”

  “Didn’t he tell you anything about it before? Nothing?”

  “He only said I was descended from a noble family and that one day my brothers and sisters would come and take me home again. I believed him, too.”

  “He didn’t lie. In a certain way, he told you the truth.”

  The elf girl wiped the tears from her face. “I thought I would have a family—a mother and a father. I thought they were waiting for me somewhere. I thought I had brothers and sisters.”

  “I know it hurts to find out that things are different than they look in your mind, but that doesn’t mean you have to give up your dreams. If it’s a family you want so much, then one day, you might find one.” Nuramon’s thoughts returned to the night before they departed on the elfhunt and the oracle’s counsel that Emerelle had passed on to him. “Do you know what the queen once said to me?”

  The girl shook her head.

  “She said, ‘Choose your kinfolk for yourself.’”

  The girl looked at him wide-eyed. “Mighty Emerelle said that to you?”

  “She certainly did. And those words might help you, too. But first, you should choose a name for yourself.”

  A smile appeared on the girl’s face. She seemed to have forgotten that she had been crying just now. “A name.”

  “Choose well.”

  “Why don’t you do it for me? Look at my face and tell me what kind of name I am.”

  With a smile, Nuramon shook his head. What kind of name I am. The little elf saw things in her own, peculiar way. But he went along with it and said, “Well, perhaps you’re an Obilee . . .”

  “I like that name,” the girl said.

  “Hold on. Maybe something a little softer. Besides, I already know one elf with that name. But there’s another one that sounds quite similar.” Nuramon knew what he was looking for. For the elf-child, there could be only one name. “What do you think of Yulivee?”

  The little girl let go of her hair, and it fell in waves to her shoulders. “That’s a lovely name,” she said, her voice bright and clear.

  “You’ve heard it before, haven’t you?”

  “Never.”

  “Well, an elf woman named Yulivee led your people out of Albenmark and founded Valemas,” Nuramon said. Then he told her about the old town of Valemas in Albenmark and about the oasis town of the same name where he had first met the djinn.

  “But the djinn said I come from the Diliskar clan.”

  “Diliskar was the grandfather of Yulivee and the founder of her clan. Which means you really are related to her.”

  “Am I still allowed to have her name?”

  “But of course. Newborn children are often given the names of Albenkin who have gone into the moonlight.”

  “Then I will call it mine.”

  “A good choice. You may be the last of the Free of Valemas. There could not be a better name for you . . . Yulivee.”

  “Yulivee.” The
little elf repeated it several times, stressing the syllables in different ways. She jumped to her feet excitedly and shouted out her name. Then she stood in front of Nuramon and looked him in the eye. “From now on, I want to be with you and have adventures.”

  “But if you do that, you will certainly not be as safe as you would be in Albenmark. We could lead you to the gate to Albenmark, and someone would take you from there to the queen.”

  Yulivee shook her head vehemently. “No, that’s not what I want. I want to stay with you.”

  Nuramon pointed to the bag and the books that were lying against the wall. “Is that everything you have?”

  “Yes. Clothes and knowledge. That’s all I need.”

  “Then grab your things and bring them into my room.” Nuramon went ahead.

  Yulivee did as she was told and set the books down on the table.

  Nuramon sat down. “What books do you have there?”

  “They’re mine.”

  “Of course they’re yours,” said Nuramon. “But if you tell me what kind of books they are, then I’ll give you this book here.” He laid one hand on the book of Yulivee.

  “They’re stories. I learned a lot about Albenmark from them. I like the Emerelle stories the best. She is so wise. I wish I could see her one day.”

  Nuramon thought of how Emerelle had treated him and his companions. Not all of the stories he had loved listening to as a child actually matched the real queen. “Can you tell me one of the stories?”

  Yulivee smiled at him. “I’m sure I can. You know, I’ve never read a story to anyone before. The others were always too busy.”

  “Well, I have time,” said Nuramon.

  Little Yulivee began to tell the story of Emerelle and the dragon that so many warriors had been unable to slay. She had just come to the part about the dragon’s villainous betrayal when Farodin and Mandred entered the room. Mandred’s face lit up at the sight of the girl, but Farodin’s only showed mistrust and aversion.

  The girl glanced up at the two new arrivals for a moment, then simply went on with her storytelling. “Then Emerelle returned, and she gave the dragon’s treasure to the clan of Teveroi, who had lost many warriors in the battle against it. Master Alvias was happy that the queen was safe. And that’s how the story ends.”